Signal to Noise

by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

  “Hey, what’s up?” he asked.

  “I’m getting more ice,” she said and hoped he’d leave it at that.

  “I’ll help you.”

  “No!”

  “I’ll get my jacket.”

  “I said no!”

  She rushed down the steps and hurried out into the street. When she heard him behind her she ran. She rushed towards her home, turned a corner and bumped into a mound of garbage, tripped over something and fell.

  She felt the glass cutting her hand and looked down to see she had sliced her palm with a dirty beer bottle. Meche groaned.

  “Are you alright?” Sebastian asked.

  He looked concerned. His anxiety irritated her. Meche stood up, wiping her hand against her jeans and nodding.

  “I’m drunk,” she announced. “That’s all.”

  “You shouldn’t be walking by yourself like this.”

  “Shouldn’t you be back at the posada? You’ve left your guest all alone.”

  “Fuck that, I’m taking you home.”

  “I have two legs and can walk it.”

  “I’m not letting you go without me.”

  Meche was going to tell him to fuck himself but then a wave of nausea hit her and she turned around, vomiting all over the sidewalk. The bitter taste in her mouth seemed like a fine coda for the night and she promised herself she would wish for a different life come morning.

  “Here, it’s alright,” he said.

  Sebastian brushed the hair out from her face and offered her a tissue. Meche dabbed it against her mouth and smiled.

  “You’re so thoughtful,” she said. “I fucking hate that.”

  “I hate you too, Meche.”

  Meche laughed. Sebastian joined in. He curled his fingers around her shoulder.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you home.”

  “What about your motorcycle?”

  “I’ll pick it up tomorrow. Right now we are going to walk back to your place, where I’ll give you a big glass of water and tuck you in.”

  “And will you sing Ne me quitte pas to me?” she asked, the words slurred together.

  She liked that song. She liked how Jacques sang it and the line about beads of rain from faraway countries.

  “What?”

  “Jacques Brel. You don’t know anything.”

  “Not about music.”

  She looked down, at his sneakers with all the inked drawings and words.

  RELEASED FROM THE chains of school, winter break holding its arms wide open, Daniela and Meche dedicated their days to watching TV together and—in a smaller measure—Christmas shopping. This was the third record store they had hit that morning. Daniela was starting to get tired and she still did not know what Meche was trying to accomplish.

  “I found it,” Daniela said. “Procol Harum, right?”

  “Right,” Meche said.

  Meche grabbed the record, touched it carefully and dismissed it.

  “No. It’s not right,” Meche said, shaking her head.

  “What’s wrong with it? It’s the record you wanted.”

  “Yes. But it needs to be very powerful.”

  “It feels warm.”

  “Warm. Not hot. I know there’s a copy of that record somewhere and it’s searing hot.”

  “What do you plan to do with it when you find it?”

  “A love spell.”

  “Really?” Daniela asked, eyes wide. “Who do you want to fall in love with you?”

  “Same guy I’ve always wanted. Constantino.”

  “I heard he was getting cozy with Isadora at Jimena’s posada.”

  “Funny, I thought Sebastian was getting cozy with Isadora. It must have been after we left.”

  “Sebastian and Isadora? Really?”

  “Tell me about it. It’s mildly disgusting.”

  “Why?”

  “Obviously she’s just teasing him.”

  “You don’t think she likes him?”

  Meche looked at Daniela with a really? expression. Daniela put the record back.

  They drifted around the store and Daniela pulled out one of Luis Miguel’s records, smiling at the blond, attractive young man. She ran her fingers over his photograph.

  “Maybe I could wish to be swept off my feet by Luis Miguel.”

  “That’s not very realistic,” Meche replied.

  “Magic doesn’t have to be realistic. Does it?”

  “I wouldn’t push it too far.”

  “Then maybe a kiss from Mr. Rodriguez.”

  “Eww. He’s our teacher and like a billion years older than us.”

  “Mr. Rochester was older than Jayne Eyre.”

  Daniela wished life were more like books. Well, not all books, but at least the books she read. Caridad Bravo Adams was her favourite author, though she also appreciated the work of Danielle Steel and Barbara Cartland. Her fantasies were embroidered with details from a multitude of novels, but they all concluded with a handsome man, a wedding, a kiss and a picture-perfect happy ending. All she wanted was a little tiny taste of that.

