When You Started Writing Poems in Spanish

3. softened with gasoline and ash

When I arrived home from another few hours at work, I texted Alexia my address, also adding in a sarcastic "thanks for reminding me about my microphone" which she took literally and responded "no problem."

Tossing my phone onto the couch, I began tidying up my apartment in order to hide how truly unprepared I was for this meeting. Class? Whatever it was, I was eager to get it over with so I could enjoy the rest of my weekend in peace. Alexia would show up in an hour, teach me some basic pronunciation tips and phrases, I would give her some poetry books of mine, and we would part ways until next Friday, which would be the same.

After making sure my living space was adequate for the World's Greatest Football Player, I began pawing through my bookshelf, looking for some romantic collections. I wanted to find a writer with a specific style, one who focused on description who she could emulate. My eyes landed on a collection by Pablo Neruda. Perfect, I thought. The book carried both the English and Spanish versions of his poems, which would be good for Alexia. I pulled it out and looked for a few more, hesitating when I found a small book containing works by Sappho. I didn't know whether Alexia would be into poems like that, but part of me thought that if she wasn't, she would have to suck it up in order to learn.

I took out the Sappho collection and placed it on top of Neruda's Love Poems. Two would be fine for now, and I wanted to go shopping for more books and collections anyway. Checking my watch, I was surprised to note that I still had almost fourty minutes until Alexia arrived.

My couch looked rather comfy at that moment, so I decided to take a quick cat nap in order to take in as much information about speaking Spanish as possible. I flopped down, adjusting a throw pillow beneath my head, and shut my eyes.

What felt like just seconds later, I was awoken by knocking on my door and a ringing sound from my phone. I jumped up and ran to the door, slipping on my loose pant leg as I hauled it open.

Alexia stared at me in confusion. She was dressed differently then how I saw her earlier, sporting baggy jeans, a grey t-shirt, a tote bag, and a baseball cap. I ran a hand through my hair. What time was it?

"I am two minutes late, did you forget I was coming?" Alexia asked, looking me up and down.

I shook my head, "No, no... Just decided to take a nap after I got everything ready. Come in, sorry, ah, lo siento."

Alexia rolled her eyes at my obvious butchering of the language and stepped inside, taking a look around. I found myself wondering what she thought, if she liked it.

"Nice," Alexia said.

"Thank you," I responded, trying to fill the silence. "We can sit now, can I get you a drink? Coffee? Tea? I might have wine too."

That last suggestion was a joke, but I don't think she found it very funny.

"Can I have some water?" Alexia said, sitting down. "And you look like you need coffee."

"Ha ha," I said, opening up my fridge to grab a bottle of water. I then emptied it into a glass and added some ice, passing it to her at the table. Before I sat down, I thought for a second. "Actually, coffee sounds good, I'll make some. If you change your mind, there'll be extra."

Alexia nodded, taking some things out of the bag she had brought. After I set up and turned on my coffee maker, I joined her at the table.

Along with my books, there were pages from some sort of children's workbook laid out on the table, along with an English to Spanish dictionary. My head hurt looking at it.

"What is this stuff?" I asked. "'Baby's First Spanish Words' I'm not a baby?"

She seemed to find this funny. "You are a baby when it comes to Espanola. The first step to learning is accepting the fact that you know nothing."