Signal to Noise(45)

“Why would I buy it when I can eat it for free?” Sebastian asked.

“She’s not even a good actress,” Meche said, raising a hand and pointing at Isadora.

Despite the simple dialogue required, the pretty girl was wooden. She did not even seem able to stand still and look credible, though Meche had to admit the white robes she was wearing fitted her well.

“Like you’d do better,” Sebastian said.

“I might,” Meche muttered. “Only we’ll never know, will we?”

Isadora placed a hand on Constantino—he was a devil, though he had not cared to don his costume for this rehearsal, only the horns—and whispered something in his ear. Meche felt her gut churn.

“You always have to complain, don’t you?” Sebastian said.

“Yeah, and you always have to defend her,” Meche replied.

“Don’t fight,” Daniela said.

“Look, the school posada is going to blow. Let’s go to my cousin Jimena’s place after the play. She’ll have a real posada. What do you say?”

“Are we invited?” Daniela asked.

“You are if you bring your own booze.”

“Will she have rosca de reyes and tejocote?” Sebastian asked.

“How should I know?” Meche said feeling irritated. “There will be something to eat.”

“I don’t know,” Sebastian said.

“Fine. Go to the school posada and make googly eyes at Isadora. Like that’s more fun. I’m going home. It’s not like we’re even needed at this stupid rehearsal.”

Meche grabbed her things and hurried outside.

She put on her headphones; Edith Piaf was singing about a life in pink. She wasn’t even sure why she was angry. Lately Sebastian’s interest in Isadora just rubbed her the wrong way. Like it was a bit, well... it was frankly insulting that he liked such a simpleton. Because, let’s face it, Isadora was a bit of a simpleton and for all of Sebastian’s intellectual talk about “Oh my God, how come you’ve never read that book,” it didn’t seem to trouble him that the only thing Isadora read was the daily horoscope and the graffiti in the lavatories.

When Meche arrived in her apartment she waved a weak “hello” to her grandmother, who was knitting in the living room, and headed for the kitchen, pulling out the milk from the fridge. She dunked animal crackers in the glass, listening to more music in French because it was the day for that kind of thing.

Her father walked in and patted her head.

“What’s up, Meche?”

“Hey,” she muttered.

He sat down across from her, pouring himself a glass of milk and grabbing a few crackers.

“What are you listening to?”

“Eh,” Meche said sliding the headphones off and shrugging.

She ran her hands over the plastic table mats with ugly yellow flowers on them.

“What’s the most powerful love song of all time?” she asked him, scratching one of the flowers.

Meche thought the most romantic album cover of all time was The Freewheelin, which showed a very young Dylan walking arm-in-arm with his then-girlfriend. There was something about the composition, the street, the sky, the smiles, which made her think falling in love should be like that snapshot.

“Mmm. Good question,” her father said, rubbing his chin. “Well, it would have to be A Whiter Shade of Pale.”

“Procol Harum?” Meche said with a frown. “It doesn’t talk about love.”

“It doesn’t have to. Are you alright, Meche?”

“Yeah. Just tired,” she said, smiling.

“Okay. I have to write for a bit. Do you want to listen to some Rolling Stones later?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.”

Her father gave her another pat on the head and grabbed his glass, taking it with him. Meche wandered back into the living room and sat next to Grandmother Dolores, resting her head against her shoulder.

“Can you tell me another story about witches?” she asked, grabbing the ball of yarn and putting it on her lap.

Grandmother Dolores nodded, her needles clicking.

“There was a girl in my village who once fell in love with a nahual. He came to her house one night, in the shape of a fox to steal some chickens and she...”

Meche closed her eyes and listened to her grandmother, her voice transporting her from the little apartment to other lands.





IN ADDITION TO his job bagging groceries, Sebastian had picked up a seasonal gig at the mall wrapping gifts. It paid more than his supermarket gig but he had to wear a ridiculous plastic crown which was meant to identify him as one of the Three Kings.

But he needed the money, even if he looked like a dork.

He planned to use the money to buy small gifts for his family, Daniela and Meche. Sebastian had considered returning the necklace he had bought Isadora for her birthday and using the cash for something else, but he decided to keep it. Maybe one day he could give it to her. Maybe he could give it to another girl. He wished he had a girlfriend like all the other boys.

It didn’t even have to be an amazingly beautiful girlfriend like Isadora. It could just be a regular girl. Someone to talk to, hold hands with, kiss, make out with. He envied the easy confidence of his peers. They could go up to girls and ask for their numbers. Sebastian had tried asking a girl—a fellow grocery bagger—out but she just stared at him like he had said an insult. Afterwards Sebastian stopped even thinking of asking anyone out. It seemed like a futile enterprise.