women hollering creek

There is this man, a crazy who lived upstairs from us when we lived on South Loomis. He couldn’t talk, just walked around all day with this harmonica in his mouth. Didn’t play it. Just sort of breathed through it, all day long, wheezing, in and out, in and out.

This is how it is with me. Love I mean.

—  Sandra Cisneros - “One Holy Night,” Woman Hollering Creek and other stories.
What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t. You open your eyes and everything’s just like yesterday, only its today. And you don’t feel eleven at all. You feel like you’re still ten. And you are – underneath the year that makes you eleven.
—  “Eleven” Women Hollering Creek by Sandra Cisneros