The dancing red shoes.......read if you dare

Over at http://mermaidtango.blogspot.com/ she has posted that every Wednesday she is going to post a topic to do some creative writing, and her challenge was to play along.  Well I have always loved to write short stories, so here is mine.  The clues we had to use was coffee grounds, and Ciudad Jurarez. 

The Red Dancing Shoes

It all started with a simple cup of coffee. Now I like coffee that is steaming hot full of flavor and foreign. IN my humble opinion no coffee is worth its grounds if it don’t come from Mexico. Okay that is where I am from a little border town called Ciudad Juarez, Mexico. How did a girl from Ciudad end up in the big bad city of New York it’s a long story so get out that cup of java and sit yourself down…

As I said I grew up in Mexico. My parents were travelling pickers, who liked to call themselves farmers. We would travel looking for work anywhere . Place to place picking anything the gringos wanted. And always praying that our beat up pickup would get us to the next job.. Dad and Mum, and us 12 kids, yes you heard right 12 kids, the more kids the more money you got cause you picked more. We often travelled up to Florida during the picking season to pick oranges and then back to Mexico always trying to stay out of the border patrols way. Well every time we went to the good old USA I learned a little more of what I was missing. Like good food, money in your pocket, clothes on your back. But my dilemma was how to get it. Here I was a 16 year old girl, with no schooling and no money. I did have a few things going for me, good looks, long shiny black hair, a body that could stop a truck on a dime and I knew how to dance. One day while picking out in the fields I stumbled across of buried red dancing shoes., tried them on and of course they fit me perfectly, sounds unbelievable right.

Now the story gets kind of good as I decided to try them out in a Cantina at home.. I put on my faded dress of red, with a low neckline and flounces at the bottom . It used to belong to my mother back in the day she used to dance at the fiesta. So I started off and walked that long dusty path to the Cantina, sauntered up to the bar had a swig of Tequila for my nerves. The band was playing a slow sensuous song about a lost love. My feet hit the floor and they started moving to the rhythm and the beat, my body swayed and shook. It’s as if my body had a rhythm of its own and was taking me away from the dirt, and poverty but to a valley of green, that was always clean and sunny., Before I knew it the song was over, and as I came out of my stupor I noticed that there was a gringo at the door staring at me. He came over and asked if he could buy me a drink, I demurely said coffee, and the rest of the is history