Every other Friday, Clyde pulls a late evening shift at his Place of Business. After, we usually grab a bite at one of our local eateries.
Last night, we chose El Rodeo, a place which combines the ambience of a storefront Mexican restaurant with a name that connotes horses. Like every other Mexican restaurant in Jackson, they perform the Obligatory Chips and Salsa Ritual, delivering a small cup of ketchupy salsa and a basket of fried tortillas the minute we park our butts in the booth.
“So,” I say to Clyde, “how you doin’?”
“Fine,” he says.
We munch the chips, which, unlike the chips at other places, are a bit too thick and taste of uncooked dough. We watch the tiny satellite television affixed to the wall over the bar. We can’t follow the Spanish dialogue, but the program now playing seems to focus on a high-strung woman with a developmentally challenged boyfriend.
“I want to learn Spanish,” I say. “I want to be fluent in it. I want to be able to watch a show like this one and know what’s going on. When George Bush is re-elected and we have to leave the United States for our own protection, I want to be able able to go north to Canada or south to Mexico with equal confidence.”
“What’s your plan for learning Spanish?” Clyde asks.
“I’ll use that Rosetta Stone computer program,” I say.
“Didn’t know you still had that,” Clyde says.
We eat our chicken and shrimp quesadillas — my standard order, now that I’m too paranoid about mad cow disease to eat beef of any kind. The friendly young hostess — an African American woman they’ve hired, I think, in hopes of making the locals feel more at home in a business where the owners speak very little English — takes away our dirty plates.
I find myself missing Jaquilpan, “our” favorite Mexican food outlet, once located in the old Steak and Ale, but now mysteriously defunct. (We think INS arrested all the men and shipped them back home.) I miss the staff’s cheery, gentle insistence that all patrons at least try to speak Spanish. I miss the cheese sauce — so smooth — and the chips — so thin!
We pay the check. Back home, we pile up on the couch and watch Season One of Alias on DVD until Clyde nods off. We go through a familiar routine — a conversation so familiar it’s become a kind of ritual:
[Clyde nods off.]“Okay,” I say, “sit up. You’re going to sleep. It’s only eight o’clock.”
“I’m fine,” Clyde insists.
“Sit up,” I say. “Sit up. Sit up!”
“I’m not asleep,” Clyde protests.
“Your eyes were closed,” I say, “and you were doing that little ‘jerking around’ thing you do when you’re falling asleep.”
“Just let me lie here,” Clyde says.
“Please sit up. You’ll just go to sleep.”
[Repeat six or seven times. At 9:30, shut off the DVD player and head for the bedroom, by way of the office, for one last check of email.]Another Friday night at home, as unremarkable and comfortable as a well-worn shoe.
That routine sounds very familiar. Often, Duane does the same thing on movie night… Twitchy, sleep dance and all. Needless to say, we often rent the same movies repeatedly since he manages to view the initial credits and nods off shortly thereafter.
To add to our routine, D often wants to rent the same movies over and over claiming we never watched them with a knowing smile.
Try ‘Identity’ 3+ times in less than a year and you’ll know the things a man will do for love. 😉