It hurts friegos
Boy walked to La Buena Bakery one cold windy late-winter morning. He’d had a good sleep and a great dream about Meche, his grade school sweetheart, that night and woke up refreshed and hopeful. He couldn’t shower, get dressed and get out of the door fast enough that day. He very much needed to see Meche and tell her about his dream.
The four block walk and crossing of the wide five-lane road bisecting the Southside passed almost imperceptibly to him. He was at the front door of the café before he realized it. And he was early, 10 minutes to seven. The door was still locked. There were lights inside the building, but he couldn’t see anybody moving about inside or outside. So he waited alone outside.
The cold air soon bit his cheeks and ears, the only part of his body he hadn’t covered in winter clothing.
He stood still and breathed slowly and deeply to keep up his energy and resist the cold creeping through his three layers of clothing.
As he waited in the wind and cold, his attention was drawn to the sound of chirping birds. Boy looked around to see where it was coming from. Soon he realized they were everywhere in the trees around La Buena Bakery.
“Qué onda? It’s winter, pendejos. Aren’t you supposed to have migrated south, o qué?” he said to the birds, who of course ignored him.
“Unnatural de amadres,” he thought.
After what seemed like a long while, Meche’s daughter came to the front door and opened it. She made eye contact with Boy but, like always, didn’t say anything to him.
“Large black coffee right away,” Boy said when he stepped in.
The young woman poured him a large cup.
“Thanks!” Boy said, looking behind her to see if Meche as working in the baking room.
“She’s not here today,” the young woman said.
“What? Why not?” Boy asked.
“Cuz she went out of town,” she said and walked through a string of curtains into the baking room.
Boy was floored. It hurt him friegos that Meche wasn’t there. It had become their daily routine. And he had come to expect it.
He remained respectful, didn’t say more, and merely stood still in front of the counter.
“You want anything with that coffee?” Meche’s daughter said.
Boy didn’t respond. The young woman took pity.
“She’ll be back tomorrow,” she said.
Boy smiled. That’s friegos to go with this coffee,” he said.
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