<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
After a night of incessant rain had turned Old Havana\u2019s streets into a muddy pool, Isidro\u2019s eighty-year old father awoke writhing and clutching his abdomen. Isidro, soaked up to his knees from a recent trip to the bodega, sat on his father\u2019s bed and held him down like he would a convulsing child. He asked where it hurt, if there was anything he could do. His father groaned and mumbled.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m calling an ambulance,\u201d Isidro said.<\/p>\n
The old man shook his head. \u201cLet me fight him,\u201d he said, straining to form the words. \u201cI won\u2019t go how he wants me to.\u201d
\n\u201cWe\u2019re going to the hospital.\u201d Isidro darted from the room and to Mrs. Benitez\u2019s apartment. She was their next door neighbor and the only person in the two-story building with a phone.<\/p>\n
There were no available ambulances at the nearest hospital. One had just left to pick up a patient; the other had been out of service for a week. The person on the other line said, \u201cSee if you can get someone to drive you over.\u201d Isidro lowered the receiver but didn\u2019t hang up. He thought about the people he could call, maybe a friend who knew medicine or someone who owned a car. Family members were out of the question. They were all Santer\u00eda practitioners\u2014of the old-fashioned, devout kind. They\u2019d just give his father homemade remedies and perform rituals before taking him to a doctor, while his insides throbbed and consumed his life.<\/p>\n
Isidro had never seen his father react so frantically to pain. In three decades as a cargo handler at the docks, the old man had endured six broken bones, a large gash on his left leg, and a third degree burn on his right shoulder. All this in addition to hauling sacks off a conveyor belt with arthritic knees. He used to tell a younger Isidro that an ancestor\u2019s evil spirit had taken hold of him. \u201cThat bastard\u2019s done everything to torture me,\u201d he had said. \u201cGave me bad luck and illness. If I get to be really old, I\u2019m going to mock him in my death bed.\u201d<\/p>\n
Isidro hadn\u2019t taken any of it seriously. His family\u2019s customs had always seemed bizarre to him. His grandmother had blamed \u201ccommunist brainwashing\u201d for his skepticism. She told him to leave a vacant space in his heart, no matter how small, to be filled with belief. Isidro had smiled and nodded, out of respect.<\/p>\n
He made two more calls but wasn\u2019t able to reach anyone. His hands were shaking by the time he dropped the phone and left Mrs. Benitez\u2019s apartment. The lady shouted and chased after him. He ignored her, thinking he\u2019d apologize later.<\/p>\n
Back home his father lay flat on the bed, his legs twitching and juddering.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo one in this goddamn building can help,\u201d Isidro said. \u201cAll I have is aspirin.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe won\u2019t leave me alone,\u201d his father said.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow\u2019s the pain?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe son of a bitch won\u2019t leave me alone.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe street\u2019s too flooded. No cars will be passing through.\u201d<\/p>\n
Leaving his father in his pajamas, he shoved his arms under the old man\u2019s body like a forklift and hoisted him. As he descended the stairs he feared he might collapse at any moment. He halted at the building\u2019s entrance and took a deep breath. Then he hurried toward the back of the stairs and was relieved to see the wooden wheelbarrow\u2014more like a box with wheels\u2014that had been left there for the past month. It belonged to Donato, a construction worker who\u2019d been laid off and had built the thing himself. He wouldn\u2019t miss it much, Isidro thought, since Donato now spent his days muttering drunken slurs in a rocking chair in his living room.<\/p>\n
He laid his father carefully in the wheelbarrow\u2019s tray, his head toward the front, his legs resting on the handles. The old man grunted, shifted his body, and sighed to indicate he\u2019d found a bearable position. Isidro took off his shirt and used it to cushion his father\u2019s neck. Then he pushed the cart out to the flooded neighborhood.<\/p>\n
He kept by the sidewalk where the inundation was fairly shallow. The bottom of the wheelbarrow cut the murky water like a dinghy. Isidro knew these streets well\u2014every bump and crack on the pavement from years of walking with his head bent\u2014so he avoided any obstacles as he waded. The overcast sky had brought with it a breeze. Each inhale gave Isidro strength for one more step. Two blocks down he veered right, and soon the flooding was behind him, only a few puddles and a rushing stream of rainwater in the gutters ahead. At the end of the street he veered left. From here, it was a straight path to the hospital.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
By the time they reached the park opposite the emergency room, the sun was bearing down on the glazed asphalt. His father\u2019s white beard and black skin glittered like wet leaves. Beads of sweat from Isidro\u2019s forehead ran down his temple and cheeks, and dripped methodically from the tip of his chin. His breath had become a heaving, as if he were asthmatic, but his steps hadn\u2019t slowed.<\/p>\n
A young woman who was exiting the hospital held the door open for them. Isidro wanted to say thank you, but only air left his throat. He stopped in the middle of the waiting room area, anchored his body on the handles, and said, \u201cHe\u2019s in a lot of pain. Please, someone take a look at him!\u201d Then he stumbled to a chair.<\/p>\n
Two nurses ran to the wheelbarrow. One of them called for assistance, and a male nurse complied. A man with glasses sitting across from Isidro told his daughter to stay put and offered to help. Between the four people they removed\u00a0 Isidro\u2019s father from the wheelbarrow and gently lowered him on a seat.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you bring him from very far?\u201d one of the nurses asked Isidro.<\/p>\n
\u201cJust a few blocks.\u201d The nurse reminded him of someone, though he couldn\u2019t immediately decipher from where.
