Years back, I hit my head on a diving board. Maria was the lifeguard on duty. She lunged from her chair before I hit the water. The late August sun gleaming overhead, my bloodied noggin resting peacefully on her greased, coconut scented chest, she hurried me to the infirmary with the eagerness of a border crossing, bullet dodging, 6 month pregnant Concho bride with second thoughts. This was 2 weeks after baby Jessica had been rescued from the well. A freshly stouthearted America was heated to extend a hand. I'll never forget Maria leaning over my limp body. Petrified in a state of fear and arousal I looked up toward my hero. She blinked twice, water dripping slowly from her ear lobs and chin, finally whispering, "Me gusta salchichas pelon."