excerpt from " memoir de l'esprit de l'escalier"...a short story yet unfinished...

I found a cool place off the key, a small inlet where we would go to explore, the breeze finding us beneath the Mangrove trees, our small feet skirting the thin edging of sand. Where there was no beach at all, we would wade, knee deep to dodge swarms of mimis laying in wait, but careful not to step on beach glass or coral. A few days during the fall, it was almost cold, and the cool salt air felt good against our too flushed cheeks. Mes Anitas was a child then, her little hand in mine. But I, I was never a child. My body had always stirred for her, even when Herman and I still wore the short pants to church, and she lay against her maman's breast.