Forgotten

by Gerardo Sámano Córdova

This morning I thought I saw a UFO but it was an umbrella. I think I see an angel but it turns out to be a plastic bag stuck in a bush. A cop car passes by and it splashes a puddle into those of us unlucky enough to be on the sidewalk, our raincoats tight against our chests. “Assholes!” a woman shouts to the cops but I don’t think they hear her. I think I see my father. It is him, only more bedraggled, older, as if from the moment I left him at home, less than an hour before, twenty years have passed. He tells me he’s in a hurry, can’t stop. I tell him to have a good day but he’s already lost among a crowd.

The place I work for has a ritual in which every end of month they forget one project, no matter the stage it is at or the money already paid for it. The ritual is spelled out in the contracts with our clients. Though I find it almost impossible to believe any client would agree to this clause, the company is brimming with projects. Besides I’m only an intern, so what would I know about what clients agree to? This month they decide to forget the project I have been hired for. “Miss,” the security guard tells me. “You’re not allowed in the premises. Staff only.” There’s no point in arguing. Outside, the rain has stopped. I think I see a gorgon, another mirage, but it turns out the woman does have snakes for hair. They wriggle and hiss. I’ve looked at her and haven’t turned into stone. She must’ve lost her powers long ago, before this place turned into a city.

I run into my father. He is less bedraggled, having accomplished whatever it was he was in a hurry for. We make our way home. As we ride the subway he asks, “Good day?” and I don’t know how to answer him.

Gerardo Sámano Córdova is a writer and artist from Mexico City, where he currently resides. He holds an MFA in Fiction from the University of Michigan. He was a work/study scholar at Bread Loaf and attended the Tin House Summer Workshop. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Ninth Letter, The Common and the Chicago Quarterly Review. He’s also been known to draw little creatures. Twitter: @samanito. Instagram: @samanito.