Puro pinto
Boy was sitting in La Buena Bakery waiting for Meche, the baker, to join him. As he waited, a man about Boy’s age came into the store and look around at everybody without making eye contact. He wore crisply ironed kakis and a bleached white T-shirt and polished black Stacy Adams shoes. And he seemed nervous about being in the bakery.
“Pinto for sure,” Boy thought.
The man glanced at Boy and, when he saw Boy looking at him, looked down and turned his head as if he was suddenly preoccupied with something in the opposite direction.
Boy was curious. He searched his memory thinking he might remember the man in some way. But the brief look at his face gave Boy no hint. When he saw the man get in line behind another customer at the counter, Boy went over and stood behind him to get a better look.
Seeing the man tense his back and shoulders when he sensed Boy was behind him, Boy decided to invite the man to coffee.
“Hey, ese, join me for coffee. I’m just killing time waiting for Meche to finish baking and come out and join me,” Boy said, stepping beside to the man.
“Wasn’t planning on having coffee, only came by to get some empanadas,” the man said meekly.
“Pos, join me if you have the time. You see, I just moved back to the Southside and I’m looking for old friends from high school. You from here?” Boy said.
The man winced and took a long time to answer.
“Simón, but I didn’t graduate. I moved away,” the man said.
“So join me? Coffee’s on me,” said Boy.
The man hesitated.
“They called me Boy in high school,” said Boy, offering a handshake.
“Oh,” the man said.
“My name is Gilbert, but I’m not gonna stay. I didn’t know it was Mercedes’ place,” he said and left without ordering anything.
Meche’s daughter, who tended the counter, took note of the conversation and walked through a string of curtains into the baking room. Seconds later, Meche walked out with her.
“Who was it that just came in?” she asked Boy.
“I didn’t recognize him, but he said his name was Gilbert,” Boy said.
“Baby Gilbert. I guess he just got out of the pinta again,” Meche said, looking at her daughter.
“You don’t remember your cuatche who tried to kiss me in the 5th grade?” she added.
“Eeee! Totally forgot,” Boy said.
“You, but not me or him. That’s why he le puso as soon as he learned it’s my bakery. Been running from me since the fifth grade,” she said.
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