the day before Thanksgiving

On the day before Thanksgiving, I took myself out to breakfast at a Mexican restaurant near my apartment. This was my version of a Thanksgiving meal.

Los Portales turned out to have mediocre huevos rancheros. Mediocre and over-priced. I was the only customer in there around 8 a.m. on a Wednesday morning.

When I ordered and said 'Huevos rancheros", the guy waiting on me said "Hablas Espanol?" It tickled me that he could tell by the way I pronounced huevos rancheros that I was fluent. Salvador spoke to me in Spanish after that. He said that as soon as I walked into his restaurant he could see that I was 'buena gente', good people. The guy definitely has the hospitality gene. He was so eager that I like his food, his culture and, I think, him. He flattered me over and over. He kept coming over to talk to me. It was wonderful.

Salvador is on wife number five. He told me about each of his wives, all of his six children and all of his grandchildren. Each of his wives was beautiful, even the one gringa he married. He never had kids with the gringa. All of his daughters are beautiful, too, but he is most proud of his son. His son is as big and as handsome as his father, I was informed. And the son is so smart! But what does it matter? All his children are beautiful. It was so lovely sitting there in the tacky, plastic booth watching the love in his eyes as he spoke of his family. Salvador was looking forward to seeing his whole family the next day for Thanksgiving. His wife does the cooking at home.

As he chattered along, he also kept peppering me with questions about me and my life. Soon he knew that I have a daughter in the hospitality field, that I just moved here from Seattle and how I happened to speak Spanish so well. Usually I tell people it is because my first lover was a Mexican, because it is gets a fun reaction. I found myself telling Salvador the whole story, which is that I majored in Spanish in college, reading and writing in Spanish for four years and studying at both a Mexican university and one in Bogota, Colombia. I am fluent in Spanish for good reason.

Then Salvador asked me if I knew any songs in Spanish. This is the first time anyone ever asked me that. I told him that I knew a couple. He coaxed me to sing them. And I did. I sang two songs and all the verses I knew. I was pretty good.

Salvador excused himself to answer the phone as I finished my last song. He came back in a few minutes, singing to me as he approached, a long song with many verses. It was a beautiful, dolorous song that captures something about the Mexican spirit. "No valle la vida" he sang. 'You are crying when you are born and crying when you die'. He sang the song with a show of emotion and a deep, quiet power. As I recall it, I am wondering if I imagined the whole encounter. I tried to take down the words but Salvador stopped me. He said that next time I came in, he would give me a CD with the song.

I am going back there tomorrow, with my laptop. If Salvador doesn't have the CD, which would be just fine, I am going to write down all the words to his song. I am sure he will be willing to sing it again.