I Went Home for Lunch

Technically I did not go home @ lunch, but I definitely "felt" @ home.

I did not know what I was going to do for lunch; I just hopped in my Ranger and drove to Wendy's. I knew I wanted chicken nuggets crumbled on top of a garden salad with crunchy croutons. I ordered this @ the drive thru and added some juicy Mandarin oranges.

I pulled up to the drive thru; I see a good friend. He's younger than me; I'm so proud of him. I met him during my JcPenney days at the men's department. He was a senior in high school then, respectful guy. I told him that he had the potential to go to college, guess where he is today? In college, still working at Wendy's, dedicated and determined student. He's matured so much; his hair is spiked up and shorter; his skin is darker; his smile is bigger; he's not as shy as he was when I approached him three years ago. His acne has cleared up; this boy has grown into a man! I was glad to see him, still working @ the same Wendy's on the south side. I saw his black Talon parked to my right with beautiful shiny spinners on it. The paint job looked fantastic. Black. Not plan black though, a shiny metallic black. Of course, I was happy to see him; he was happy to see me. Young, but mature. He grinned at me and I told him how proud I was that he was going to be going back to college in the Fall. I remember helping him with financial aid forms and registration. And, he stuck with it. As soon as I started college, this became one of my goals - to get more Hispanics in college. I was glad that I had made it; I wanted others to make it. No wonder I am a LEAD ambassador for UHV now!

We made small talk; I could not help beaming. This guy is on target, why couldn't he be a few years older? Hell, I'd date him. He has "it together." Wow, I feel glad that - hey I talked to someone about college, and he's going to college.

I took my lunch to a quiet park on the south side. I sat there surrounded my buildings and bits of greenery and munched, sippig my sparking wild cherry water. I listened to the Tejano radio station, and I was at home again. Selena sang her fast cumbias. Mazz came on with a romantic ballada. I leaned back my head as I tasted the juice from the orange, shut my eyes. Mmmmmmm...

I read Playing with Boys by Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez. I am so glad to be an "acquiantance" of hers; she's an awesome writer. I read about the Mexican character and could not help but laugh to myself, because it sounded familiar. I listened to the music some more. Reached forward to my CD visor, and pulled out the pink MP3 CD. This music takes me home, back to high school, back to el rancho, back to home. Period.

I jammed up Little Joe as he sang about "Las Nubes." Memories rolled through my mind like a film projector casting forward new images. I leaned back and thought about dancing. I love to dance to Tejano music. I pictured my sisters dancing with their boyfriends, then their husbands. My parents dancing. My dad's tall figure in a Stetson hat embracing my mother's short figure as they held each other close. My brother spinning his wife around. Music vibrating from a dj or a band. I like bands better. I'm the crazy Tejana throwing herself at the stage despite the security guards "pushes back."

I heard him then...my lover Ruben Ramos. I call him my lover because it goes way back...one of these days, I'll tell you ;). No, I never slept with him; he's old enough to be my grand dad! Ahhh...but he's a silver fox. I heard his voice come on, so deep and mature, singing right to my heart. Then I started to think...realize. I've never danced with a man! Ok that statement was far too vague. I mean to Tejano music. The spins, the turns, the closeness. the leading. I have danced with my close friends. Like when RKF and I went to see Michael Salgado and we are trying our best to hold onto each other and dance. Nombre, I'm bumping booties with everyone. We're swingig and swaying in all directions. But, hell yeah, we were having fun!

The same applies to Abe - we're trying to dance - not sure, who should lead? We're having fun though. We're better @ cumbias or reggaeton, bumping up against each other. Dropping down to hip hop music.

But Tejano music? Ok that takes me home. That's memories of my family, quinceneras, and weddings. Ignoring the cigarette smoke and the scent of beer. Sitting there watching the happily married couples dance together. The man's leading and the woman is following gracefully. The cowboy wear and the pretty dresses with pointy high heels. Long hair swaying. Or short hair fluffed up. When we have a big "baile," everyone gets all dressed up. Sometimes, the men even wear suits, like someone I know. He'll be the only one at a country dance wearing a suit, but hey like I say "whatever floats your boat." I love to sit there and watch people dance together. Those happy couples who I know may have had some more downs then ups, but are still together, strong. Commitment. Don't give up. I like that. Or the elderly people who complain of arthritis during the day and then once night arrives, they're kicking up their heels dancing to a pachanga.

Now that I have my photography business, I'm on the dance floor with my camera or on the sidelines shooting them with that bright flash. Right up in front of them, trying to capture that moment. I got some great shots last time I "danced" with the camera. I like to sit there and watch these people dancing. It's a warm feeling. Then again, it's a chill. Because I can't relate. I think of how wonderful it would be to dance with someone who's slightly taller than me, warm and comforting, and mature - oh man, I cannot stress that enough. He must be mature. I think of all those pretty dresses I have with ruffles, made of the softest materials. I stopped wearing them to dances because, well I need to be prepared in capris because of the pockets for money and camera discs.

I dream of how wonderful it would be - to wear one of my pretty dresses, throw a silk wrap around my shoulders, curl my hair till it bounces, slip into my heels, and DANCE. Walk into the dance hall on a mature man's arm, with a little evening bag on my arm, and of course, I'd be smiling. It would be blissful. I wrote about this once for a writing assignment. It's a short paragraph. I was "dreaming" of someone when I wrote it. Wondering how great he looks in his classy dark colors. Wondering how fun he is to be around...wishful thinking - that's all.

That's what I'd like - to go dancing with a man. In the meantime, the club scene is fun. Maybe, I like that commitment that people have when they are dancing. You know, those married people. Like my sister and her goofy husband, they're a great couple. He stands by her. I like that. Maybe, one day I'll have that.....