la verdad sobre Sr. Chatty | 2002-06-06 - 9:56 p.m.


By now, I am fren�tica with fear. My est�mago burns and roils within me like a seething cazuela of pozole -- not, hijos, with queasiness at the probabilidad of having to consume Cajun McChicken for dinner -- but with concern for Abuelita. Can you blame me? Anyone who has visited Las Vegas knows the peligro of walking the Strip at night. Or cruzando la calle by day. Or comiendo the buffet at Circus Circus at cualquiera hora.

"Qu� ha pasado? Is Abuelita alright?" I ask.

If I didn't know any better, I would say Mam� was enjoying this. She sighs, looks down, and primly smooths the falda of her pool-blue suit before taking a seat at the edge of a white plastic booth. "Hija," she sighs. "There isn't going to be any wedding."

This is all happening too quickly for me to process. "What ... what happened?" I ask, sinking into the other side of the booth, realizing all too late that the seat is covered with an asqueroso mulch of old fries, open ketchup packets, and hamburguesa wrappers.

Mam� folds her hands like a talk show host. "This man ... this person she was to marry today ..."

"�S�? �Se�or Chatty?"

I guess Mam� has never heard me usar that apodo before. She looks puzzled. "Well," she continues, "we didn't know much about your Abuelita's betrothed, but we all assumed your Abuelita and he had met in person before they decided to wed."

Uh oh.

"And it turns out that ... oh, Dios mio, how do I tell you this..." She casts her eyes heavenward, as though seeking advice from Jes�s Himself on how to present this very bad news of hers.

"He's a she?" I offer, trying to be helpful.

The color goes out of Mam�'s face and her eyes snap wide open, like she's been eslapped. It looks for un segundo like she is going to reach across the table and castigarme, but upon reflection she stiffens and relaxes into her usual attitude of saintly resignation. "Aaiii, Se�or, I would like to know what I did to merecer such a daughter," she whispers hoarsely, levantando los ojos to the ceiling again.

I can see this is only going to lead to more musings in this vein, so I gently try to guide her back to the subject of Abuelita's wedding. "What happened with Se�or Chatty, Mam�?" I ask.

Mam� brings her gaze level with mine. I can tell that she has not told anyone else about Se�or Chatty just yet; she is trying to find just the right palabras to convey the unspeakable horror of the situaci�n without bringing any unnecessary esc�ndalo upon herself or the familia. "Castigada ... your Abuelita tells me that when her husband-to-be got off the plane esta ma�ana..."

"What, Mam�? What?"

"He was with his mother."

�Y qu�?

"His 30-year-old mother, Castigada."

�?

"Oh, Castigada. Dios nos asista. Se�or Chatty is thirteen."

anterior - siguiente

pride and prejudice - 2004-09-07
wherein I become a Yahoo! Search Result - 2004-06-23
like 9-11 all over again - 2004-06-20
enough said - 2003-02-05
tirar por la calle de en medio - 2003-01-28

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