>Soylita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Soy-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Soy. Lee. Ta. She was Soy, plain Soy, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Soyla in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Soylores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Soylita.