  “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if life were like the novels?” she said. “Then Constantino could be the handsome general who saves you from a band of robbers. Mr. Rodriguez could be a dashing pirate who kidnaps me for a ransom but ends up falling in love with me. Sebastian could even be the daring young man who wins over a princess.”

  “No way.”

  “I’m going to buy this,” Daniela decided, grabbing the Luis Miguel record.

  “Just promise you won’t play it when I’m around.”

  “Awww. Hey, do you want me to make cupcakes in my Easy-Bake oven?”

  SEBASTIAN AND MECHE sat together atop a table in the courtyard of the mall, right by the Nutrisa store, and ate frozen yogurt. Sebastian was spending all his spare time wrapping gifts for a mob of crazy shoppers, who thrust packages and bills in his face, asked for red or green bows, all demanding it be done in five minutes. If she wanted to hang out with him she had to do it during his lunch break.

  Daniela was off to Mazatlán for a week, to spend Christmas by the sea with all the assorted uncles and cousins who lived there. This left Meche to her own devices, with Sebastian as her only companion. Her strategy was to hunt around the record shops in the morning, visit him for lunch, then head home to listen to whatever she had bought while she played on the computer.

  That day she was carrying a Queen album under her arm after another failed attempt to find the perfect copy of A Whiter Shade of Pale. She was beginning to think the record was her own white whale, and although Sebastian might be proud to know she had internalized some of his knowledge about Moby Dick, she would much rather find the damn thing.

  “Do you really have to head back?” Meche asked.

  “Yeah. I have another four hours, maybe six if I pick up some extra time.”

  “You’re working like all day long.”

  “I’m making money.”

  “Bo-ring.”

  “That’s because you have money.”

  “I only have my allowance and that ain’t much.”

  “More than I have. It’s just a couple more days.”

  “No, after Christmas comes Epiphany,” Meche reminded him. “You’ll be wrapping presents ’til January and we won’t get to do anything.”

  “Well, that’s the way it is.”

  “We could cast a spell to get some more money.”

  “Just the two of us? I thought that wasn’t a good idea.”

  Well, that was the official rule. Not that Meche wasn’t ready to bend the rules a bit, though she wasn’t sure she should tell Sebastian that.

  “Do you want to come over and play a video game later? Daniela lent me her Nintendo and we can rent a game at Chaplin’s,” he suggested.

  “My mom doesn’t like me going to your place.”

  “Do you want her to phone my brother? He’s around today.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Meche finished
her frozen yoghurt and jumped down from the table, tossing the plastic container and the spoon in the garbage can. Sebastian also tossed his away and they headed back towards the gift wrapping station.

  Meche eyed an instant photo booth with interest.

  “Do you have coins?” she asked him.

  “What for?”

  Meche did not bother answering, she grabbed Sebastian by the wrist and pulled him into the photo booth, swinging aside a tattered red curtain. The compartment was small and long-limbed Sebastian barely managed to fold himself in, Meche squeezing next to him.

  She lifted her palm and he handed her a few coins. Meche threw them into the slot and waited.

  The first flash went off with Meche sticking her tongue out. The second was much of the same, her hand lifting behind Sebastian’s head to make a pair of horns. Flash a third time and she smiled sweetly.

  “Last one,” Sebastian said.

  Meche turned to look at him and Sebastian picked that moment to also turn his head and look at her.

  Time slowed down. The seconds crawled, lazily, and she looked at Sebastian and Sebastian looked at her for what was maybe two, three months. A whole season passed in his gaze and her heart—which she knew should beat at 60-100 per minute, knowledge gleaned from her science textbook—beat maybe once or twice.

  The walls of the booth, which had imprisoned them in its narrow space, drifted away further and further and the roof melted, all of which caused Meche to panic.

  Then the flash went off, bathing them with its white light, illuminating every corner of the booth and making Meche gasp in surprise.

  The light faded, the walls crept back together and Meche’s heart regained its usual healthy rate, time suddenly returning to its normal course.

  “Let’s look at the pictures,” she said, hastily exiting the booth.

  Sebastian remained inside, behind the tattered red curtain, while Meche leaned down near the little opening which was supposed to spit out the photos. She tapped her foot impatiently, wishing the photos would just develop.

  Sebastian stepped out of the booth just at the moment the photos appeared. He opened his mouth and she held the photos for him to see.

