pintxos. by Elisa Jay

For some reason you woke with an accent on your tongue. “We were back in Bar-ce-lona,” you said, your eyes still closed. “There were the most amazing pintxos and we were going to eat them.” You savored your Spanish before speaking it, as if each word was delicious. When I asked what sort of pintxos, your hand rose in the air like a plate. “Manchego… on some jamon serrano…and the crispiest, crunchiest bread.” Carefully carrying the dream to your mouth, you woke again.

As if remembering it perfectly would finally bring the tapas to life, you began to retrace the steps of your dream once more, murmuring sleepily. I watched your eyelids flutter and traced the curve of your nose. Beautiful man. Ducking beneath your arm, carrying another pintxo to your lips, I kissed you. Kissed you as I did in Spain, when we were newly married. Another moment added to hundreds of others I will spend my life retracing, while your pintxo still hangs uneaten in the air above us.

Elisa Jay moved to LA from Chicago, where she received a degree in English Literature. The move to the mountains and ocean has been good for the pen, the paper. Her work has appeared in Hippocampus Magazine, Word Riot, 100 Word Story, CHA Literary, and *82.