
Mexican Goodbyes
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Excerpt
Hector stood outside the metal door of his father’s studio as if he were bolted into place, twisting a stray lock of hair around his index finger, a nervous habit since his teen years. He smoothed out his eyebrows, massaged the skin beneath his eyes, felt the cut of his cheekbone. He told himself to stop stalling: Díaz would arrive at two, bringing all of the world’s possibility with him, and there was so much to do before then. Yet the bag of pastries from the corner panadería hung like an anchor from his left hand and the studio key was cemented in his pocket. A low droning came from the other side of the door, like a heavy ship rumbling in its berth. Outside the building, several trash cans had been upended, and dingy pigeons were flocking the sidewalk. He had tried to shoo them away, but they kept coming back.
He hauled out the studio key and shoved it into the lock. And that’s when he felt it, this time at the base of his neck. The same thing he had felt in bed that morning, and yesterday, in the shower, and a dozen years ago in A.P. Biology class. The blood cells swollen and bloated. Changed. Once again, he was on the edge of a dock, looking down at the dark, churning water.
He would make an appointment. He would do it today.
But Díaz. This visit. It had to go well.
Dino Enrique Piacentini
Dino Enrique Piacentini’s stories and essays have appeared in Pembroke, Gulf Coast, Confrontation, The Masters’ Review, The Atticus Review, The Globe & Mail, and The Massachusetts Review, among other places. His debut novel, Invasion of the Daffodils, about a Mexican-American family living on an island off the coast of California during the Korean War, was just published by Astrophil Press in October 2024. Currently, he lives in Denver, where he teaches creative writing at the University of Denver’s University College and Lighthouse Writers Workshop. Before becoming a writer, he worked at various visual arts organizations throughout San Francisco, including Galería de la Raza, Yerba Buena Center, and The Mexican Museum.
Patrick Ryan on “Mexican Goodbyes”
Lucero is an elderly painter who’s had some success in his life but is reluctant to sell his largest and most personal painting. Hector is the devoted son worried about his father’s finances. He ‘s scheduled an appointment at his father’s studio with an art collector and potential buyer named Felipe. “Mexican Goodbyes,” by Dino Enrique Piacentini, opens just as Felipe is about to knock on the studio door.
One of the things I love about this story is its affirmation of the power of art. Lucero’s masterpiece depicts a tender moment from the past involving Hector and his long-dead birthfather, Rudy—who was also Lucero’s lover. The painting has a different emotional impact for father and son, but also for Felipe, the potential buyer. The more Felipe looks at the painting, the more he’s drawn not just into the artist’s (and Hector’s) past, but his own.
The painting in this story functions almost like a silent character. Rudy is another silent character—a presence felt not in a ghostly way, but in the way that our memories of the dead become a tangible, living part of us. While the perspective moves from person to person, the narrative that unfolds is complex, intimate, and incredibly moving. I invite you to spend an afternoon in Lucero’s studio as you experience the many layers of “Mexican Goodbyes.”
Q&A by Patrick Ryan
- PR: Where did you get the idea for this story?
- DEP: I lived in San Francisco for about 20 years and while there I worked in the visual arts, at galleries and a few museums, including Galería de la Raza and The Mexican Museum, two Chicane art organizations. It’s such an interesting realm, the art world. Complex and profound and also a bit problematic, since so many works of art—like Lucero’s easel paintings—are unique objects only affordable to people with significant wealth. For a long time, I had the idea of writing a story about an artist and a collector, thinking the story would ask a lot of questions about art as a commodity. But, as usually happens, when I started writing, the story had other ideas about what it wanted to be.
- PR: How long did it take you to finish a draft you were happy with?
- DEP: I was actually pretty happy with the first draft, even though I knew I would, as always, have to revise it many times. The structure, with the alternating viewpoints, was there from the start, as were the basic story elements. That’s a lot for me. It’s funny, I actually took a different tack than normal when writing the first draft. Usually, I compose my first drafts on my laptop, but I had read an essay by Alexander Chee where he talked about the value of writing a first draft by hand, so I decided to try it. It slowed me down a lot—holding a pen for so long, my hand would cramp!—but I think all that slowing down, all that time spent gazing out the window while shaking out my hand—well, it turned out to be a good thing.
