5. el diablito: el colmo
by jennifer
2. la borrachera and slutting accident
3. la borrachera sigue
4. la cruda
i am mildly suprised when alejandro calls the next night at exactly 8PM.
we exchange hello-how-are-yous, and polite small talk for a few minutes before he asks me if i want to go get a beer somewhere.
"i can't tonight. i have a ton of stuff to do for work tomorrow."
he tries to persuade me, but i am firm. tell him that tomorrow night would be better.
he agrees. tomorrow night. "i work until 7PM tomorrow," he says. "i'll give you a call when i get out of work, ok?"
OK.
7:13PM the next night, he calls. tells me that he'll be over within the half hour.
i wear a black, racer back top paired with worn blue jeans. chandelier earrings and chanclas.
he sits with my roommate while i finish makeuping.
when i emerge, i am disappointed to see him wearing an old white t-shirt and khaki shorts. still, the white of his shirt accentuates his tanned and tatooed arms, and his light brown eyes flash yellow in the soft light of the living room.
we leave my apartment slightly awkward in our sobriety.
"ni saludas!" i tease him.
"oh," he says, almost embarrassed, and leans over to kiss me on the cheek.
as we walk toward alejandro's jeep, i realize that he's brought his dog. with a white coat spotted brown and yellow eyes, i can't help but notice the similarities between dog and owner. alejandro introduces the dog to me as güero.
not even a block from my house, alejandro pulls over to a corner liquor store to buy cigarettes.
"do you smoke?" as he lights his cigarettes and blows smoke out the open driver side window.
"no." and almost feel like i should.
he takes me to a bar where we sit outside at a picnic table with güero at our feet. rowdy strangers frequently stop to admire his dog.
when he takes out his ID to buy the first round of beers, i notice that his official name is "alex," not "alejandro."
i ask him to explain the tatooes on his arms. he talks about their symbolism. in his old life, he used to get into a lot of non-specific "trouble;" that cycle was completed. he recounts that he has worked with former gang members, tutored inner-city youth. that he currently works at a center that helps refugees.
i sip a single beer slowly, determined to remain sober even as i am increasingly impressed, while he returns a few times to the bar for refills.
our conversation reveals his knowledge of marxist social movements in south america. liberation movements. peoples' power. i think about how i've read those theories, but know little to nothing about the practice.
he tells me about his family in california, his brothers and sisters who are married with children. he is only 30-something! too young to be married with kids.
i don't remember what i say about myself.
after the evening has stretched on for a while, he tells me that he has to work the following day. we help güero into the car and are on our way back to my house.
he walks me to my door, kisses me on the cheek nad begins to walk away.
i am stunned. what happened? did i bore him? did i stumble into some bad light? am i not as appealing when i am sober?
"hey!" i say to his retreating figure. "come here."
he returns obediently, and i kiss him. we kiss under the yellow porch light for a while.
"i better go," he says.
i let him go. he says he'll call.
a week later, tired of the mocking silence of my cell phone, i decide to change my phone number.
***
months later, we run into each other at a coffeeshop. he is infuriatingly still sexy. tells me that he's been accepted to graduate school out of state. smart and sexy. i feign disinterest, but call him a week later, ostensibly to congratulate him. i am wrong to call him beause i now have a boyfriend, a nice guy. no tatooes. no talk of marxist revolutions.
alejandro tells me he is "glad" that i called. he had been thinking about me, but had no idea how to get a hold of me.
"let's go get a beer," he suggests.
"tonight?"
"yeah."
"no, no. i'm already ready for bed," i say feeling the mounting guilt of having called him in the first place.
"so what? you don't have to work tomorrow."
"some other time."
fine.
then one evening, weeks later, he calls again.
"hey it's me," he tells my answering machine, assuming that i will know who it is. "call me when you get this message. i thought we could grab a beer or something tonight."
i am utterly tempted. it would just be a beer, i tell myself. all these months later. just a beer? i have too much to prove. i am secretly looking for redemption.
i call a friend. she talks me down from the ledge.
i never return his call.
