"Hola, Quique."

"Hola, Sofía. ¿Cómo estás?"

"Eh, estoy. . . bien." Soy un mentirosa peore. No estoy bien. Especialmente cuando yo estoy hablando con Quique. ¿Lo sabes, Quique? Probablemente no. "Y tú?"

"Oh, cansado un poco, pero bien."

"Uh, bien, yo…guess." I give an awkward smile, but keep talking. "¿Cómo fue el fin de semana?" Do I care? More than you know. That is, assuming you know. You can be a little oblivious sometimes.

"¡Muy divertido!"


"Porque yo ví Lydia. ¿Recuerde Lydia?" Ooooohhh yeah. Recuerdo Lydia. Once you start talking about her, you don't stop for a long time. . .

"Sí, ella vive en…somewhere en route a Milwaukee, verdad?"

"Sí. Fuemos. . . er. . . fishing."

"Hm" What does one say to that? Nothing right now. Is my face green yet? Should I ask to go check?

"Sí. Fue muy divertido."

"Well. . . bien. Soy. . . estoy. . . tengo. . .? alegría? Is that what I mean?

You laugh, probably because you don't know. Oh, I'm right. "¡No sé!"

Señorita Hoffman clears her throat. "¡Buenos Días! ¿Cómo están, ustedes?"

"Wish I could have come," I hush, because I don't know how to say this in Spanish. "Haven't gone fishing in ages!"

"Maybe next time," you say, but I know you don't mean it. I can see it in your eyes. Why bother to do that to me? You could have just shut up and let Señorita Hoffman talk, but no. Do you now it would make my d—no, LIFE? I open my mouth to say something, but am interrupted.

"¡Sofía, Quique! ¿Están hablando en español? Español SOLAMENTE!"

ERGH! Just when I was close to maybe getting somewhere possibly close to doing something with this guy, I'm foiled again. C'est la vie.