Deep End

She’s poolside singing, singing songs from her youth. “This song reminds me of when I was on my first date, age sixteen.  Ooh he was so cuuuute! Blonde curls, blue eyes,” she leans over and says to me, then continues singing. She’s no Celia Cruz. I try to visualize, because old women look even older in south Florida. She was once a young Cuban girl – parents thought the world. Knew Miami before it went platinum.

Now she’s poolside singing. She stops to tell how she broke her femur dancing salsa. She’s feeling fortunate because she no longer needs a wheel chair. Raises hands in the air and gives thanks. Words in Spanish, translated in English.  “You’re adorning another man with your smile.” Singing in Spanish. “Imagine me. Imagine that I’m him.”

“That’s some deep shit right there,” she says.