Signal to Noise(52)

SEBASTIAN FELT LIKE he was reading a map which had all the street names erased. Lost, confused and surprised, he replayed the events of the night with Meche in his head. He had offended her, he understood that much. He also understood he must fix it.

Sebastian could think of only one way to make amends with Meche. He walked the three blocks from his building to her apartment, listening to the sound of fireworks going off in the streets.

He pressed her buzzer, was given access and climbed the stairs, taking care to light the sparkler before he reached her door.

“Happy New Year!” he said, waving the sparkler before her face.

Meche rested her head against the door frame. “It’s not New Year’s yet.”

“Well, it will be in two hours.”

“I’m supposed to be putting away the ham.”

“You had ham?” Sebastian asked.

“What do you want?”

“I want to take you for a ride around the block.”

“I want to put away the ham.”

“Look, I’m sorry if I offended you.”

“You didn’t... ugh,” Meche slid out and closed the door, resting her back against it. “You didn’t offend me. But it’s not nice... look, I don’t like being the leftover turkey sandwich you feel obliged to eat after Christmas.”

“You’re not a sandwich. Come on.”

“Do you really think I’m pretty?”

No, he thought. That was his natural reaction. A box he had long ticked off.

But he looked at her and she was kind of pretty. Not like Isadora, not like the other girls. When you looked at Meche the first impression was that she was going to punch you in the face; she was made of such strong angles. However, if you looked long enough there was a delicate softness beneath her which manifested in the very long neck, the graceful fingers which were meant to play instruments, the petite frame. She was a knot of contradictions and these, thrown together, created an interesting composition. When she grew up, he thought, people would see it more clearly.

“Yeah,” he said faintly and then growing more self-assured, he nodded. “Yeah, you are.”

Meche smiled a little. She turned her face and tried to cover it by pretending to cough, but he saw her smile and it made him smile too.

“Can you go with me for a ride?”

“Yes,” she said.

They rushed downstairs, the sparkler still in his hands.





HALF AN HOUR later Sebastian parked the bike in front of Meche’s building. He searched in his pockets and found the cassette he had neatly labelled that morning.

“I made a mix-tape for you, for Epiphany. I also got you a book, but I can give you that tomorrow.”

“Books,” Meche muttered, opening the cassette and reading the song list. “Forever Young.”

“It’s like a soundtrack for us. The soundtrack of our lives.”

“And Alphaville will be singing on our soundtrack?”

“Among others.”

She reached for her Walkman—always tucked inside her jacket, always there—and put the cassette inside, pressing play. She put on the headphones and nodded, tapping her foot.

Meche reached up and hugged him. For three minutes he danced with her to music he could not hear, a song which rang only in her ears.





TWO DAYS LATER Meche pinned the pictures from the photo booth against the factory wall, right beside the cover of Dylan’s The Freewheelin.

It was a declaration of some sort, although she did not understand what she was declaring. Just that she needed to tell Sebastian something and since she could not write it down she tried putting it the only way she could: in shorthand.





Mexico City, 2009





MECHE WOKE UP early and stopped at the corner store to buy a small bag of peanuts. The shopkeeper stared at her, just like his grandfather had, as though she were a kid trying to steal merchandise. Of course, she had stolen merchandise back in the day but it was not like she was going to run out without paying now that she was a grown woman. Meche placed the money on the counter, the shopkeeper counted every coin and then handed her a receipt, still frowning.

Meche hopped on a bus. It was safer than taking a taxi and she didn’t mind being squeezed into a tight corner. But she was lucky: the bus was half empty and she had a chance to sit in the back, listening to her music.

Meche kept an optimistic outlook for the first couple of hours as she classified records and moved around her father’s apartment. It looked completely doable. She could tidy everything up in a day. Another hour later and Meche had despaired. Reality kicked in. It was impossible to go through all of her father’s stuff in just a few hours. He had too much crap and frankly, she was tired of the whole thing, bled dry and exhausted as she tossed another record onto a pile and tried to remember what was the purpose of this. Meche lay down on the floor, in the middle of the living room, knowing she should make herself some coffee because she needed it. Maybe she also needed an injection of sugar.

Someone knocked three times and for a moment she had a sense of displacement, because that knock should have come at her mother’s apartment, like it always did when Daniela or Sebastian visited.

Meche opened the door and he was there, wearing a long, dark coat and looking very proper with a tie and all.