Art Lies, Volume 48, Fall 2005 Page: 58
120 p. : ill. ; 28 cm.View a full description of this periodical.
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Sofia
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Courtesy the artistSofia stared up at an airplane in the clear blue northern Mexico sky and
said, "When I was young, there were no airplanes. Imagine. No airplanes.
Every time I look up into the sky and see one, I just can't believe it." Her thin
cotton dress was flapping in the hot breeze, big blue flowers on it, like the
sky. She stood there staring for a long time, watching the fluffy white line
that the airplane left behind, curving across the sky. The sky became a ceil-
ing, el cielo. And Sofia became the sky.
She was a child, really, just fifteen years old, when she met him first in
the tiny Mexican village. She knew immediately that she loved him.
She sat next to her sister, Angela Gloria, the night she met him during
a dance at the plaza. Lowering her eyes demurely when he asked her to
dance meant she was interested, although she said no to him that night.
She'd wait until the next dance the following week; then she would say yes.
But who was he? The gossip started immediately.
The women, all sitting in a huge circle around the dance floor, began
asking, "Quien es ese hombre?"
You could see the heads turn as the question was whispered around the
dance floor, as if they were playing a nasty game of "pass it on" at a bridal
shower. Before the night was over, she knew who he was.
Forty-seven years later, she was waiting for him to come home from
work on the Mexican side in the evening, as she did every night.
On her way to the bridge, she stopped at the Woolworth's to buy an ice
cream sandwich to try and cool off; the oppressive heat and humidity were
weighing her down. She was tired, and it was hot, so, so hot. Since her hus-
band had not come home last night, she knew that something was wrong.
After she bought her ice cream sandwich, she stood four blocks from the
bridge, watching the commotion. She hoped with her whole heart that her
husband had not gotten into any kind of trouble. He had never done this
before, and she really did not know what to do; he was old, you know.
She had spent the whole night awake, waiting for him in her rocking
chair, repositioning the electric fan over and over again because it was so
hot and because she was so nervous. The soft-boiled eggs remained in their
shells in his favorite bowl on the kitchen table. She saw the sun rise through
the screen door, and she began to cry. There was no one she could call58 ARTL!ES Fall 2005
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Bryant, John & Gupta, Anjali. Art Lies, Volume 48, Fall 2005, periodical, 2005; Houston, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth228013/m1/60/: accessed April 26, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; .