LA MORENITA, Chapter 19

Araceli didn’t write a word that she didn’t scratch out for the next two weeks. Every sentence she added to her notebook felt wrong. On some days, she stared at blank pages for hours and wrote nothing. On those days, she would give up, go down to the river and talk to the raven. The raven kept telling Araceli she was on a journey of discovery and, although it would be worth it, the journey would never be easy. She insisted that Araceli accept those conditions as part of her life. The next day, Araceli tried to write.
#
N sat at a table on the patio outside the cantina and waited for M to take his order. She walked out to greet him, smiled and turned as if to leave. When she turned back, he smiled and shrugged.
She approached him. “Why do you do this to yourself?” she asked. “You’ve been coming here for weeks, ordering the same enchiladas day after day and asking me out, even though I refuse you every time you ask.”
He couldn’t tell her he was hoping to diffuse some of his infatuation so he could feel in control of his life again, or that he wanted to win a bet with C. “One of these days I’ll wear you down” he said. “Or you’ll take pity on me and say yes.”
“A good-looking guy like you needs a mercy date?”
“Just go out with me once,” he pleaded. “I can’t explain the way I feel. I just never thought I could be attracted to anyone like you.”
“Well, that’s comforting,” she said sourly. “What would you like with your enchiladas?”
“Beer.”
When she returned with his order, he grabbed her wrist. “Okay, look,” he said. “Go out with me one time, and I’ll never bother you again.”
She was bothered by his grip and the fierce way he looked at her. “Let’s get one thing straight,” she said. “I’m not somebody you can get involved with and then just throw away. Boys like you don’t go out with girls like me except for one reason.”
“It’s not like that,” he insisted. “I want to get to know you.”
She tried to pull away.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not good at stuff like this.” He released his grip. “How about this Saturday or Sunday? We can go out in the afternoon, so it won’t be like a big date.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “And where would we go on this date?”
“How about a movie? I’ll let you pick the movie and the theater.”
“Well,” she said. “I would like to see this new movie with Ryan O’Neal and Ali MacGraw.”
He grimaced. “Love Story? You want to see Love Story?”
“You said I could choose.”
"How about Tora! Tora! Tora!?”
“You said I could choose.”
He sighed. From inside the cantina, another waitress, called out. “M! Your orders are backing up!”
Against her better judgement, she scribbled her phone number on the back of his lunch ticket and dropped it on the table.
#
Araceli looked at what she had written. She didn’t know where the details came from and didn’t feel like scratching any of them out. But she was stuck. She didn’t know what happened next. She took her notebook and went down to the river, but the raven didn’t come. Where is that raven? she asked herself. Has she sneaked away without telling me? Did she lie when she said she would give me a warning before she left?
She opened the notebook and stared at the blank lines below the descriptions she had just written. Without waiting for inspiration and for lack of anything else to do, she wrote.
#
M picked the phone up on the first ring. “Bueno, Quìen es?”
“What?”
“Oh, It’s you.”
“Yeah, it’s me. How come you’re so cold all of a sudden?”
“I’m having second thoughts. I don’t think either one of us is thinking right.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m just going to be honest. I think you are so handsome you make my knees weak.”
“I’m glad to hear that,”.
“But so what? What future will we have? People will hate seeing us together. To them, I’ll be a spick and you’ll be a spick-lover. Or maybe they’ll think you’re a blonde Mexican. Is that what you want?”
“What I want is you.”
“Some things in life you cannot have.”
“I’m serious!”
“But you’re not being realistic. I think we should call this whole thing off.”
A sick feeling seeped into his guts. “You promised,” he said. “And if you break your promise, I’ll be at your cantina every day, hounding you for a date until you say yes.”
“Look,” she said. “I like you lusting after me. That makes me feel good. But that’s all it is. A feeling. Don’t you understand?”
“No, I don’t. Don’t you even have the courage to try?”
She sighed.
“What’s that mean?”
“Love Story is playing at three theaters right now. The State, The Alamo, and the Chaparral. The State and Alamo are in gringo neighborhoods where Mexicans don’t go. That leaves the Chaparral, which is in a mostly Mexican neighborhood.”
“You pick the theater,” he insisted.
“Okay,” she said. “The Chaparral it is. When you get a taste of Mexicans reacting to your being there,—”
“That’s not going to stop me.”
“Fine. It’ll do you some good to see that Mexicans don’t like gringos any better than gringos like Mexicans.”
“Hey. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got big shoulders.”
“Yeah. I noticed that. Are you Catholic?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Answer it.”
“My parents are Baptists, so I guess if I’m anything, I’m that.”
“You see? We don’t even have the same faith. You scare me so much I’m making the Sign of the Cross right now.”
“What? You want me to convert?”
“My parents will.”
“Well, you know what? I went to a Catholic mass once, and I thought it was cool. All that kneeling and incense and stuff. Real wine and wafers. This is my body. This is my blood. All the Baptists ever have are crackers and grape juice.”
“I’m sorry your Baptist food choices don’t please you. Does that mean you’d convert?”
“If you want me to.”
“We both should have better sense.”
“And?”
After a long pause, she said, “Pick me up at noon.”