“You have to climb the wall,” Josue said. Rosa nodded, but David and I were in the dark. Josue explained that in Mexico, a tall wall marked the perimeter of his and his neighbors’ yards. “My parents told me not to climb it, that I would fall.”
“Did you?” I asked.
“Sure, of course,” he said.
“I fell down, a lot of times, and got hurt. But I keep trying until I become an expert and jump the wall backward and all these kinds of things. See, if you touched that, you were going to suffer and say, ‘Oh, you were right, Josue,’ but you do it anyway, you need to climb the wall by yourself. Funny thing is, at the end, you try to pass the same thing. You say, ‘Don’t do it, because it’s going to happen to you’ — you try to protect others, but some, like you, will climb the wall anyway.”
“You know, that reminds me,” I said. “I recently heard that it’s, like, practically impossible for someone to eat a teaspoon of cinnamon. It sounds ridiculous. David, don’t look at me like that.” Rosa’s big brown eyes grew wider. “You guys have some cinnamon here...right, Josue? Ever try it?”