Her head was slightly tilted and her cigarette dangled from the corner of her mouth. She placed her ear close to the cool, green rind of a watermelon and knocked. She caught me staring. Her coral lips stretched wide to expose her yellow teeth. The cigarette didn’t fall—it just hung, tugging at her lower lip. She wasn’t thin but she was beautiful, and she had a sash to prove it—MISS SWEDEN 1951. Her large eyelashes flickered for only a moment before her fingers let the watermelon slip and fall onto the sidewalk. I heard the thud but saw only a beauty queen walk toward me as if in slow motion. Her gold-strapped heels cut through the splashing pulp and juice of the watermelon. Some of the glossy seeds stuck to her bare legs.
“I’m Kiki.” She extended her hand and smiled.
I felt the goose bumps rippling up my arms. Without hesitating I reached for her hand.
“Terezinha!” My mother yanked at my wrist. Kiki, immovable and smiling, straightened her back and adjusted her sash so that it crossed her cone-like breasts. I was pulled back into the fish market.
