Thursday, June 02, 2016


She got on the phone and started talking to somebody in Spanish.  I could make out the pitch and inflections of the voice on the other end.  It was a man’s voice, also Spanish.  Not her brother, either. 

She was doing a good job;  she chose words which weren’t obvious.  But Spanish is like French, you know.  Even big words, carefully chosen, sound the same.

I’m not that dumb, you know.  I’m just a slab of meat, sitting on the edge of a bed with a stone face.

She hung-up the phone.

“Sorry, that was a friend. I had to call him.

“He’s upset.

“You understand.”

“Sure I do… let’s go to sleep, I’m tired.”

I was gone before she was awake.

I put the room charges on my Visa; the call had been local.

I got in my car, turned on the heater, and chugged coffee.  I beat the morning traffic by over an hour. 

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