Familiar foreigner-smiles, friendly. Hispanic skins, sun-smoothed and tanned by sand and the mountain aries of Argentina.
Double-strawed margaritas and endless glasses of lemonade. Discussions regarding dessert, prolonged, then translated. Shy apologies for the delay.
But it is their waiter who apologies, quietly. He cannot remember the translator's name, though she always knows his.
She does not eat-- he wonders why-- only drinks, and he wishes to share her alcohol and the awkward, unused intricacies and intimacy of wordless communication. Desires the contentedness and ease of la familia he serves.
Later, leaving, the Latino night urges him.
(This is serving an increasingly-familiar Argentinian family and, in particular, their daughter, who fails to forget me.)
