Chapter ##: Cosas Que No Se Deben Decir
Milenio sat in the cheap plastic chair, the weak legs bending under even her negligible weight. Her arms, sweaty, rested nervously on the Corona branded plastic table. A table bordering on waxy, it was a wonder that it had not yet melted in the sun. The idea amused her. Her chest grew lighter as the frivolous thought distracted her. She almost yelped when someone placed a giant styrofoam cup of horchata in front of her, a splash of off-white liquid hitting the blue surface of the table as the ice inside the cup clinked rhythmically. She looked up and saw that smirking face she had come to love so much.
“You order food yet?” He asked. She shook her head excitedly as he sat down across the table. “I didn’t think you’d be here.” He said, sounding tired. His eyes were closed, his posture relaxed. “Of course! Except for Christmas to New Year’s, I’ve been here for breakfast every Friday.” She beamed proudly. “Just like we used to.” He noted. “Just like we used to.” She agreed. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. My landline is still disconnected.” Her best friend looked guilty for a second. “Oh, shut up. Just tell me all about your big adventure!” She leaned forward eagerly, using her hand to signal the staff to bring the usual.
Their conversation carried on over steaming plates of cochinita. Mercado, he went by his family name even to her, had spent the winter driving trucks in the U.S. He had been driving ever since they got out of high school, about 8 years ago already. But this was his first year driving internationally. “Yeah, I never expected to get that recommendation from Don Chivo,” he started. “But man, they liked me. I think I might take them up every winter.” From just a couple months there he had apparently made way more than he did in a year of work in the country. Although those drives only took him away for a few days at a time, this absence had been eternal. Milenio felt selfish protesting but she still let him know how much she had missed him. He laughed. “Oh come on, you’re fine. You don’t really need me that much.”
Their chatting died down for a minute. Both of them, considerate, made a point to show how much they were enjoying their food. “You can’t find anything like this over there.” Mercado declared. “I don’t think they can get the stoves hot enough to cook something like this in Alaska.” She said, with a giggle. “Oh, I wasn’t in Alaska.” He said dryly. “Oh.” She recoiled slightly. The hint of a smile returned to his face, the icy look had only lasted a second. “Yeah, no, they need the experienced drivers for that so the people who usually cover the midwest routes take over the increased workload and us temps pick up their usual assignments.” He clarified between mouthfuls. He tried to make up for the attitude. “You know, the food is different but still good.” She looked up, interested. He continued, “pasties were my favorite. It’s really just empanadas but the fillings taste very different.” She looked at him, eyes filled with curiosity. “Different how?” She asked. “I’m not even going to try to describe it, I can’t think of anything we have here that’s in any way like what they have there.”
He wiped a bead of sweat off his face. Milenio felt a familiar pang in her stomach. It was always painful to see his index finger. There was nothing wrong with it, but he always kept that finger nail painted. Always the same color. A glittery blue. It clashed with the whole rest of his look. Sturdy jeans, work boots, always a white shirt that started the day pristine and found some way to get inexplicably dirty. She never said anything about it. She respected what it meant to him. Even if it brought her bad memories. Trying to put the thoughts away she changed the topic. “Don’t you want to take off the jacket? It looks super cool but you must be melting!” She exclaimed. He let out a chuckle. “Oh Hell, you’re right.” He stood up for a minute to remove the garment. It was a huge jacket, maybe a size too big for him. “I just got too used to it over there, I put it on on auto-pilot.” He laid it over his chair and sat back down, not before flashing the back to Milenio. It was emblazoned with the logo of his Winter employer. Utani Trucking Company. He was obviously proud of it. Milenio considered for a second that he must have worn it on purpose, just so he could have an excuse to show her. She smiled at the thought. He was always sweet in small ways like that.
They finished their meal and walked over to the nearby bus stop. Their whole working lives they had been fortunate enough to have most Fridays free. While they got together for breakfast, they had an understanding that the rest of the day was for working on their personal projects. She worked on her journalism, while Mercado worked on his sculptures. “Saul…” She called his attention using his first name. He turned from the street to look down at her. She was smiling up at him, her face slightly flush. “Thank you for coming to see me.” Before he could say anything she had her arms around him. She had missed those hugs so much. His arms were always soft, his chest was always warm. Something was wrong. Where there was once comfort and safety, there was now a firm coldness. He felt tense. She could tell, his whole body felt petrified, rough instead of welcoming. It was worse every passing second. Every instant that he didn’t raise his arms to hug her back, she felt farther and farther away from him. When she let go the bare inches of pavement between them spanned galaxies.
There is something very reassuring about seeing your reflection in the eyes of someone who loves you. For as long as she had known him, Milenio had always been able to find a bright glimmer in his eyes when he looked at her. She could see her own light in them. This time they were burning a hole through her, staring at the emptiness behind her. She was right in front of him, and still, she could tell he could not see her.
“No. You can’t touch me anymore.” His words were heavy, like lead anchors, firmly grounding them both back into reality. “Please, don’t touch me again.” He said. She fought back tears. She had no right to cry. She knew that much. Her apology was cut off by his departure. “See you next week.” He said as he walked away. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look sad. That was the scariest part. He didn’t look like he was alive. She had done that to him. And she had just made it worse. She hadn’t thought about it. In her mind she was back in those days when it was them against the world. Those times had been longer. They had lasted years. Why did just a few months have to ruin that?
She was left alone by the bus sign. She had felt invisible moments before, and now she was exposed. She didn’t know if the people at the taco stand had noticed the scene, but in her heart they had heard every word of it. She crossed her arms over her chest, subtly and covertly hugging herself. There, in the hot morning sun, she could feel ice on her skin. That familiar chill that so often haunted her. In the bright light of day, under the clear blue sky, she faced a storm. It froze her to her core. She held it back as she always did. She masked her shivers by tapping her foot, signaling impatience in waiting. She looked out into the horizon, her eyes focused, her mind trying to manifest a bus heading to Carpintero in the spot where the sky meets the street. She couldn’t tell you how long it took, but she held her breath the whole time. In handing the fare to the driver she was brought back, the micro-interaction pulling her out from the dark blizzard of her thoughts. She made her way down to a seat by the back exit. The sight of the half empty vehicle calmed her down, she was going home. She let out a huge sigh, deflating into her seat. She looked out the window, hoping to see Mercado walking along the sidewalk. She didn’t. She was out of the cold, but now her mind raced. She was going to see him next week. Should she? Why? Wasn’t she just hurting him more? Wasn’t he hurting her?
The pace of her thoughts seemed to match the pace of the bus. Rushing. Stopping. Rushing. She went through the same line of reasoning she had revisited the whole year. She shouldn’t have said yes. Everything would still be the same if she had said no again. It wasn’t his fault. He had asked again when she felt weak, but in the end it had been her who went along with it, right? No, he should have known. He shouldn’t have let himself take advantage of her. But wasn’t he in his right to try to get what he wanted? He had said it’d be fine if they decided to go back on it, but then it hadn’t been. Sometimes it was just that, fine, but other times it was terrifying. What had happened that she now so often felt scared of someone she loved so much?
She got off a few stops too early. Right by the lagoon. She sat down on the grass, staring at the water. She wasn’t going to get any writing done that day.