\nThe second nurse began inspecting the old man. She asked him a series of questions: Could he point to the spot where it hurt the most? Had he eaten anything different the night before? Had he experienced a similar pain in the past?<\/p>\n
The old man replied with nods and short phrases.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe can wait,\u201d the nurse concluded.<\/p>\n
\u201cA doctor will see him soon,\u201d the other nurse said to Isidro. \u201cHe\u2019s never been like this,\u201d Isidro said. \u201cPlease help him!\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t worry. They\u2019ll see him soon.\u201d<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
The male nurse had taken the wheelbarrow outside and handed Isidro his shirt back. Twenty minutes had passed. They had yet to call the old man. Isidro was sitting by him, growing impatient. His father had his eyes closed, but Isidro could tell he was awake. He\u2019d gotten into a steady breathing rhythm, as if attempting to assuage the pain.<\/p>\n
The daughter of the man who\u2019d help lift Isidro\u2019s father from the wheelbarrow glimpsed at Isidro and said,\u201d Is he dying?\u201d She was gazing down by the time Isidro looked at her. Strands of curly black hair draped from her head like little streamers.<\/p>\n
\u201cTania, why would you say that?\u201d her father told her. \u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d he said to Isidro.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s fine.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe looks like he\u2019s dying,\u201d the girl said.<\/p>\n
\u201cTania!\u201d her father said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not dying,\u201d the old man said in a hoarse voice. \u201cBut there\u2019s a spirit that wants me to.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat spirit?\u201d the girl said.<\/p>\n
\u201cA bad one.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCan the doctors make it go away?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy son thinks they can.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI think they can too. They\u2019re curing my brother.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sure they are, sweetie. We\u2019ll see about me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy do you have your eyes closed?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo the spirit thinks I\u2019m asleep.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s enough, Tania,\u201d her father said. Then to Isidro, \u201cExcuse me,\u201d and led his daughter to the far end of the row.<\/p>\n
\u201cDad,\u201d Isidro whispered, \u201cyou better not start with the Santer\u00eda nonsense when we see the doctor.\u201d<\/p>\n
He glanced at the front desk. The familiar nurse was sifting through papers in a bulky brown folder. This exasperated him, that she was ignoring them even though he felt he knew her somehow. Her short hair, delicately- angled jaw line, light brown eyes that tittered on the verge of green, he\u2019d seen this combination of features before. Even her mannerism felt like an echo of someone else\u2019s: the way she\u2019d brusquely bend the pages as she flipped them, or how she had sprawled her fingers across the side of her face, her thumb shooting down to the bottom of her neck, her pinky nibbling the base of the ear, as if she were measuring this section of her body. He was about to call her when the other nurse emerged. She pointed to Isidro and motioned for him and his father to come.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
The old man sat on the edge of an exam table. Sections of the paint coating on it had peeled off, revealing a metallic surface. The nurse jotted down the patient\u2019s required information: name, address, age, symptoms. She asked Isidro if he\u2019d brought his father\u2019s clinical history. Isidro replied that in the chaos he\u2019d left it at home. She told him not to worry, that they\u2019d get his father fixed up. She stroked the old man\u2019s right shoulder before leaving.<\/p>\n
Moments later the doctor walked in. His hair was damp and neatly combed back. His wrinkled white coat was too small for his frame, and the stethoscope seemed like a toy in his large hands. He introduced himself as Dr. Carrillo.<\/p>\n
\u201cI hear you\u2019re in pain,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou could say that,\u201d the old man replied.<\/p>\n
\u201cLungs and heart sound good. Let\u2019s lay you down.\u201d<\/p>\n
The old man wheezed as his body stretched out on the table. Dr. Carrillo listened to his abdomen, then pressed with his fingers on different areas, asking how badly it hurt. The old man said nothing until the doctor reached his lower abdomen, just above the pelvis. He grunted and nodded. Dr. Carrillo proceeded to take his pulse.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you think it is?\u201d Isidro said.<\/p>\n
\u201cAt this point it\u2019s hard to say. Is that scar from your appendectomy?\u201d Dr. Carrillo asked the old man.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
The doctor inquired whether he had gone to the bathroom regularly for the past few days, if there was any blood in his stool, anything out of the ordinary, perhaps other symptoms such as nausea or numbness.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, sir,\u201d was the old man\u2019s response.<\/p>\n