1. el encuentro
2. la borrachera and slutting accident
3. la borrachera sigue
4. la cruda
i am mildly suprised when alejandro calls the next night at exactly 8PM.
we exchange hello-how-are-yous, and polite small talk for a few minutes before he asks me if i want to go get a beer somewhere.
"i can't tonight. i have a ton of stuff to do for work tomorrow."
he tries to persuade me, but i am firm. tell him that tomorrow night would be better.
he agrees. tomorrow night. "i work until 7PM tomorrow," he says. "i'll give you a call when i get out of work, ok?"
OK.
7:13PM the next night, he calls. tells me that he'll be over within the half hour.
i wear a black, racer back top paired with worn blue jeans. chandelier earrings and chanclas.
he sits with my roommate while i finish makeuping.
when i emerge, i am disappointed to see him wearing an old white t-shirt and khaki shorts. still, the white of his shirt accentuates his tanned and tatooed arms, and his light brown eyes flash yellow in the soft light of the living room.
we leave my apartment slightly awkward in our sobriety.
"ni saludas!" i tease him.
"oh," he says, almost embarrassed, and leans over to kiss me on the cheek.
as we walk toward alejandro's jeep, i realize that he's brought his dog. with a white coat spotted brown and yellow eyes, i can't help but notice the similarities between dog and owner. alejandro introduces the dog to me as güero.
not even a block from my house, alejandro pulls over to a corner liquor store to buy cigarettes.
"do you smoke?" as he lights his cigarettes and blows smoke out the open driver side window.
"no." and almost feel like i should.
he takes me to a bar where we sit outside at a picnic table with güero at our feet. rowdy strangers frequently stop to admire his dog.
when he takes out his ID to buy the first round of beers, i notice that his official name is "alex," not "alejandro."
i ask him to explain the tatooes on his arms. he talks about their symbolism. in his old life, he used to get into a lot of non-specific "trouble;" that cycle was completed. he recounts that he has worked with former gang members, tutored inner-city youth. that he currently works at a center that helps refugees.
i sip a single beer slowly, determined to remain sober even as i am increasingly impressed, while he returns a few times to the bar for refills.
our conversation reveals his knowledge of marxist social movements in south america. liberation movements. peoples' power. i think about how i've read those theories, but know little to nothing about the practice.
he tells me about his family in california, his brothers and sisters who are married with children. he is only 30-something! too young to be married with kids.
i don't remember what i say about myself.
after the evening has stretched on for a while, he tells me that he has to work the following day. we help güero into the car and are on our way back to my house.
he walks me to my door, kisses me on the cheek nad begins to walk away.
i am stunned. what happened? did i bore him? did i stumble into some bad light? am i not as appealing when i am sober?
"hey!" i say to his retreating figure. "come here."
he returns obediently, and i kiss him. we kiss under the yellow porch light for a while.
"i better go," he says.
i let him go. he says he'll call.
a week later, tired of the mocking silence of my cell phone, i decide to change my phone number.
months later, we run into each other at a coffeeshop. he is infuriatingly still sexy. tells me that he's been accepted to graduate school out of state. smart and sexy. i feign disinterest, but call him a week later, ostensibly to congratulate him. i am wrong to call him beause i now have a boyfriend, a nice guy. no tatooes. no talk of marxist revolutions.
alejandro tells me he is "glad" that i called. he had been thinking about me, but had no idea how to get a hold of me.
"let's go get a beer," he suggests.
"tonight?"
"yeah."
"no, no. i'm already ready for bed," i say feeling the mounting guilt of having called him in the first place.
"so what? you don't have to work tomorrow."
"some other time."
fine.
then one evening, weeks later, he calls again.
"hey it's me," he tells my answering machine, assuming that i will know who it is. "call me when you get this message. i thought we could grab a beer or something tonight."
i am utterly tempted. it would just be a beer, i tell myself. all these months later. just a beer? i have too much to prove. i am secretly looking for redemption.
i call a friend. she talks me down from the ledge.
i never return his call.
posted @ 11:29 AM
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