- PR: There are layers of backstory in “Mexican Goodbyes” that add much to the emotional impact of the story, and yet they don’t really read to me as flashbacks. It’s more like the past is living with Lucero and Hector—conjured by Lucero’s painting. Did you have their history worked out before you began, or did you come up with it as you drafted?
- DEP: I knew a tiny bit about Lucero and Hector’s backstory before I started writing, but nothing about Felipe. Actually, the one thing that was very clear in my head was Lucero’s painting—I had in mind John Valadez’s incredible painting “Pool Party” as well as the layout of my grandmother’s kitchen—and then, Lucero’s painting acted as a very sketchily drawn map for me, guiding me to the characters’ histories. A great painting can do that—it can hit different people in different ways, call up buried treasure. It does that for Felipe. I remember when I was working at The Mexican Museum and we were hosting an exhibition of Jesús Helguera’s paintings. Helguera painted these highly romanticized images of Mexico’s past, images that were featured in countless calendarios which, as in Lucero’s painting, adorned—and still adorn—countless Chicane homes. Anyway, I was walking a corporate sponsor through the exhibition—he was wearing this dark, conservative, banker’s suit and a dark, conservative, banker’s tie. But he was a Chicano guy, and he was absolutely lit up seeing these images hanging on a museum’s walls, these images from his childhood and youth. He was so visibly moved. That moment stamped itself in my mind. It was an affirmation for him and for his culture, but it was something else as well. I remember wondering about the memories he was being drawn back to, speculating about the people, the situations, and yes, the losses, that were running through his head.
- PR: Were you at all tempted to write more about their history? Rudy is a phantom in the story, but he’s also a strong, felt presence in both Lucero’s and Hector’s minds and hearts. I would imagine it was hard to resist not writing more about him.
- DEP: It’s funny, but Rudy felt so clear in my head that I didn’t need to write more about him. He was already this strong presence within me. I’ve been lucky enough to have had some very loving, caring people in my life, and they served, I suppose, as source material. I have also lost some of these people way too early, and also lived in San Francisco during the height of the AIDS crisis. All of this went into Rudy.
- PR: One of the things I found refreshing about the story is that it focuses on three characters undergoing an experience, and all three characters are kind and well-intentioned individuals. It’s a story without a villain. (Unless illness is the villain.) Were you aware of that as you drafted, and, if so, was it important to you?
- DEP: It’s funny, but when I’m writing my characters I don’t really think about that kind of thing. Is this character a villain or a hero? Are they well- or ill-intentioned? Those questions aren’t super interesting to me, and they don’t help me as a writer. I mostly try to understand and feel out my characters’ motivations. For example, in my debut novel Invasion of the Daffodils (which just came out last fall) there are characters who, unlike the characters in “Mexican Goodbyes,” can probably be considered pretty problematic. They do some rotten things. But they don’t do these things just to be rotten. They have their reasons. And sometimes these reasons are very powerful. Heartbreaking even.
- PR: Do you think you’ll write more stories about these characters? I’m imagining how interesting a story about Rudy’s arrival would be, a story that shows the budding romance with a kid (Hector) as part of the picture from the get-go…?
- DEP: Perhaps. I hadn’t actually thought about it, to be honest. I do love all these characters. Look at you! Putting ideas in my head!
- PR: What are you currently working on?
- DEP: Two projects, really. I’m working on a collection of stories, with “Mexican Goodbyes” being one of these stories. Many of these stories include speculative elements, and in all of them, the non-human world—birds, beasts, flowers—inserts itself in odd and hopefully unexpected ways. I’m also doing research for my next novel, which launches with the Great Lisbon Earthquake of 1755 and then gets nutty from there.
- PR: What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
- DEP: In my very first workshop in grad school, my professor, the wonderful writer Alex Parsons, told me: Don’t just pile up the wood and pour gasoline on the woodpile and hover over it all with a lit match. Drop the damn match. Make your characters act—and make those actions irreversible.