Arco Iris

The first time a song followed me around was about 7 years ago. It was "Volver Volver". It was in Paraguay, at the beginning stages of slowly losing my mind. I had randomly found out on the street - for the third time in one month - a Tarot card indicating death, heartbreak, and destruction. There was a party at the house I was staying. I peeled the paint off the wall while the musicos sang.

The second time was on a street corner and some wandering musicians catered to my ethnicity and serenaded me with that and "Guadalajara", my dad's hometown. I tried singing along; it was disappointing to all.

The third time was when I returned to the States and needed to start from scratch to build a new & improved brain. It was the best time, not only because it was the last time, but because it was sung by Chente himself. I ran into a friend I'd known in high school at the concert. She had just gotten new breasts and I couldn't stop staring at them. She looked so happy. Then I heard the trumpets, the grito, and finally, after three months of holding it in, I was able to let some of the fluid outta my brain.

This past weekend, a song reappeared as the punctuation for a series of interconnected (although not as disturbing) events. The first time was for my birthday. I was sad and above mentioned big breasted girlfriend took me to eat at a very nice restaurant in some fancy walking around outdoor mall. It was a dude and his guitar singing next to the water fountain and some shoe stores. My girlfriend is not the sentimental type, but she was patient enough to stand with me in her 6 inch heels and rub my back while I listened.

Then, it found me inside a grocery store. It was after the gym and I was getting stuff for dinner. It came through the speakers and I froze. It was interrupted twice with a call for David to return to his register, but it still had the power to shut down my to do lists, my should've done lists, my why can't I do this lists. I stared at the chili beans for longer than anyone should look at ground beef.

(Another time - but this is not my own so I can't really claim it - was in San Francisco. My dear friend was talking about how she was going to use that song to memorialize some very special people during another very special upcoming event. The lounge singer, as if eavesdropping with supersonic bat ears, crooned out her final notes of Celine Dion and began a very slow and very inappropriately sorrowful for a Saturday night rendition of the song. We were at the Top of the Mark looking over the rainy city, the cosmic looking fog and hundreds of twinkling street light stars gave us a view of the galaxy.)

And lastly, this weekend at the near abandoned Citadel outlet mall. I was scarfing down a snack, dressed cute for a hot date, trying not to spill Panda Express grease down my cleavage. It came on, right on cue, and it brought the above described moments into focus all at once like a bunch of different Windows popping open in my head. It wasn't dinner with friends at a fancy restaurant, or a chili bean feast, or a heavy hearted moment of silence, it was a rushed crappy dinner alone in some outlet mall with a tinny outdoor speaker system. I know it's not the last time I'll hear that song but it was the last time I'd attribute any sort of significance to it. You know when it is the last one because it is the best one.

It felt good to eat alone. But I admit, to no one but the 10101010 robots that scan these blogs for email addresses and potential porn content, it felt even better to have hope.