Lord knows, Maribel Ortiz has never asked much of this world. Yet here she is, back in La Chorrera, back where it all started. It’s all so dirty, so low, so final. So many gringos have passed through her bed. So many promises.
Every morning Mari leaves the room she shares with her sisters, takes a cold shower, makes her mom breakfast, then looks out the window to see what she will need to wear. Today the skies are dark, and fat drops are flying into rusty metal buildings, turning the street outside into a milkshake of mud and water.
Inside, Mari’s eyes are wet with tears. Her sisters say Mari has been crying a lot lately. Ever since she’s come back to her past life. Ever since her boyfriend “abandoned” her.
Mornings are the worst. These are the moments when La Chorrera, a forgettable little city on the other side of the Panama Canal, feels like it could be the end of the line.
“If this is what Dios wants for me, then … ”
She buries her smooth dark face in her hands, her voice becomes a whisper. People don’t believe Mari when she tells them she’s over 40 and never married. She’s still beautiful, and this morning she’s wearing new Reeboks, jeans and a tight black top, gifts from a lover.
“I ashamed to be alone,” she says.
