The Simpsons: Bart

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***

It had been over a year since I last met Isabella Gutierrez. Whether it was the magic of the country or just me being a fool myself, going to Mexico really started to make me feel like my path wouldn't cross again with anyone from the past.

- We loved the show so much!

- It was the first time we'd ever been to a wrestling show!

But somehow I ended up with Isabella and her friends at the same table!

To give you the details, while I was in a trance and looking at Isabella, one of her friends waved at me. I involuntarily responded. And that one, along with another one, took Isabella's hand and came over to me.

- Oi dios mio. - all I could do for my own indiscretion was to sigh heavily and put my palm to the mask's forehead.

- Don't speak Mexican! - my gregarious friend tugged me by the arm.

- American, you know? - The other one also kept up.

At her friends' words and behaviour, Isabella rolled her eyes in a familiar way. For a second, I even felt an attack of pleasant nostalgia.

- Yes, yes, America is good!

And I responded to the words with a Latin American accent. Was it not cringe-worthy, but masterful? Or was it just that the trio was so tipsy? I guess some questions are impossible to answer.

- Ooh. Girls, I need to call my ex-boyfriend right now! I need to tell him how much he's lost.

ONE OF THEM'S REALLY PISSED OFF!

.....

While one of Isabella's friends went to tell her ex about love, and how it's wrong to give up so easily. And for some reason she decided to do it in the centre of the dance floor.

The other friend went to powder her nose. Judging by her face and her gait, I'd bet my weekly wage that she went to vomit in the loo.

Naturally, I could have gone myself, to finally stop being nervous about the company, and to have a proper rest after today's show. But...

- ...

Leaving Isabella, however complicated our relationship, alone in a bar in a country she doesn't know.... The conscience I have left doesn't allow it.

- ...

- ...

So here we sit in silence. I keep adjusting my mask, worrying that she won't recognise me. Isabella trying to sit up straight. If we were on a rope or in a boat on a rough river, I'd say she's doing a pretty good job.

- Another what--

- Tequila! - and while I wondered if Isabella had become mute over the year, her reaction to the waiter approaching nearly startled me.

- Don't. Water would be better.

- That's right. - Isabella nodded at me. - Water with tequila! Sugar and tangerine!

With a raised eyebrow, the waiter looked at me. Finding me, the guy in the multi-coloured mask that hides his face, the adequate of the two of us.

.....

- So you three are coming to the country, huh? - Imitating broken English, with all my might I try to distract Isabella from asking the millionth question about where is the waiter with the tequila and tangerines.

- Where's the waiter? - Just when I thought it wasn't working, Isabella continues with something new: -We're not three to come! We're four to come!

For a while, Isabella stared at her two exposed fingers. Apparently trying to figure out if she was showing the number four or if she was imagining it.

- Really? Where's w-

- Yes! Me! Maria! Anna! Becky! - then started listing her friends' names like a child.

Becky?

For some reason I immediately thought of Becky Shorter. But I don't think she's the Becky Isabella came with. After all, before all this happened, when we were still in touch, they didn't know each other.

- So where's Becky? - Hoping very much that her friends hadn't left her sleeping outside, I asked.

- She... Eek. Poisoned. Eek. Can you believe it? Eeek. I can't believe it. Eeek. Now it's her. Eek. Poor thing. Ick. Vomiting like hell. Eek.

Don't worry Isabella, judging by your condition, you'll be sharing your mate's pain tomorrow.

.....

Without alcohol, Isabella eventually became stuffy in the club, so we went outside. I decided to see her off, worried about what might happen to her on the way to the hotel late at night.

By the way, her friends had already left in a taxi. Becky sent Isabella a photo of the two of them. Apparently, I'm not the only one who's never been lucky enough to have friends.

- ...Hey, are you following me? - Staggering from wall to pillar, Isabella turned to me.

- No, I'm pro-

- AAAH! Raped! Kidnapped! Killing--

When Isabella screamed out of the blue, I had no better idea than to grab her from behind and put my hand over her mouth. Actually, I'm far from sober either!

