Black and Gold Morena

Oi! I wrote this short fiction piece and felt more relaxed through out the process. I think this is because it was not something that was about me or about someone I know. So, the pressure of telling the truth was gone. And so, I wonder, whether or not my writing voice is stronger when I am able to hide as the "author." Also, since you have read my creative non-fiction pieces, how would you compare my writing voice in this piece? It's called Black and Gold Morena. (Morena means brown-skinned woman from Bahia, Brazil).


He's late, Morena thought. Her black hair tangles down her back, as cold wind slips between her dry scalp: she refuses to wear a hat. She prefers the sun and is in this city because of school. She looks frail in her winter coat; it wraps around her like a dark cloud mirroring her feelings. Her heels click down fifth avenue toward the Cathedral of Learning, the usual spot where she meets Hector.

"I hate Pittsburgh." She mumbles spotting a group of Pitt students dancing toward her.

Shades of blacks and gold surround them as regalia on royalty. They are majestic: dressed in bright colors supporting the knights, the warriors, the gladiators of their kingdom: The Pittsburgh Steelers. Their heads are lifted and their voices sing out as they prance and jaunt pass her. One hefty rogue yells, "Go steelers!" while waving a golden rag over her head. Morena ducks out of the way, but loses her balance and falls onto the cold pavement. She looks up into their smiling faces as the tall rogue offers a hand, "Are you okay?"

"What is wrong with you?" Morena says. "Of course I am not okay; You almost hit me with that towel saying 'go steelers.' " She mocks their movements, pretending to wave a towel. "Who cares." She blurts out while getting up and brushing the cold, wet mud from her dress pants. The group stops talking and the tall rogue approaches her.

"Hey lady, I was tryna help you aaut." He says rushing closer, almost bumping into her. "So don't go shootin' your mouf off."

Morena stares into his green eyes and wonders what lies beneath. Maybe a gentle soul, she thought. He was standing so close she could smell the liquor on his breath. "I am not shooting off anything..." He steps closer, leaning into her. She tries to step back, but he leans even closer while staring at her neck.

"What is that?" He says, pointing at her ear.

"What is what?" Her hand slowly rises to the small tattoo. The map of her home was neatly tucked behind her right ear, with a red dot indicating Salvador, Bahia. "Oh this is my home, I am from Brazil. I am Baiana." As she utters the words, she is instantly taken there: she sees herself as a child, her mother, father, the carnival, the music, capoeira, and the sea. Almost closing her eyes she could smell her home and looking at the rogue, she knew that he could too. She presses her hand on the small map as if trying to make sure the place is real. She is suspended in time and awaits to wake up from this dream of rogues, winters, and loneliness.

A loud sound interrupts her nostalgia and she looks up to see Hector honking his horn. The black Volvo reflects the swaying trees above her as Morena looks to the tall rogue. His hands emerge from the pockets of his sweatshirt and he gives her a Steelers towel, and looks away. "My grandmother was from Bahia." He says and his face is apologetic and sad. Hector continues to honk the horn while yelling into his cell phone. The soiled clothe feels slightly damp as she begins to fold it.

"Obrigada." She walks to the car and slips in. Hector kisses her on the cheek as she stares out the window. The car begins to pull away and she wishes that she knew his name; that she could meet his grandmother, but she couldn't; that she were home, but she wasn't. Smiling and touching her tattoo, she looks at the towel. The rogue watches her extend a hand from the car; waving the golden cloth.

He becomes a young boy. The boy who used to sing with his grandmother. The boy who missed her Brazilian accent, hands, voice, and being. He smiles at the brown-skinned woman and sees his grandmother. "tchao Morena!"