Soup. Therefore, Love.
Before work I made my way over to one of the restaurants near my place. I’d also gone the previous day, so the cook recognized me and smiled when I asked for the same thing again—a spicy hominy and pork soup with lettuce and a tostada. Today it was extra spicy. I couldn’t help coughing and tearing up at the first spoonfuls, and after I’d had some water she laughed and asked if I really liked the soup or if I was forcing myself to like it. We chatted for a bit and then she went back to her duties behind the bar and I hurriedly ate and glanced at my watch hoping I’d have enough time to get back to the Zoom meeting I had scheduled.
When I was paying the bill she asked--like most people I’ve met in this city--where I was from, and when I told her my hometown she went momentarily silent. Although her eyes were pointed in my direction, I could tell her gaze had gone far past beyond me.
“I’m not from here either,” she said. “But I’m coming up on almost ten years living in the city.”
She’d noticed that I’d caught her reaction at my hometown.
“You know, I once met a man who was also from your city,” she said. “He was the love of my life. I haven’t seen him in years.”
I asked if they’d met here or back home.
“Right here at the restaurant, actually,” she said. “You know when you feel those butterflies in your stomach when you’re with someone you know is the one for you? I felt that with him the moment I saw him. Oh, I loved him like I’ve never loved before. I loved him more than I love the father of my children.”
I’m pretty sure I inadvertently raised my eyebrows at this confession, but what I do remember clearly was smiling at her unabashedly puerile excitement. It was contagious, even the memory of this mystery man brightened her face up like a lightbulb, so I felt comfortable enough to ask her more about him.
“What happened?”
“Well, the last time I saw him we went to dinner. Then he dropped me off at home and said he had to leave early the next morning. He works as a truck driver,” she said.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she continued. “Everyone told me the same thing: truck drivers have a woman at each city along their route. Before this, everything was perfect. We’d seen each other almost every day for months. But that was the last time I saw him. I tried calling. I never got in contact with him,” she said.
I told her I had an uncle who worked as a truck driver a long time ago. I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not when she proceeded to ask for my last name, but in the brief moment before I provided it for her, I saw the face of hope. Naturally, my uncle had not been her lover. Brushing aside her brief disappointment, she asked instead about my love life. I knew I to leave right at that moment if I wanted to make it in time for the meeting, but I decided that it was more prudent to tell her about the woman I’m dating. After all, she had just shared the story of the love of her life with me. So, not being a good storyteller, I nonetheless attempted to paint a fair picture of the romantic episodes I’ve shared with the woman I’m dating. When we said goodbye she said “Viva el amor, viva el amor”. Long live love.
I arrived at my desk and logged into Zoom with one minute and twenty-four seconds to spare.
New York, 15 October 2023