The onions, cut up and immersed in water and salt, fine salt, to remove any acidity. On a low flame, and for one hour, simmer the onions with the carrots and the celery, and after forty minutes add the meat (whatever piece of meat, any piece of meat, but it should be red), add a drop of wine (red), let it evaporate, add another pinch of salt, extra virgin olive oil, stir it, cover it, always on a low flame. Remove the lid, stirring until it becomes something new, and after a while, or after three hours, it is done.

CATCALLS

We tumbled. We held each other. We wore orange and browns, and her box braids were teal. A white car rode by, the wheels something shiny. The rims were something someone had invested in. They yelled from the car and then the white car pulled off. We didn’t know what the man had hoped to threaten. We ignored it all; we scratched each other’s scalps.

On the stoop, we waited for the dishwasher to complete its cycle. We counted each other’s stretch marks. The rain clouds were coming close and the temperature was dipping down. We wore masks made of each other’s faces. No one noticed this change—our families hadn’t noticed and the man in the white car hadn’t noticed.

The grass came up high and needed to be cut. The weeds were everywhere. A blue bicycle lay on its side. We wore gold jewelry around our necks. We wore gloves that came to our upper arms. It was the end of summer; we wore long-sleeve see-through dresses, or sleeveless white dresses that came up to our necks, orange and brown dresses. Our bodies were mostly covered.

Everyone stopped to look at us—at our attire, at our hair, and at the way we tumbled into one another. No one looked at our masked faces; our masked faces were identical to our mothers’ faces. If someone spoke to us we didn’t stop what we were doing, we didn’t care to show respect or a sign of listening. As soon as the catcalls were gone we were at it again, wrestling or sitting still.

The rough steps hurt our legs. We talked it through and decided to move, to go for a walk around the block. We went as we were. People catcalled us as we made our way around the block. It took us time to navigate through all the people in the street and all the objects in the street. We navigated these threats, these solicitations, these jokes, the chatter. We smiled at some men because they seemed violent, and we were quiet with men who seemed only to be joking. I’m joking, they told us, and we took them at their word.