Week-End

“It is noon and I begin to read Heidegger with breakfast, but end up watching Britney Spears videos on Youtube as I munch on my dry piece of toast. I will never understand the problem of Being anyways and I couldn’t care less about Heidegger today. I turn the volume down so that you don’t lose the little respect you have left for me but you couldn’t care less if I liked Britney Spears way more than Heidegger by now.

Outside there are kids playing soccer in the field and every thirty seconds a whistle blows and people clap. Outside the day is windy and the sun creeps slowly above the rooftops. I am still wearing my spider man pajamas and you are in the shower. I already am missing you, I am wondering what will become of me on all the days I will spend away from you, but I keep clicking on more Britney Spears videos and even singing along to them. On the second floor our Mexican neighbor talks on his cell phone from the balcony, the heavy beats of his Cumbia music make our ceiling thump. I wonder if he lives alone and if he hears me yelling at night and banging doors.

The water isn’t running anymore and I can hear you stepping out of the shower. There is a knock on the door, five times like if they are coming for someone, but when I peek through the key hole it is only my Mexican neighbor. He wears a gray shirt with an eagle printed on it and gray sweatpants. His beer belly is sticking out and he is one head shorter than me: “Can I charge my cell phone in your car please?” he asks, I don’t answer. By then you are wearing that brown polo shirt that I like so much and your hair is still wet, you stand near me and tell him that you are about to leave, but that I can help him.

And I do, I leave his phone charging in my car and tell him that I will knock on his door in one hour to give it back. “Gracias” he says, and thirty minutes later I can hear the loud thumps of the Cumbia music coming from the second floor.

Our Mexican neighbor has Christmas lights decorating his balcony and he's had them since last winter. They glimmer and fade in the night, sometimes only the red lights will work and not the green or the white ones. I never told you this but when I come back home from work I look up towards his balcony, and always wish for the white lights to be on. I never told you this but I am sad that he will only be your Mexican neighbor now, and not our Mexican neighbor. I never told you this but now that I write it down, it just makes sense. “