Juan Fernando Villagómez
Juan Fernando Villagómez is a writer from Houston, TX. His work has appeared in Texas Monthly, American Short Fiction, The Cincinnati Review, The Acentos Review and Ghost City Press. His writing has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and has received support from the James A. Michener Center for Writers, the Community of Writers, the Willapa Bay Artist Residency, the Macondo Workshop, and the Community of Writers at Olympic Valley. He received a Tennessee Williams Scholarship in Fiction for the Sewanee Writers Conference. He holds an MFA in fiction from the University of Texas in Austin. He lives with his dog, Abba and two cats, Brick and Ghost. Find him on Instagram @ghostbrick_jfv and visit him online at https://www.juanfernandovillagomez.com.
Excerpt from Juan's short fiction piece “The Dog Had Ate the Hand”, published in Texas Monthly
The streetlamps were flickering in the dark when Lucas finally stumbled his way through the junior high parking lot and found Jose’s junk shop. He stared at the hacksaw Jose put in his hand. “This’ll cut copper?”
“Shit,” Jose said, bending the brim of his old Oilers cap. “It’ll cut through bone with a little effort.”
The sound of music floated from down the street on the balmy nighttime air as Lucas staggered out of the shop, miniature saw in hand, following a yellow glow to a house near the corner of Maltby and Navigation. He stuffed the saw into his waistband and covered the handle with his shirt before approaching the crowd. They were holding hands and praying. Candles lined the fence, along with marigolds, roses, and bougainvillea branches with purple flowers. Notes were tucked into the chain-link, and two children held a poster board with a big red heart crayoned on it. “We ♥ you Ms. Puente,” it read.
As Lucas watched, the crowd grew and spilled into the street and onto the lawns of nearby houses.
“Amor Eterno” played on a boom box just outside the yellow police line, the twin guitars keeping time underneath the lively exhale of the accordion and the mesmerizing sweep of violins. Juan Gabriel’s voice cracked over the steadiness of the orchestra, his pain shaking loose at the chorus, speaking for the speechless crowd.
Someone touched Lucas’s elbow. He whipped his head around. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
It was señora Candy holding a plate of pan dulce and a coffee cup. “Take a concha and pray a little.”
When the song ended, señora Candy took his hand and an old man came in close and took the other. Doña Lourdes, who owned the bakery, stood at the front of the crowd and led the prayer, fanning herself every now and then with a paper plate.
“Santa Maria, Madre de Dios,” Lucas said. But he never learned to say the rest, so he just moved his lips.
The streetlamps were flickering in the dark when Lucas finally stumbled his way through the junior high parking lot and found Jose’s junk shop. He stared at the hacksaw Jose put in his hand. “This’ll cut copper?”
“Shit,” Jose said, bending the brim of his old Oilers cap. “It’ll cut through bone with a little effort.”
The sound of music floated from down the street on the balmy nighttime air as Lucas staggered out of the shop, miniature saw in hand, following a yellow glow to a house near the corner of Maltby and Navigation. He stuffed the saw into his waistband and covered the handle with his shirt before approaching the crowd. They were holding hands and praying. Candles lined the fence, along with marigolds, roses, and bougainvillea branches with purple flowers. Notes were tucked into the chain-link, and two children held a poster board with a big red heart crayoned on it. “We ♥ you Ms. Puente,” it read.
As Lucas watched, the crowd grew and spilled into the street and onto the lawns of nearby houses.
“Amor Eterno” played on a boom box just outside the yellow police line, the twin guitars keeping time underneath the lively exhale of the accordion and the mesmerizing sweep of violins. Juan Gabriel’s voice cracked over the steadiness of the orchestra, his pain shaking loose at the chorus, speaking for the speechless crowd.
Someone touched Lucas’s elbow. He whipped his head around. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
It was señora Candy holding a plate of pan dulce and a coffee cup. “Take a concha and pray a little.”
When the song ended, señora Candy took his hand and an old man came in close and took the other. Doña Lourdes, who owned the bakery, stood at the front of the crowd and led the prayer, fanning herself every now and then with a paper plate.
“Santa Maria, Madre de Dios,” Lucas said. But he never learned to say the rest, so he just moved his lips.
Recommended Books for New Writers
Deacon King Kong by James McBride
The Art of Fiction by John Gardner
The Particular Sadness of Lemoncake by Aimee Bender
A Good Man is Hard to Find by Flannery O’Connor
Pedro Páramo by Juan Rulfo
Deacon King Kong by James McBride
The Art of Fiction by John Gardner
The Particular Sadness of Lemoncake by Aimee Bender
A Good Man is Hard to Find by Flannery O’Connor
Pedro Páramo by Juan Rulfo