Lefty

Of all the bitter memories from my childhood, there is one that dominates, like now, during crucial moments. It is yours, Rosario--heavy and stubborn, the inflexible guardian of home and tradition--grabbing my left hand to force me to eat with the right, and me, kicking and screaming, covered with tears and cold soup, noodles spotting my shirt, wet pants, purple from blind rage, with a terrible desire to get your body off of me with its suffocating weight, and the unsatisfied desire to immobilize your huge hands, that slapped me without mercy till I was bruised and bleeding

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