The Airport

Picture taken by Chiqui from the book "Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs" by Chuck Klosterman

I - Genesis

The first time she saw him, was when she felt a shadow looking over her shoulder, like someone who just bends over to get the scent of a flower’s perfume or someone who wants to listen to the details of an accidentally funny conversation.

She was chatting vigorously and suddenly pausing while entertaining the people surrounding her. He couldn’t understand what she was talking about. It was certainly not his language. He went back to the bar, bought another beer without taking his eyes from that little crowd, looked around, took two big sips and sat in the stool behind hers.

She noticed him, not only because she felt his grey eyes burning a hole on her neck on his first attempt, but also because her friends giggled when they realized he was pushing his head back to try to listen to their conversation (or at least that’s what she claims)

She turned around and asked him “do you speak Spanish?”

He said “No; are you Spanish?”

Her friends all smiled and headed to the bar.

“No” – she replied.
“Latina?” -  He insisted with a grin that covered his whole face.
She muted, took a sip of her wine and with a little smile shook her head.
“Were you speaking Spanish?”
“No” – one more sip.
“Do you speak Spanish at all?”
“Actually...” - short sip joined by a wink - “...not”

“Then why you asked me if I did?”

“I was hoping you could teach me some”

And so it all started. Both laughed when she said she was Rumanian. He said he was Swedish but had been living in Chicago for already 12 years: “another American visitor”, as he used to call himself.

“Usually visitors don’t last longer than 12 months; I guess you really like it here”

“Let me get you a drink and maybe if I’m lucky I’ll get to tell you more about it; merlot?”

“Rioja”

“As in very strong?”

“As in very Spanish”

to be continued
…