Dr. Carrillo said, \u201cI\u2019m going to send someone to draw your blood and take a urine sample. We\u2019ll wait for the results and go from there.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat about the pain?\u201d Isidro asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cA nurse will give him a metamizol shot. It\u2019ll just be an hour or two before we get the blood and urine results. We\u2019ll see if the pain goes away in the meantime.\u201d<\/p>\n
Without saying another word, the doctor walked out the door.<\/p>\n
Soon afterward the short-haired nurse entered. She was carrying a tray with a syringe, some gauze, and two small glass bottles. She assisted the old man as he turned on his side. Then she delivered the injection. She warned him his buttocks and legs might get stiff. \u201cBut I bet you know that already,\u201d she said, smiling.<\/p>\n
The lab technician followed. He took the old man\u2019s pressure, drew two small tubes of blood, and directed Isidro to take his father to the restroom to collect a urine sample. Once it all was done, the nurse requested that they return to the general area so another patient could be attended in the room. Isidro wanted to protest, but the old man got off the exam table and headed for the door.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019ll wait outside,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
Isidro lugged his hobbling father past the nurses\u2019 station and helped him take a seat. The old man was breathing heavily. Isidro lingered over him to ensure he was okay. His father waved him off.<\/p>\n
The emergency room was crowded. Somewhere behind them a child was crying\u2014a long, descending wail. Down their row, a scrawny man coughed repetitively, his whole body jerking forward each time. Isidro shuffled in his seat. He glanced toward the entrance and wondered if the wheelbarrow was still out there. Through the door he could see sections of the park. A group of kids stood on the grass, wearing white and purple belts and imitating their karate instructor. Isidro welcomed the normalcy of it, their recognizable moves and sounds. He\u2019d watched them before while playing checkers with old friends on nearby benches, a Sunday afternoon tradition he\u2019d relished for the better part of a decade. That was until he started looking after his father. The old man\u2019s arthritis had limited his movements to Isidro\u2019s shabby home, a place where, though he\u2019d never admit it, Isidro often felt trapped.<\/p>\n
He\u2019d primarily agreed to be his father\u2019s caretaker so his family wouldn\u2019t tend to him in their antiquated ways. After years of postponing theendeavor of meeting a decent woman and starting a family, he\u2019d forgone it altogether for the sake of his father. A son\u2019s responsibility, a big heart, selflessness\u2014 those things people said to praise his decision\u2014all that mattered very little to him. In Isidro\u2019s mind there was simply no reason for his father to be mistreated, not when he could do a better job.<\/p>\n
He looked straight ahead at a woman wearing a dress with red and black flowers printed on white fabric. He rested his vision on the pattern\u2014as if staring at wallpaper or a curtain\u2014and slowly dropped his tense, nearly aching shoulders. Years earlier, he had mentioned to his father\u2019s family that he\u2019d been bothered by a nagging pain in his shoulders. His father\u2019s sister, Aunt Nena, remarked that his shoulders hurt due to the unshakable weight of his ancestors, who\u2019d chosen to perch themselves on Isidro. \u201cApparently they have more faith in you than we do,\u201d she\u2019d said.<\/p>\n
Definitely more faith than I have in them, Isidro thought. Without turning, he said to his father, \u201cHow\u2019s the leg?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRigid as a rod.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs the stomach pain better?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you mean is it gone for now? Yes, but it\u2019ll come back.\u201d<\/p>\n
“Hopefully they\u2019ll admit you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey won\u2019t. I\u2019m not sick.\u201d<\/p>\n
Isidro looked at his father. The old man\u2019s eyes were shut again.<\/p>\n
\u201cDad, people don\u2019t get sick because of a spirit.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m too old to argue with you. Out of respect for your great-grandmother, may she rest in peace, I\u2019ll just say that people have died because of spirits.\u201d \u201cYou need medical attention. What they\u2019re doing here, that\u2019s what will
\nhelp you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIsi,\u201d the old man said, \u201clet me do this on my own terms. I can\u2019t fight you, and I won\u2019t fight you. But please, let me do it on my own terms.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDad\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve dealt with this son of a bitch spirit far too long to just lie in a hospital bed, tubes sticking out of me, smelling medicine all day, having a sour-faced student nurse wash me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt doesn\u2019t have to be like that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIsi, I\u2019ve done my time. Let me do what\u2019s left on my own terms.\u201d<\/p>\n
Isidro bit his bottom lip, cracking the skin. He gripped the arms of his chair and said, \u201cLet\u2019s see what the doctor says, OK?\u201d<\/p>\n
