up with figs, bow chicka bow wow
July 20, 2011
Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective lives mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch—either in illustration or word form—and the other would make a companion to the sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise makes both minds more nimble. Hopefully.
Flirting in Spanish sounds almost exactly like flirting in English.
The two in the seats crammed next to me in row 30 of this flight keep it up for three hours, heads bent at charming angles and soft laughs.
Passport pictures are compared. She’s embarrassed by hers and keeps her fingers over her picture. She’s German, which explains why I can puzzle out about half of what she’s saying, since she speaks slowly enough for my brain to dredge up the Spanish I took at UT.
His speech is like music, like a stream over rocks. I get maybe one word in 30.
They talk of hermanos, abuelos. No esposas or esposos. No novios or novias.
I close my eyes. I block them out with a concert on my iPod. Perhaps I sleep.
When I look again, just before we land, they are holding hands. Praying, perhaps. Or something else.
Then, touchdown.
Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.
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