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Kindle eBooks. MIA X (Author), Terri Woods (Editor) It was very honest and I appreciate Mia X for sharing her experiences with us (readers).
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Grandma Told Me

Johnson is currently reading it Feb 02, Tynthia L. The light revealed a fine mist of blood splatter on three of the four walls. I often hauled trash down to the river to be burned and buried, and hoped the neighbors thought I was doing just that. I rolled him into the hole, covered the body with the silty earth, then packed the mound with the back of the shovel. After I killed Eduardo, I was no longer a child.

I was a soldier who had defended my family and my home. Four uneventful years passed. I earned enough money to pay my tuition by tutoring first-grade students who were referred to me by Fernando. I converted the room where I killed Eduardo into a classroom. Then one day, the authorities arrived. I thought they were there to arrest me, but it was for another reason. They explained that our colony needed to be evacuated because it was in a flood basin and the dam was beginning to crack.

They offered Mami new land plus some money. Mami agreed without hesitation. The first whiff of maggot-covered corpse nearly knocked me out. I went to the shed and found a pair of work gloves and the old axe I used to cut up the chickens, ducks and rabbits that we ate for dinner. I decapitated the skull and then cut the torso into pieces. I put these parts in paper bags, then put the bags in the latrine of the abandoned house next door, knowing that the chemicals in the latrine would quickly disintegrate them.

Next, I cut up the bones and put them in smaller paper bags. I knew of a slum area with a lot of trash, so I carried the bags three at time and dropped one bag every couple of hundred yards or so. I then returned to the body and started out again with three more bags, until eventually the bones were scattered for a mile or more along the Tijuana River, sure to be swept away in the next flood. There are moments of eternal sunshine and moments of eternal darkness in our lives. Killing Eduardo and disposing of his body were my moments of eternal darkness.

Gerardo Hernandez Nordelo at › Cuba › Granma - Official voice of the PCC

No one ever came looking for Eduardo. Perhaps no one missed him. But three months after I murdered him, Valery saw a picture of a young man in the local paper who bore a strong resemblance to Eduardo. That was the last news we ever heard about Eduardo or his family.

My plan had been to stay in my country and study to become a teacher. For the first time in my life, I lived in a nice house, working for nice people — like a normal person. Diego was a shy man. I got pregnant in late , at the age of I received a call from the clinic telling me I was pregnant and asking if I wanted to get an abortion. Both of us got our green cards in , just before I had my second child, Noelle.

CUBA - U.S. DIPLOMATIC RELATIONS

After our third child, Dawn, was born in , Diego and I became naturalized U. He asked me again and again why not. He lacked the imagination to know that there are much worse things in life than a woman who has slept around. When he began referring to me as a puta , a whore, I knew our marriage would not last forever.

However, in the meantime, he was a good father and a good provider. I bided my time until Bianca, Noelle and Dawn were grown. Then, finally, I divorced Diego. You must be a lucky charm. Our eyes met throughout the Tijuana concert, and I felt confident that my strong attraction toward Vincente was reciprocal. After that night, he invited me to his next concert; however, the weeks that followed were some of the rainiest ever in Baja, and the remainder of his tour was canceled.

I did not see or speak to Vincente again until two years later. I was paging through a local magazine in Ontario, California, when I saw in an advertisement that Vincente was to perform at a Mexican restaurant near my home. I purchased my ticket immediately and surprised him. From that day forward, we were a couple. The only two requests I made of Vincente were that he treated me with respect and not drink. He accepted my conditions, and in I accepted his proposal of marriage. For the next 19 years, we bounced between Mexico and California, and lived for a brief spell in Chicago, but for much of the time we simply lived on the road, traveling from one concert venue to the next.

For my 55th birthday in , Vincente surprised me with a party.


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While Vincente slept, I passed time wandering down the garden path of my year marriage to a man whom all of Mexico loved — and had loved — much longer than I. I revisited my favorite memory of all: the first time we spent the night together, at the Grand Hotel in Tijuana. I had never imagined such opulence. It was here that I first saw the look of a man in love. And it was here that Vincente first caressed me — beginning with his eyes, then with his warm, soft hands. Vincente opened his eyes and looked plaintively at me. I stood and gazed down at him.

A weak smile crossed his lips before his eyes lolled in their sockets. V incente would not have a goodbye tour. After eight months in an intensive care unit, fighting renal failure and a brain tumor, Vincente died of a bacterial infection in a Mexico City hospital.

Díaz-Canel: There is a historically postponed world waiting for our agreement and action

Friends took up a collection for me and raised enough to pay for my flight back to Tijuana. I gave them to my American grandson, Justin, before his first prom. I moved in with Mami, who had cancer, and commuted every day to San Diego to work for a cleaning service. I met Amy Roost, who I am telling this story to, when I cleaned her house. I told her I was newly widowed.

And when she asked about my husband, I proudly shared that Vincente had been a very famous bandleader. I had never sent a client of mine a Facebook friend request, until Amy. I thought of her as my friend, and I felt confident she thought of me as her friend too. Eventually, Amy hired me away from the cleaning service and referred me to friends of hers.


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I also had to think of my three girls. I did not want their reputations tainted by having a mother who is a murderer. There were other practicalities to consider. For instance, who would ever hire a murderer to clean their house? And finally, the fear of going to prison, which had burrowed into me as a child, remained with me in adulthood. Though she never forgave me for killing Eduardo, I forgave Mami. Mami deserved another kind of life. How could I blame such a brave and intelligent woman? I offered to sit with him in the hospital, so that Camila could stay at home with her baby.

He screamed in pain over and over, so I called the nurse. He gave me Camila, and she loves him. I shook my head.

Who Was Grandma Moses?

We were not close. He raped me! I sat next to her on the sofa, and for the first time, I told my story to someone outside of my family. My name is Estela Salazar. I was once in the crosshairs of hunters, then I soared on the wings of love.