Grapes Upside Down

31. Completos

~Madisen~

"I've never seen him like this before, with anyone." The guy who was introduced to me a half hour ago as Ignacio's best friend speaks directly into my ear, his arm wrapped around my shoulder.

"Completos!" Ignacio calls, returning to our table as he extends a plate in each hand towards Josiah and me. The amount of mayonnaise decorating the hotdog is truly stunning. Spread underneath the waves of mayo is about a half-pound heap of mashed up avocado, with a hefty sprinkling of diced tomatoes to complete the masterpiece.

The sausage sears my mouth when I bite in. Despite my attempts to dissimulate, Ignacio takes notice, hopping up to bring a bottled water. His interactions with the clerk in the hole-in-the-wall diner are crisp and assertive as he rushes the drink to me, then returns to pay. I overhear the worker giving Ignacio flack, and Josiah observes the scene with keen interest, shaking his head in laughter when his friend's voice rises in volume, speed and animation.

Josiah pops off his chair, carefree but with an air of duty, approaches Ignacio, throws an arm over his shoulder and steers him back to our table. The whole scene emanates a sort of brotherly aura.

"Tranquilo." Josiah hums for him to calm down, their faces close. "Focus on your girl." He winks at me while delivering my date to the chair next to mine.

Ignacio sighs, shaking off whatever agitation the water purchase sparked in him—I didn't catch everything that was said—before plopping down beside me.

"Is your mouth okay?"

I nod, nerve endings lighting up like a million mini-birthday candles all over my body as Ignacio takes my hands in his and scoots into me so our kneecaps are touching.

"A kiss will help," coaxes Josiah, his devilish grin shining from across the table.

Ignacio's dark eyes flash like sunlight blaring through sugar stone, and he leans forward to press his lips to mine. There's no tongue, no rippling, no movement, but the velvety texture of our flesh together, motionless, rushes a flood of sensations into my mouth and down my throat—scorching liquid gold that burns me for the second time tonight.

It is in this moment that I comprehend on a visceral level the idea that there's a thin line between excitement and anxiety. It's the thrill of Disney's Splash Mountain—the terrifying anticipation at the top of the drop, the free fall that eviscerates every one of your internal organs, the dousing of icy water up your nose, choking you breathless... all followed by one overarching, paradoxical truth: I love this; let's do it again.

We've been everywhere tonight, and now with our bellies full of completos, we continue our trek through Valparaíso. It's as if we are attempting to mark every square meter of the city with our footsteps.

After Ignacio picked me up tonight, right on time at 9:00pm, we took the micro to Valpo and stopped for tea at his colleague's house, who happened to be a sweet elderly woman. From there, we walked around the city, hands linked, as Ignacio offered several of his delightful anecdotes while pointing out the restaurants he's worked at, the neighborhoods in which he's been mugged, the clubs where one or another ridiculous incident went down.

As we now step back into the frigid black of Valparaíso, I'm privy to another handful of hilarious stories, compliments of Josiah.

"In high school, someone dared him to skinny dip in the ocean. While he was out swimming, a wave came up and washed all his clothes out to sea."

"No way!" I gasp. "That sounds like a made-up story."

"No, no, no, no, no!" Ignacio butts in, wagging a finger. "That absolutely is a made-up story. The truth is: This asshole sat there and watched my clothes float away. I was swimming a ways out, but I saw him lounging in his chair, laughing as the waves crashed higher along the shore, closer and closer to my stuff."