Bitter Sweets by Carlos Najera

 It was Sunday, back in 1969 and Teresa our youngest daughter wanted to go Original Joe’s, for many years our favorite restaurant in downtown San Jose. I did not want to drive through the terrible traffic jams they have down there. I said “No!”

 

The actual truth is, I have a hard time saying no to her and the next thing I found myself doing, was looking for a parking place downtown. I stopped and the family jumped out and they were on their way inside before I could park the car.

I circled the block three times before I gave up and decided to pull into a parking lot. I had to pay. It seems like there’s always somebody out there trying to get their hands into my wallet.

As I walked down the sidewalk trying to catch up, I looked across the street near the kitchen door and saw that Great American Symbol, two beat up garbage cans outside the kitchen door. I saw an older woman in a ragged overcoat slowly walking down the street. She was using a broken broom handle for a cane and she stopped and started digging into the garbage cans and started eating things that she found.

 

 Suddenly a chunk of molten lava located itself in the place where my stomach used to be. My family was shouting at me to hurry. I didn’t want to hurry, I didn’t want to be there at all anymore. I wanted to be somewhere else, away from this ugliness.

 

 I joined them inside but now I wasn’t hungry!  A large, mountain of unspoken emotions had built up inside me. None of those thoughts and feelings made me feel any better. There was that bitter taste on my tongue.

It had a name.

It was called:

There Is Nothing You Can Do About It.