LA MORENITA, Chapter 18

“Is that true?” the raven asked.
“I’m not sure,” Araceli said. “But I know it’s not fake.”
“Keep working on it,” the raven said.
When Araceli got home, she went straight to her room. She opened the notebook and wrote.
“Okay, so you’re right, C,” N said. “But I’ll bet I can get her to go out with me.”
#
Later that afternoon, Araceli waited for further inspiration, but no words came. She saw only visions of suppositions. Maybe M gave N the menu. Maybe when M took Cs order, C made a pass at her and she slapped his hand away, telling him she wasn’t on the menu. Suddenly Araceli had a sense of what was said and done.
#
N kept his nose buried in his menu, forcing M to address him first.
“What’ll you have?” M asked. She was pleased by his rugged good looks. He had massive shoulders, and a muscular chest tapered up from a slim waist and rows of abdominal muscles that conformed to the shape of his form-fitting tee shirt.. She thought his face looked as if it had been chiseled from a block of seasoned pine. His platinum hair was fashioned into a flat-top hair cut, the sides of which were feathered back into a duck’s tail. His eyes seemed as blue as lapis lazuli, and when he grinned, the gap between his front teeth reminded her of that silly boy on the cover of MAD magazine. She thought that, if she had ever wanted to date a gringo, this would be the one.
N looked up and saw M’s grin. “I don’t know,” he answered. “All I see is this Mexican crap. Got any real food?”
She tilted her head, causing her jet black hair to shift slightly on her shoulder.“Like what?”
“Hamburgers? Cheeseburgers?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Would you let McDonald’s make your tacos? No? Then why would you want us to make your greasy hamburgers?”
He struggled to control his breathing. “What would you suggest?”
“Chicken enchiladas. They’re very tasty.”
He feigned ignorance. “Chicken enchiladas? What are they?”
She frowned and pointed to a plate on a nearby customer’s table. “Cheese, chicken, tortilla, sauce.” He pretended to stare blankly at the enchilada. He even blinked his eyes a few times for effect. “I don’t know,” he said. “Couldn’t you just smoosh together some hamburger meat and bring that out?”
“I can’t do that,” she replied. “Even if I dared to ask, they would fire me on the spot. You wouldn’t want me to get fired, would you?” She batted her eyes, which caused him to blush.
#
Araceli’s inspiration vanished like the flame of a flickering candle in a gust of night wind. She was about to give up and go into the living room when she knew what to write next.
#
After M left, N turned to C and smiled.
“Well?” C said.
Just then, a song by Marty Robbins came up on the jukebox. N exhaled so strongly it was almost a whistle. “That’s her,” he said.
#
Araceli was amazed by what she had written. She had only the vaguest idea who Marty Robbins was, and the only song of his she had any memory of was an old ditty her father used to play on the phonograph. And how did she know about the Marine from Brooklyn who boxed in Cuba? The information was coming too fast for her to ignore.
#
“That’s who?” C asked.
“Wicked Felina,” N said.
When M came back with the food, N reached out for her hand. M started to pull it away but changed her mind. “What are you doing Saturday night?” he said.
“I am washing my hair,” she announced. She pulled her hand away and made a patting gesture toward the back of her head.
“And after that?”
“I am waiting for a dental appointment.” She grinned and pointed to her own perfect white teeth.
“The dentists’ offices don’t open until Monday,” he said.
“That’s why I’m waiting,” she said. “I don’t want to lose my place in line.”
“Wouldn’t you rather go out with me?”
“Listen, Mister. My teeth are very important to me.”
#
When the words stopped flowing, Araceli sat still, as if this would somehow restart the flow of actions and images. After ten minutes, nothing came. She was about to put her notebook back in the chest when she got an inkling of what came next.
#
“So what are you saying?” N asked.
“I don’t date strangers,” M said.
“How could we be strangers? We’ve been talking here for several minutes. Don’t you think we’ve become old friends by now?”
“If that’s true, how come I don’t know your name?”
“Slight mishap.” He extended his hand for a handshake. “My name is N.”
She ignored the hand and made the Sign of the Cross. “Dios mio, Mr. N. How come you don’t know what my name is?”
“Oh, I know what your name is,” he whispered. “You are Wicked Felina.”
#
“Araceli!” Maria called. “Time to set the table!”
“Okay, Mom!” “I’ll be right there!”
She tucked her notebook away in the bottom of the chest and closed the lid.