Maudlin week part #3: A chance re-encounter, overplayed pop hits, and huaraches.

Mid February of 98 and the wind outside is a wild thing to behold. I’m at the cafeteria with Eliza, who is meeting Iris on the lower floor of the joint. She ponders for a moment what to get, and goes for chilaquiles with salsa verde. I go for the usual, a huarache with pastor meat. As we wait with out trays on our hands, Eliza complains.

“Look at this! We can’t escape her!”

The disposable mats are basically ads for Natalie Imbruglia’s Left of the middle. Eliza groans as the video starts on the television sets connected to the cafeteria’s PA.

“Aw, kill me now!”

I don’t mind it. It’s a well crafted cover of a cover of a cover of a cover. I mention to Eliza that the original is Danish.

“Dan’s grandpa should’ve obliterated the place instead of marching to Russia.”

Dan’s her boyfriend, who she met online. Eliza is off to see him during the easter break and Iris is tagging along, as she is Eliza’s younger sister. I’m a friend of both, but I try to keep quiet a lot of the time when I’m with them, as they do talk a lot and are amusing when they get angry on any minute thing they loathe.

“It’s a cafeteria single” I say to Eliza as the guitar outro starts. God, I love that part. I nod my head towards a couple holding hands, a few booths on the back, their eyesight intertwined, living eternally in the three minutes and change the dang track lasts.

“Fucking kill me”.

“What if Dan likes the song?”

“He only listens to true music.”

“True music?”

“I forgot you like Smashing Pumpkins, Sam, sorry.”

“Oof, point taken”.

We get our food and walk downwards. Iris is eating another low fat, no protein, no calorie salad. She’s paler by the day and I swear to God her allergies and “fat intolerance” are excuses for a major problem she needs help for.

We both tease her with the meat from our plates. Eliza mimics a chicken getting the business knife of a carving knife, I mimic the “squeal like a pig” bit from Deliverance before wolfing the huarache.

“You’re all assholes” Iris sentences, waving her spork around. Because of course, she owns one and it’s personalised with her fucking initials. God, which inner circle of friendship hell did I choose?

“So, Dan’s ready? Just 23 days until easter”

“Yeah, he’s ready. We might make it to another showing of Titanic.”

I scoff and I got eye knives from Eliza.

“What?”

“How many times?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“How many times have you seen it?”

“This would be the fifteen, but it’s the first one with Dan.”

“So you tolerate Celine Dion, but you are fed up with Natalie Imbruglia”

“Yes. Problem?”

Eliza’s fuse is real short. She’s usually an extremely amiable person, so the few times she starts to scowl is when you really need to tone it down, even if it’s teasing.

“No, that’s fine. Who am I to say? I’m rewatching Hard Rain again.”

“Oh, the one with Jack Nicholson’s nephew?” Iris interjects.

“He is?” I wish I had a computer on hand to check on IMDB or any BBS.

“Like, yeah, look at the guy. It’s like Michael Keaton too. Those eyebrows are either a genetics experiment or they are all hollywood nepotism”.

“I’ll take the second option, Iris.”

I’m ready to take another bite from my huarache when this woman dressed in loose fitting clothes comes down. She’s got raven black hair, glasses and a look I can’t decipher. She sits on the table in front of us, stares for a few moments, and then she goes up.

“The fuck was that?” I ask as the piece of huarache on my fork precipitates.

“Stay away” Eliza says, with the angriest of voices I’ve ever heard in my life.

“Why?”

“Don’t ask. Just stay away.” Iris joins with also a stern tone.

“She owes ya money or donuts?” I ask, trying to break the tension. They both glare at me, and I keep eating.

Strange, her face is very familiar, but I can’t place neither a time or place. Torn starts again, and we go back to dumb jokes and pithy observations about James Horner’s piano work on Titanic.

(to be continued)

-Sam J. Valdés López