Confessions of a Guatemalan Worry Doll


My father is my hero, a man of courage and character.

My mother is a slut and I love her more than anything.

She has fiery red hair and hates peanuts so fiercely she made me draw a picture of one when I was 9 and pasted it on the top of our box, drawn through with a cross.

I have plenty of brothers and sisters. Not too many to count but from too many fathers to correctly quantify them as 100% blood relatives.

If Papi ever minded he never said so, working diligently through the problems presented to him nightly- always the gravest, owing to his status as head of the family.

We fell into the hands of a young woman, who was kind and mindful but right on the eve of her life and fraught with new emotions.

On our first night with her we drank apple juice to celebrate; 6 months later Papi’s hair started going grey.

She grew and we with her. They were good times.

Trouble is, I have a taste for the ladies.

The Guatemalan chicas drive me crazy. Those sultry limbs beneath blanket skirts- it’s too much for the fire in me.

But they’re not my limit. I like blondes, Japanese and dolls too.

Real dolls, made of plastic.

‘Mess with a non-worry girl and I’ll give you something to worry about,‘ said Mami one day.

‘My heart is not made of cardboard,’ I pleaded erroneously.

‘Your heart is not the part of your anatomy of which I speak,’ she shot back. ‘And, Madre di Deo, don’t tell me what that’s made of!’

Her own reputation did not deter her. ‘They tell me what’s on their mind,’ she offered simply of her own amorous visitors.

A few years back I ran beyond myself. All that fretting for others- it’s a responsibility for a young man. I wanted to be free and go wild.

So I did.

I broke into a toy store and got myself a Barbie- Beach Barbie, seeing as I could take my pick. Joder, that body! It was unrealistic!

And the best part was that she smiled a bright, white smile all the way through.

Mami went balistic, no surprise. Kept me boxed for months. Gave me the work of the whole family. Thought I would die of the strain.

But she loves her son, he with whom she shared her passionate gene.

When one night our guardian whispered the day’s concerns Mami whispered back. One week passed before she was ready to talk.

‘You will travel the world, mi amor,’ she finally announced. ‘Live life and learn her secrets. By this method you will become sound counsel.’

So I packed my sleeping bag and took the plane and here I am.

We look out for each other, my friend and I. Life is sweet.

Love is finding me because I no longer chase it down.

And when my hair, my dreams, the universe, get unalligned?

I try to worry about it, of course.

But in a fruitful way.


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