written by Butch Arroyo - 10/17/11
So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.
And ‘round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls,
The garland briefer than a girl’s.
-A. E. Housman, “To an Athlete Dying Young”
Alie, if you don’t already know, is a marvelous cook. Her empanadas alone are worth the lonely nocturnal trip on the Capital Beltway to the Soliven’s where, I imagine, the neighbors are periodically puzzled at the sudden appearance of a fleet of cars in their front lot at three in the morning—Alie’s and Volt’s, but also mine, Jojo’s, and Biboy’s, and at times, Mon’s and Lia’s. I’ve not asked Dennis if his neighbors have ever pressed him to explain why, exactly, he and Celeste receive visitors at that weird hour. We joke among ourselves: they probably think we’re holding some kind of otherworldly séance, or maybe they think we’re dealing stuff. They might even suspect empanadas. But I am about 95.44% sure that they do not imagine we are all there just for the sole purpose of watching a basketball game. A college basketball game.
