Neighbor

Don Pedro was a lizard we remember from our childhood. For other people, he was an ordinary, run of the mill brown anole lizard, one of millions that scurry around on the grounds of the tropical island we called home.

But Don Pedro was special to us, for his was the only story we remember Mami making up for my sister and I, perhaps so that we would not be frightened by the sneaky reptile whose red dewlap pulsed like a beating heart, as if he had a living lump in the throat.

Mami told us that Don Pedro and his family used as dinner plates the aluminum caps that covered the glass bottles brought by the milk truck back then.

Since Mami told us that Don Pedro had a family like ours, my sister and I entertained ourselves by looking all over for the mate and daughters of our quiet neighbor.

Don Pedro was our neighbor, never our pet. But, once named, he stood out from the rest of the lizards that somehow got into the house, ignoring the borders that humans build with barriers, fences and walls.