Saturday Morning
Apartment
Adonis and I are getting ready to go for a morning walk. This means we’re pulling on hats and sneakers in our pajamas.

“So, are we going to see that Borat movie tonight?”

Adonis, “Yeah, I think so. Is that alright with you?”

“Yeah! I’ve been wanting to see it. [cue Sacha Cohen voice, high pitch] Maybe afterward we’ll have sexy time!”

Adonis laughing, “Did you read the quotes they had about the movie [flipping through Time magazine]…here? Did you read these? They are unbelieveable.”

Tying my shoelaces and trying to ignore my morning breath, “I don’t want to know anything that might spoil it! Don’t read it. But I did glimpse that part -“ I cut myself off, laughing already.

“Oh yeah the-“

I get up and start yelling in Sacha Cohen imitation, “THE RUNNING OF THE JEWS! HIGH FIVE!”

Loud. It was really loud, our laughter.

knock knock knock

Adonis and I look at one another. His glance reads, “Who could that be?” My glance is, “There’s an offended and violent Jew outside and now we will be killed.”

Adonis slowly dips his eye into the peephole and opens the door. I hide behind him.

A white man, 33-ish, holding a small baby is standing at our door, “Uh, hi. Does anyone speak Spanish?”

Adonis looks at me. “No.”

Whitey, “Oh, okay…”

Maybe he needs a translater because a Spanish speaking driver has hit, blocked in, something to do with the cars in the parking lot.

My bravery mobilizes my tongue, “Well, I do, but I’m not…well, how proficient of a speaker do you need?”

Baby gurgles. Whitey shifts him on his left arm, “Oh, we need someone who knows…you know…can speak…really well…”

I look at Adonis. Is this an immigration issue? Bewildered. “Uh, that’s not me.”
Whitey, “So, you don’t know anyone that would? Speak Spanish?”

Adonis and I, brows furrowed, shake our heads slowly, “No…not anyone we can think of that’s available at this moment.”

Whitey, “So are there Mexicans here?” He glances at me. He’s not saying, ‘Spanish-speaking,’ he’s not saying Latinos or Latinas. He’s saying Mexicans. FBI. This is definitely FBI. The baby’s a ruse.

Adonis glances at me again, “Nope.”

Whitey turns to leave, baby attached. Adonis,”If you don’t mind my asking, what’s this for?”

Whitey turns and waves a glassy brochure with his baby-free right hand, “We’re looking for someone to help us with our bible preaching. We’re looking for Mexicans.”

I begin to pull Adonis away as if Whitey said he’d like to give us the plague. We close the door in silence. Adonis looks down at me with his classic Whaaaat IN THE HELL just happened? look.

I assume my Sacha Cohen, high pitch, screechy tone, “So he did not care about the Running of the Jews! HIGH FIVE!”