This story contains mature or graphic content.
Lourdes had only wanted to photographic birds and sky at the park. How had she come to this, an unraveling of spirit much like the threads of an antique dress. Her raven hair in disarray, mascara leaving her Goth-like, she cried before dialing her best friend to explain why she was late for her bridal shower and to break the news that she could not serve as her maid of honor. Upon hearing Giovanna’s nasal greeting, she began her tearful account …
Her first mistake was skipping work that Wednesday, calling in sick when in reality she was fed-up with staring back at carcasses at the museum. Lourdes desired to be surrounded by life, laughter, and what she called the sensual swells of the Panahuoca River. By the river was a park, and regardless of the season, it attracted lovers and the lovelorn, athletes and intellectuals. Usually she would scope out the park, jog its perimeter three times, then stop by the Juice Doctor for an all natural pomegranate punch. But this wasn’t a regular Wednesday, “hump day,” as her colleagues at the museum referred to it. Rather, this was a day of liberation by design, and to celebrate her sense of renewal, she fancied compiling a digital scrapbook of photos documenting her day at the park. She fidgeted in her nightstand drawer for her digital camera, which she stored there optimistically next to a sealed-in-package blindfolds and a feather she had been using to dust furniture in her bedroom.
Within an hour, she was dressed in sweats and a T-shirt, none too eager to show her belly rolls to passers-by. She checked her camera for its card, but before she could unlatch the chain on her door, her phone rang in the kitchen. Figuring it must be Giovanna begging her to recite an affirmation for the day, anything to distract her from her wedding a month away, Lourdes dashed out the door and left for the park. Already she was feeling guilty, but her new day of freedom could wait no longer.
