Misstep
“We’re not yet zangoloteando and you’re already misstepping,” Boy’s childhood sweetheart said.
Boy and Meche were on their way to a dance in El Chuco. The plan had cost Boy a lot of effort. A lot of heart to gamble his budding relationship with Meche when he suggested it. A fraught crusade to win her daughter’s permission. Then a torrent of distractions impeding the settlement of the terms of their excursion. And now this faux pas.
The day’d started quite well. Beautiful morning. Gentleness. Smiles. Todo muy promising. Half an hour out of the Southside, Meche dozed off while they were talking about why they’d never dated, precisely the talk he yearned to have with her when he came back to the Southside after decades of living away. He could tell she was waning when she confused the present with the past.
“I was waiting for a surprise. Maybe the prom or New Year’s Eve dance, then finally you did it,” she said, her eyes fluttering.
Boy’d been looking at the road but turned toward her when she went silent. He saw she’d fallen asleep and smiled. The moment was bittersweet for him. They’d finally connected as they should’ve long ago, and they were finally together in private. But she was asleep.
At Monitos, a highway sign marked the turnoff to Cremitas, and Boy took it—the long road to El Chuco. He hadn’t been on it since high school.
“Re-explore this country while she sleeps in peace,” he thought.
They soon reached Cremitas, and Boy luckily caught a green light at the only traffic light on their way to El Chuco and sped through.
Past Cremitas, the road was fast but crowded with oilfield traffic. At Mentotes a short while later, he came to a full stop behind a long line of vehicles jammed at the intersection of the two sole roads in the seemingly abandoned settlement. The stop woke Meche.
“Where fregados are we?” she said, bewildered.
“Mentotes,” said Boy.
“You got off the highway?” Meche asked angrily.
“Thought I’d see the country I hadn’t seen in a long time while you slept,” Boy said, attuned to the trouble brewing.
“This’ll add more than an hour to our drive. Otro misstep, just like when we were kids and when you left the Southside,” she said in high pitch.
“Pos I’ll cut back to the highway at the next crossroads. Please don’t be angry,” he said.
Meche took a deep breath before she answered.
“Well, we’re on this road now. Might as well stay on it and see what happens,” Meche said.
“Straight but lots of little hills. We’re gonna zangolotear all the way to the zangoloteo.
“By the way, are you good at it?”
“Which one?” Boy asked.
“All of them,” Meche said.
Boy raised his eyebrows.
“We’ll see,” he said.
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