The old man grabbed his own left knee and pulled on the legs of his pajama pants.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d Isidro said.<\/p>\n
\u201cLeg\u2019s still stiff,\u201d his father said, \u201cbut I\u2019ll be ready to walk home in a while.\u201d<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
The short-haired nurse approached the old man on two different occasions. She asked if he needed anything. The second time he requested water and was brought a glass. By now Isidro was indifferent to the nurse. The sense of familiarity he\u2019d originally felt had dissipated. The only thing in his mind was hearing Dr. Carrillo\u2019s diagnosis. He was so wrapped up by the thought that he didn\u2019t immediately react when a medium-built, bald man wearing a white coat stopped in front of him and his father.<\/p>\n
\u201cCandido Guzman?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes?\u201d the old man said.<\/p>\n
\u201cNice to meet you.\u201d The man offered his hand. \u201cMy name\u2019s Dr. Guerrera.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere\u2019s Dr. Carrillo?\u201d Isidro said.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe asked me to come in his place. He had to attend to an emergency.\u201d The old man greeted the doctor and said, \u201cI understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did they find?\u201d Isidro said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou must be his son,\u201d Dr.Guerrera said. \u201cGood news. There was nothing alarming in the blood and urine. Just low levels of calcium and vitamin A. We\u2019re sending you home.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHome?\u201d Isidro said. \u201cWhat about the pain?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBased on the lab results and physical exam, Dr. Carrillo doesn\u2019t think it\u2019s anything serious. Could be colic due to indigestion. We recommend that you see the gastroenterologist at your local clinic for further tests.\u201d<\/p>\n
Isidro took a piece of paper from the doctor. It had Dr. Carrillo\u2019s name and a few notes, but Isidro couldn\u2019t decipher the handwriting. \u201cBut they won\u2019t see him for a month at the clinic. It\u2019s almost impossible to get an appointment there!\u201d
\n\u201cThere\u2019s not much we can do here at the moment,\u201d the doctor said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m a lot better,\u201d the old man said. \u201cI\u2019m sure whatever it was, it was transitory.\u201d<\/p>\n
Isidro stood. \u201cWhat if it\u2019s something serious? What if something happens to him on the way home, or tonight, or tomorrow morning, and I have to haul him back here in a damn wheelbarrow? They gave him a shot. Of course the pain is better!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s a small chance he might get worse, in which case I assure you we\u2019d do everything possible to assist you. Right now we don\u2019t think you should worry. Dr. Carrillo prescribed some oral metamizol to be taken every six hours if the pain recurs.\u201d Dr. Guerrera fished out a small bottle from his pocket and gave it to Isidro. \u201cHave a good day, comrades,\u201d he added, and left.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet it go, Isi,\u201d the old man said.<\/p>\n
Isidro watched the doctor disappear beyond the door. The short-haired nurse smiled at him and mouthed, \u201cHe\u2019ll be fine.\u201d<\/p>\n
Isidro felt his father\u2019s hand on his shoulder. The old man\u2019s grip caused a rippling shudder to settle in Isidro\u2019s chest.<\/p>\n
\u201cIsi, let it go,\u201d the old man repeated.<\/p>\n
Isidro stored the medicine bottle in his right pocket. \u201cLet\u2019s head home.\u201d<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
Outside, the wheelbarrow was resting handles-up against the wall. Isidro placed it down and gave it a quick push and tug, to check that it still worked. The old man, limping behind him, asked if he should help.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re funny,\u201d Isidro said. \u201cHop in.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m walking,\u201d his father said.<\/p>\n
\u201cSure. Better yet, why don\u2019t you sprint there? Come on, I need to return this wheelbarrow to Donato. I\u2019m sure if he realizes someone took it he\u2019ll be knocking on everyone\u2019s door.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m telling you I can make it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re not doing this,\u201d Isidro said. \u201cGet in, please.\u201d<\/p>\n
The old man walked to the side of the wheelbarrow and sat inside the tray, this time facing the front. \u201cDo you think the flooding is gone?\u201d \u201cI\u2019m sure it\u2019s not like Venice anymore,\u201d Isidro said, shoving the cart. \u201cThis country\u2019s nothing like Italy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThis country\u2019s nothing like any other country.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow bad was the rain?\u201d the old man said.<\/p>\n
\u201cBad enough for a building or two to come crumbling down.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAs long as we still have a roof.\u201d<\/p>\n
