One Viennese coming up
A Viennese is on the way
Mother of God, how do you make so much connection... You know it, I'm sorry, let's go to another room. Where no one, no one can hear us. You can see in my mouth that I don't want to talk. Because since you're here. Here close to me. That you're my baby. That memory of having you without clothes that won't let me sleep...
My friends usually make a sour face when I sing. It is clear that they are incapable of admiring talent. Oh, cruel life, under your sad dichotomies we are shipwrecked souls full of artistic potential. If they knew that in fourth grade the music teacher gave me a medal for bravery, they would surely erase their mocking smile. Yes, for courage. I remember wanting to complain about the mistake, but grandma To?i said it was because if they gave me the medal for the best voice the other children would feel sad. Normal. They envied my great talent. I have always believed that music is one of the best consolations we women have.
That you fall in love: a slow one .
Getting cheated on by the busty slut: one of crying on repeat and every eight hours .
That you have to stay up all night working: Latin pop .
Because since you're hereiiiiiii! Here near meiiiiiii. That you are my babyyyyyyyy. That memory of having you without clothes that keeps me awake.... Let's kiss la-no-che-che-en-te-ra....
-But... -A hand removes my right helmet at the right moment of my main sharp.
Earth to me. How are my hairs? Did she hear me? I'm sure he did. Will he think I'm barking instead of singing? No, I'm sure I'm not. This morning I woke up a little bit cold and that stifles my immense potential a little bit.
-I said for the third time, "Would you like some coffee? Blake holds out a clear mug I bought at Ikea at a bargain price.
Coffee? Why is he offering it to me? Is it the start of something? What a look! Noooo! I'm wearing my mouse pajamas. Is he smiling? Is he angry? It has to be a smile. If he was mad at my plush pajamas he wouldn't hand me a delicious steaming Americano. Sofia focus! He's your roommate. He sleeps in the room next to yours. It's only natural he'd offer you coffee. This guy plays in the big leagues and you don't get to be a backup.
-?Y? -he says, holding out his hand.
-I accept. I mean I do. I say yes. I mean that... Aying.
-All yours.
The coffee or him? I laugh with myself. Not true, I laugh at myself. Sometimes I think that if life were a Big Brother with millions of sidereal tape recorders recording our thoughts, I would be expelled with a direct ticket to the North Pole. Far away and close to the seals. In the North are they seals or penguins? I smile at him gently. I have plenty of experience in education for embarrassing moments. I take off my second helmet. Or at least I try to. Unhooking the left side of the earring is mission impossible.
-I'm not going back to buying jewelry from the local Chinese guy!
-Wait. I don't want you to hurt yourself. His hand brushes my ear, and the heat rises in my legs.
If I could turn and look into his eyes our noses would rub together in a beat of romantic music. Then a kiss on the lips and magic! Married with five children, a long-eared dog and a spoiled kitten. I once read on mujerespoderosasydeshinividas.com that we can kick things off. They even gave tips in a bunch of short YouTube videos. Laura bought three notebooks with their unicorn head pens to take notes. And since we were raised on the politics of effort we not only paid attention, but also did summaries. The main rule they always talk about in their Throw Yourself In You Can course was.
OSADIA .
Observe
Smile
Analyze
Awakening Interest
Attack
The theory wasn't bad at all, but the implementation turned out to be something very different. Laura ended up in therapy sessions trying to find the reason for her burning need to watch every blond guy she came across. Karina got a restraining order for indiscriminately attacking the guys in the weight room. And I was forced to buy ten sessions of kinesiology to cure the contractures in my face from so much smiling. I remember that Anthony laughed for a whole week, although the bad friend refused to share with me the offer of the subscription at Tuyalamalakara.com .
-I got it. You're free," he says with the earring in his hand as a sign of victory. A few days living together and my eyes pop out in the shape of a heart. Can you get any cuter?
-The Chinese - I say trying to exculpate my embarrassment.
-The Chinese?
He told me it was a gold-plated rose. And since nurseries were never my thing, I believed him. Everyone said it was a cactus, but seeing it so reddish convinced me it was a rose. And it's not that I don't like cacti, but I've always believed that roses are the pinnacle of flowers. There's something about them that makes them both earthy and heavenly. Have you noticed? They are so beautiful that they don't need to try hard to be liked. They are always loved. Who would give up a flower?
Blake looks at me with love-struck eyes. Or retarded? I'm leaning towards the second option.
I duck my head. I just put my foot in my mouth up to my knee. When the philosophy of the heart reaches my tongue there is no stopping me. As sensei Anselmo says, if you are going to say stupid things, surrender to silence .
-I know that glow," my voice barely comes out.
-I beg your pardon?
-I say I know that twinkle in the eye. It's the one of contained laughter. The same one my third grade teacher had.
-What did you do?
-I shouted to him from the middle of the class which testicle in the Bible we were supposed to analyze.
-Testicle?
-Children's grammar problems.
-I understand.
-He's still laughing. You can see for yourself. He lives two blocks from here.
Blake laughs at me. Not at me. At me. Same brilliance as the third grade teacher. I was just saying.
I accept the cup. I'm burning! It's burning. I hold on. I wear the shame panel on the winner's podium.
-I waited for you for dinner," he points to the bottle of wine on the counter.
-I'm sorry," I say, totally apologetic, "I got distracted by the introductions and then I wanted to bring these folders home and Anthony thought it would be better to explain to me that....
-I'm not angry. Next time. Do you like music?
-How?
Abrupt theme changes are not my thing.
-I mean, what was it like? Yes. That memory of having you without clothes -she spells without singing-. Maybe instead of a cortado I should have brought you a... Viennese coffee?
-Are you coming?
-Have a good night. Next time don't stand me up.
He left for the room the same way he arrived. Like the shadows. Meanwhile, here I stand, in the middle of the room with my heartbeat riding my doubts. What's with the Viennese coffee? Is it the cinnamon that's an aphrodisiac? Was he upset about dinner? Was he planning to make it to dessert? Fuck! Back to peeling my tongue.
-Which testicle to analyze? -He repeats thoughtfully as he enters his room.
I cover my head with one of the earmuffs of my 100 percent plush supermarket mouse pajamas. Today, and without contradicting the great Raphael, I can assure you that no, it will not be my big night.