Chicanos For Love--Part One
Relationships are a string of definitions: Long term, short term, casual, experimental
Tommy Villalobos, Contributing Editor
"I remember when relationships were just making out, talking about school, familia, making out some more, breaking up, getting back together then letting go or getting married and having lots of crying orejones," said Ramona Gilbatar to her best friend of the month, Glenda Surjete.
Published on LatinoLA: September 12, 2016
"Yeah, now relationships are a string of definitions," agreed Glenda. "Long term, short term, casual, experimental. Then there's Communication and Confrontation. Throw on top of that, Loyalty and Conflict. Character or Psyche. Needs. Relationship Triangle. True and False Selves. Values Conflict. It's a miracle people even stay together longer than one conversation."
Both women worked in a laundry where they folded and packaged laundry for meat packing plants and delivery firms. They both fantasized what kind of man might have worn a given outfit, making each other laugh in the process. Neither had ever tasted a true lasting relationship with any guy. Both were twenty-two and looking for a Cave Man/Hunter type. Or at least an aggressive Gatherer.
"When we get off, let's go get something to eat," said Ramona. "It's payday. Then we can go listen to some Tejano music at the European Grill."
"They play Tejano music at the European Grill?"
"Sure. A Méjicano just bought it and wanted to keep the name although you won't find any European or even a grill in the place. His specialty is tacos. He claims to serve a variety of 101 kinds of tacos. And he is twenty-six and single and the most handsome [i]bato ever to slap a taco supreme together. There was an article about him in the local newspaper."
Before you could say Enabling Spirituality, both women were seated close to the manager's office with the name Claudio Torandado, Mgr. nailed to one side of the door. They had arrived early, deciding to take their meal from the list of 101 Tacos then have a Margarita, maybe several, hoping to trip Claudio the manager as he rushed by. And Glenda did see him walk hurriedly to his office but could not untangle her foot quickly enough to send him flying nor get a look at his face. Glenda agreed that if he was as handsome as Ramona claimed, he was too handsome to be single at such an advanced age of twenty-six, although her own father was thirty-six when he married her mother who was twenty-five. But, she reasoned, her father was probably as plain as God made any man since Adam. Eve had no choice. But her mother did. What her mother saw in her father has remained a mystery to her all these twenty-two years.
"Maybe we should complain about his tacos," said Ramona.
"Why?" said Glenda, unable to bear criticizing a wonderful appearing man even if he wore a pink tutu and pranced before them.
"That way, he will have to talk to us. Then one of us will make our move."
"Seems fair. But who moves first?"
Ramona figured that was one problem Eve never faced, but a problem woman has struggled with ever since.
"The one he looks at first," said Ramona, feeling it was fair since either woman could turn heads in a mortuary laid out with male cadavers.
The moment came when a figure came whizzing by with a vacuum cleaner, his handsome hand carrying it, which hand was attached to his handsome arm leading to his handsome head. They both tried to trip him but he skipped then fell flat on his face all on his own, being tripped by a wrinkle in the carpet.
"We killed him," said Glenda, one hand to breast, the other covering her mouth, as he lay motionless.
To be continued…
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