- Mnhmmm!

While I was looking around, which I was sure didn't arouse the least bit of suspicion, Isabella kept trying to scream, yes shook from side to side. Apparently the last one was an attempt to fight back.

- Calm down. Mine is yours, just to see you off!

- Phaaaa. - Once Isabella calmed down, I let her go. - Good then.

- You just believed me?!

- Next time, answer normally, okay?

- What was wrong with my original answer?!

Isabella stared at me for a few seconds with a glazed look. She shrugged. Turned round and walked on.

- Haa...

I sighed heavily and followed my former classmate. A few steps behind, just in case.

.....

- Listen. - the longer we walked, the more talkative Isabella became. - If you're gonna kidnap me after all...

- I've been hit over the head with a chair. Locked in a coffin with snakes. Sent in a box to another country. But why do I feel that everything in my life has gone wrong right now?

- It's that. I don't want to be a prostitute. I don't want to be a prostitute.

When I realised that Isabella was talking to me but not really listening to me, I stopped doing my accent. Because she doesn't notice it anyway.

- Listen.

- ...

- Listen.

- ...

- Listen.

- Yeah?

- And my parents, they're-- They're from Argentina.

- That's great. - Not quite understanding what Isabella was getting at, I answered rather prosaically. Although I really didn't know where she or her parents were from.

- So... I can speak Spanish... To make it more comfortable for you...

- ... - motherfucker, my year's worth of Spanish from the construction site.

- Te has calmando un poco, esta todo bien?

So she speaks Spanish, like most native speakers, pretty fast.... Plus an Argentinean accent. Plus alcohol-induced tongue twisting...

I'd have to strain all my brain and all my knowledge of the language to find the answer to the question asked:

...

...

- ...Si?

- Bien y bueno.

.....

- Sabes, me recuerdas a alguen.

- Si?

- Chico qie conoci en la escuela.

- No?

- Si si lo se.

- Si?

- Aunque tal vez podria haberse mudado a Mexico?

- No?

- No crees que es posible?

- Si?

- Haa...

I don't know how, but my deep knowledge of the language brought a heavy sigh from Isabella's lips. And yes, due to Isabella's accent and condition, there was nothing left for me to do but alternate between yes and no, along with hoping for the best.

However, after our conversation ended, Isabelle's face and shoulders slumped. Since I didn't want to see her like that, I had to take my Spanish to the next level:

- Que?

- Que? Quieres apoyarme?

- Si?

- Por supuesto, puedo compartir con ustedes.... Pero no quiero imponer.

- No?

- ... - Isabella looked at me with drunken eyes for a while, until she smiled softly and opened her lips: -Bien entonces...(Well then...).

-After much, much Spanish-.

- ...y el estaba locamente enamorado de mi, constantemente corriendo detras de mi...(...and he was so in love with me that he wouldn't stop chasing me...).

From the mixture of Spanish and drunkenness, I could only understand about ten per cent at best. But even so, I don't know why, Isabella's words irritated me a little.

- Probablemte me recuerdas a el por la consonancia de los nombres. (Probably you remind me of him because of the consonance of the names.)

Without waiting for my insanely important mite of yes, no, or what, Isabella gave a melancholy chuckle. Then she stopped abruptly and looked round.

- Que? - For the first time today, deliberately used that word.

- Where are we, anyway? - Isabella answered me in English with a blank stare.

- Huh? Aren't we going to your hotel?

- What? We're not going to my hotel? - At the repetition of my same question, I looked at Isabella in confusion. - What questions about me? I was following you.

- You were in front!

- Yes, and I was following you.

- Haa. - slapping myself on the forehead, I decided to give up. - Give me your phone, we'll book you a taxi, I'll pay for it.

- ...

- And don't joke about me wanting to steal your mobile so badly.

- No, that's not it. I think it's dead.

So what do we do? Is there any other choice but to--

- Then how about coming to my place?