Isidro paced himself as he rolled the wheelbarrow across the neighborhoods. The sun was tearing through a few remnant clouds. Children were running in the streets, shirtless and barefooted. They splashed their feet in small puddles, dug their hands into mud and threw it at each other. Some stared at Isidro and the old man longingly, wishing they too had a homemade wheelbarrow to launch themselves down a hill or ram it against some bushes.<\/p>\n
Glancing at the children, Isidro thought about the short-haired nurse, about what she had said before they walked out. He suddenly realized why she felt so familiar. She reminded him of his mother, a peasant woman his father had met in Santiago de Cuba, the city where the old man had grown up. His mother had a way of saying things without uttering them, as if it were a secret between them, as if she didn\u2019t want anyone else to hear. She\u2019d done it on his first day of school, and a couple of years later when he\u2019d constructed a necklace out of seashells and a piece of thread. The exact words he couldn\u2019t remember, but they\u2019d been reassuring.<\/p>\n
He thought about how his parents had gotten along, about the silence at the dinner table, about the silence in general. His mother didn\u2019t whisper or mouth words to him then. Instead she spent many nights sewing and mending clothes while his father took extra shifts at the docks. By the time he turned fifteen, Isidro wasn\u2019t around the house much except to eat and sleep. On a Friday night, his mother fled back to her hometown with another man. She claimed in a note she\u2019d left that she was more a prisoner than a wife and mother in Havana. She died six months later when her kerosene burner blew up and ignited the wooden house she and her new boyfriend were living in.<\/p>\n
Isidro had sent her a handful of unanswered letters, asking if he could go live with her, or at least visit, or talk to her on the phone. In the last letter he asked outright why she had abandoned him\u2014and in a bout of anger even included some Santer\u00eda references he\u2019d picked up from his father\u2014telling her that he cursed her and hoped to never see her again. Isidro couldn\u2019t recall many details of the funeral. If anyone were to ask him why, he would have said it was his way of coping. He did remember fearing that his Santer\u00eda curses had actually worked. The old man told him, on the sultry train ride back home after the burial, that at heart his mother was a good woman. \u201cShe just picked up a lot of bad energy from me,\u201d he said. \u201cDon\u2019t blame her or yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n
Isidro hadn\u2019t blamed anyone, but now he wondered whether he\u2019d been more afraid than dismissive toward his family\u2019s beliefs.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
As they neared their block, the streets became smaller and the puddles larger. The pavement was still damp from the flood. Heaps of trash and debris had accumulated in the gutters and on the sidewalks, at the base of trees and street signs. The dilapidated stone buildings on either side reeked of mold. Isidro\u2019s shoes squished every few steps. Above him, white sheets hung from balconies and clotheslines like festival banners.<\/p>\n
\u201cI need to apologize to Mrs. Benitez,\u201d Isidro said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI ran from her home after I used her phone. It was disrespectful.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sure she\u2019ll forgive you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI hope so. I need to use the phone again.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat for?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m going to call Aunt Nena.\u201d<\/p>\n
The old man stayed silent for a moment. Then he said, \u201cYou shouldn\u2019t bother
\nher.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m going to take you to see her,\u201d Isidro said. \u201cYou know, to see the family.\u201d His father grinned.\u00a0\u201cBabal\u00fa Ay\u00e9!\u201d<\/em> He reshuffled his body so he could lean his head back. \u201cI\u2019m going to mock that bastard,\u201d he said slowly, as if taking delight in the fact.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sure you will,\u201d Isidro said, and made a wide turn to avoid a pile of empty crates scattered on the road.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n —<\/p>\n “Possessed” was originally published in Collier\u2019s.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Dariel Suarez was born in Havana, Cuba, where he lived until 1997. He graduated from the MFA program in Creative Writing at Boston University in 2012 and will be teaching creative writing in BU\u2019s Metropolitan College this fall. Dariel\u2019s writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Gargoyle, SmokeLong Quarterly, The 2River View, Versal, The Coachella […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3755,"featured_media":0,"parent":522,"menu_order":17,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/692"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3755"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=692"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/692\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":708,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/692\/revisions\/708"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/522"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=692"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}