GRINGA (20 page)

             
People around me are aghast at my tears. What happened to sassy, smart-alecky, provocative Payton? Payton the prankster?  

    
             
‘Dad, you need to go back to
America
,
’ I say.

             
‘Why? I’m happy here Payton. Especially since you’re okay.’ I’m
okay
? He my father; how could he miss my despair?

             
‘Dad, Diablo – Christa is evil, dad. Diablo and Christa and everyone else there.’

             
‘Relax Payton. I leave when I’m ready to. Besides, how can I leave when there are so many lovely Senorita’s around, huh?’

             
I sigh and look at Elaine.

             
‘I tell him that all the time,’ Elaine complains, ‘but he insists on staying here.
Austin
won’t leave so
Paris
won’t leave and I guess, well, I have to stay too.’

    
             
Saying goodbye to my family leaves me unhinged and depressed
.
Austin
gives me a long hug and squeezes my waist really hard.

             
I cry all the way home. Marcus watches me though the rear view mirror but says nothing. When we arrive at the ranch, I walk straight to my room and crawl under the covers and cry into my pillow.
             
Through the depths of my despair, I decide to kill myself. 

             
First, I need to write a letter to the only person I love – the only person who loves me -
Austin
. In spite of everything,
in spite of him dumping me and marrying my beautiful step-sister, I
’m certain he cares. My father cares because
he is
genetically programmed to love
me.
But
Austin
, he didn’t have to, but he does
. I see how he looks at me – the tenderness in his eyes, the way he cocks his beautiful head to one side when he smiles at me, the way he squeezes my waist. I feel his secret love. I really do.

23 July 2002

Dear Austin, I’m sorry I have to say goodbye. In spite of everything, I still love you. For a while you made me feel beautiful and wanted. I
can’t help but
wonder how things would have turned out if I hadn’t left to
Europe
for that two month holiday. Elaine’s gift to me. Actually, it was a gift to
Paris
, really. The only way they could get to you was to have me taken out of the picture, leave the way clear so they could work on you.
Pity they succeeded.

Well, now that I’m gonna die, here’s my confession:

Whenever Diablo fucks me, I think of you. I picture you above me and sometimes I even feel like responding. It’s fucked up, I know, but it’s how it is.

Take care, keep my memory alive (somehow) and remember - you’re worthy. Don’t ever let Elaine and Paris tell you otherwise.

Sounds corny, but you’re my one and only love.
Nobody in this whole fucked up world can replace you.
Forever, Payton. 

I don’t plan on joining them for dinner tonight. I plan to make my move, kill myself while they’re seated at the dinner table. But there’s a knock at my door and Diablo enters.
I stiffen
- he never knocks and he never comes to my room except for his midnight visits.

             
Now he stands at the door and looks at me. ‘Come
eat,
Payton’ he says, his voice
humble and
unfamiliar to me.

             
What the hell?
Personally asking me to join him for dinner instead of yelling “Gringa
aa
!” from the dining room? Using my
real
name?

             
Maybe Marcus filled him in on my state of misery at Siempre today and he’s worried. That coupled with the fact that he witnessed my breakdown last night. He’s never seen me cry before. Certainly not the way I cried last night. And let’s not forget that I look terrible today – deranged. 

             
I want to say “No” but I have no fight left in me, so I nod and meekly follow him. As for dinner, I don’t even bother to eat. I just wish everyone wouldn’t stare so much - must be something to do with my tear-stained face and swollen eyes. Most of the men
have concerned expressions on their faces,
though.

             
Christa and Santana’s eyes dart between Diablo’s face and mine, curious to know what
’
s going on. 

             
I don’t look at Diablo, but I feel his eyes boring into me.

             
‘Diablo!’ Christa snaps.

             
Diablo tears his eyes from me to look at her.   

             
‘Wha
t
is the matter Diablo?’ she demands. ‘You not listening to me, to any of us.’

             
‘I
am
listening,’ he says and to her ire, looks at me again.
             

             
‘
Naha
!’ Christa’s nostrils are flaring. ‘You ... you look at Gringa all night and you ... you ignore me Diablo.
No me gusta!
This is important.’

             
He’s doing it again – looking at me.
 

             
‘D
iaaablo
!’

             
‘Wha
t
is it?’ he asks,
turning to Christa,
his voice weary.

             
Happy that she has his
full
attention, Christa
whines away
in Spanish.

     
             
While they talk, my mind drifts. I should have said no to Diablo in the very beginning. I mean, the villagers continue their lives as normal with their loved ones while I wither away in this torment chamber. How dare they go on with their lives when I’m being violated by the beast of
Mexico
every night? Why weren’t they mourning with me? Time to end the pain. Euthan
ize
myself. Nobody else gives a
damn
. No use waiting for God; we all saw how she short-changed me. I’m on my own.

             
Dinner ends and I quietly head for the cliff. The cliff is a sheer drop and considering my current mental state, jumping off will be easy.

             
I stand at the edge and remove my shoes. Why, I have no idea - I guess right now, my mind is devoid of all logic.

             
Taking a deep breath, I step onto the precipice and look down at the drop and …get such a fright!

             
What the hell am I doing?  What the hell am I thinking? Imagine plummeting down this cliff – I might ... die
.
Christ!

             
I can’t do this. Maybe I’m not psyched enough or maybe I’m too much of a coward, but I just can’t do it. How the hell do suicide bombers do it? What am I going to do with seventy virgins anyway?
Just more fucking mouths to feed.

             
I’ll go back to the ranch and talk to Diablo, demand some changes. He seems concerned and afraid to lose me, so maybe I can convince him that ...

             
‘G
ringa!
!’ Someone’s shout
s
my name.
‘Gringa!’
It’s
Troy
, racing towards me. ‘
Don’t do it! Don’t jump!

             
‘
What?
Jump?
Oh no, I’m …
’

             
Suddenly, someone wrestles me to the floor.

             
‘What the fuck …?’

             
It’s Diablo, pinning me down. He shakes his head from side-to-side, a frantic look in his eye. 

             
Um …how do I tell him I wasn’t going to like, you know - I changed my mind about killing myself? This is a most embarrassing. ‘Eh …um …leave me alone!’ I say, needing to say
something
.

             
He shakes his head again.

             
Troy
runs up to me, panting. ‘Gringa, this
is so stupid. Why
you do tha
t
? Huh?’

             
‘Eh …because
…
’

             
Diablo and
Troy
exchanged puzzled looks.

             
Diablo
mutters to
Troy
and
Troy
reluctantly leaves the cliff side.

             
It’s just me and Diablo
now
and he’s looking at me with all his eyebrow rings raised.

             
‘Well, I don’t like …
’ Fuck! How do I say this? ‘Like,
I’m not happy here
..
’ 

             
‘
Si
.’ His manner, his voice
-
all humble
right now
.

             
‘I don’t like you touching me …’

             
‘But you are my w
oman
. I am your man. I mus
t
touch
a
you. How I not touch
a
you, eh?’