Una Entrada de Diario: Un Amigo

After the sharpening mornings, where my jet lag was polished away, I began to venture out and quickly found my mind shocked out if its American suburban slumber; not an unexpected one, not a lightening strike, but a slow, daily unfamiliarity. The soft tissue of the in-between, indeed became moments themselves, moments imperceptible at home, but sharp memories here: the woman lighting her cigarette in my peripheral, the ordering of a drink, being asked for directions in Spanish. Snapped from twenty-three years of unwitting practice in English and American culture, here, my mind has become sort of heightened, peeled to basic advertisements, casual metro conversations, and simple events. However, I remain apart, like oil on water, because I'm so attuned to these normally frictionless moments. This was no more apparent than on my trip to Farraday Café. 

"...see a stone is Spain and think of it as, in some essential sense stonier..." Ben Lerner, Leaving the Atocha Station. 

I sat down and after reciting Puedo tomar una cerveza, the waiter asked me, to what I deduced as, What kind? Faced with improvisation, I was lost. My face went blank and, unable to communicate my desire, I fumbled through incoherent phrases and words. Reduced to miming, I pointed at a small sticker on the the chair opposite me, advertising a beer. Estrella, I said, butchering the double L. He said something that came down to We don't have Estrella. I was sweating now, painfully aware of my inability in basic communication. Moad (pronounced Moahdd) as I learned his name to be, rescued me, and in his blur of Spanish I caught Amstel. Sisisisi, I spit out. He smiled said Vale (Ok, or some equivalent) and brought me an Amstel. Blood still thumping with the adrenaline of a basic conversational exchange, I downed the Amstel. Moad came over and asked in a noticeable but smooth accent, Where are you from? Soy de Boston, I replied. And we patched a conversation together with pieces of English and Spanish, resulting in that solid European handshake thing. La cuenta, I said, asking for the bill. He brought it and told me to comeback again and again. I said Sisisi and walked away with a stupid grin only a friend can provide.