  “They came out okay,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Sebastian muttered.

  “I’ll pay you back the money... um, I’m going home now.”

  “Alright. Are you coming over for the video game?”

  Meche just wanted to get home fast, so she nodded and stepped back, stuffing the photos in her back pocket.

  “I’ll meet you at Chaplin’s around six!” he yelled.

  CHAPLIN’S HAD A big, ugly sign outside which showed a silhouette of the famous comedian raising his hat. The store’s full name was Chaplin’s Movie Emporium, but nobody called it that. It rented videos in Betamax and a small selection of video games. Videocentro was bigger, but they charged more for rentals and it was further away. Plus, the clerk at Chaplin’s usually threw in a free bag of microwaveable popcorn. The clerk was only a couple of years older than they were and he was dating Jimena, which explained the added bonus.

  “So are we going with Castlevania?” Sebastian asked.

  Meche was looking over the videos, not paying much attention to him. She wore her heavy, green jacket and her matching green sneakers. Every once in a while she bit her lower lip, like when she didn’t know an exam question.

  She didn’t look very happy to be at the video store and Sebastian wondered what was up with that.

  “Castlevania is fine.”

  Sebastian paid, feeling a bit glad that he could do this. He grabbed the game and the popcorn and they walked back to his apartment.

  The elevator did not work so they trudged up the stairs. Inside it was as dirty as usual even though Romualdo had promised to clean up when they had spoken during breakfast. Sebastian sighed.

  “Romu!” he yelled.

  No answer. Sebastian put the keys on a hook by the door.

  “He’s probably gone to buy something for dinner. Do you want some juice?”

  “I’m fine.”

  They sat on the couch in front of the banged-up television set. Sebastian plugged in the Nintendo and pushed in the game, grabbing a controller. Meche sat at the edge of the couch, the heavy jacket firmly buttoned up to her neck.

  “Do you have a cold?” he asked.

  “No,” Meche said.

  “You look pale.”

  “I’m just tired.”

  “You don’t have to play with me if you don’t want to.”

  “I’m here, am I not?”

  “Okay.”

  Meche took off her jacket and tossed it on the back of the sofa. She was wearing one of her oversized t-shirts. It said ‘Blondie’ with big, pink letters on a black background. Sebastian thought she looked very small in it, like she was about to be swallowed by the shirt.

  “What?” Meche asked testily.

  “Nothing.”

  “Just push play.”

  He did, guessing that Simon Belmont might be the solution for whatever weirdness was happening that day. Because he did feel weird. In the phone booth there had been this uncomfortable moment when he had looked at Meche and she had looked back at him, and it didn’t feel like looking at Meche. Hell, he looked at Meche every day of the week and he knew exactly what she looked like, but when the flash went off he thought, for a second, that he didn’t know her. It was... bizarre.

  A few levels later Romualdo still had not showed up but at least Meche seemed more relaxed. She pressed the buttons on the controller, trying to manipulate Belmont’s whip, then handed it to Sebastian when she got killed.

  “Your turn.”

  “Can I ask you something?” she said, as he grabbed the controller.

  “What?”

  “Do you really like Isadora?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that.”

  Sebastian frowned. “Are you going to tell me she’s a ditz?”

  “No. I’m just asking.”

  “She’s cute.”

  “Yeah, so is Cindy Crawford.”

  “Cindy Crawford doesn’t go to the same school I go to.”

  “So it’s convenience?”

  “It’s... ah... well, you like Constantino, no?”

  “Don’t you sometimes think we’re chasing after mirages?”

  “What’s so awesome about reality?” he asked, turning and looking at her.

  “It’s what we have.”

  “We have magic.”

  “I’m getting the feeling that doesn’t work as often as we expected.”

  Meche leaned back and rubbed her eyes, shrugging. The music on the video game played loudly, the rhythmic electronic beats repeating themselves. Sebastian pressed the pause button.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been looking for this stupid Procol Harum record for the past few days so I can cast a love spell... have Constantino fall in love with me.”

  “What? You think if you play a song from that band he’ll go nutty and start making out with you in a flash?”

  Meche blushed, looking down, as though she were trying to find out if the lettering on her t-shirt was still there.

  “Would that be so bad?” she asked. “I was also thinking maybe a glamour spell...”

  “A what?”

  “Something to make me look pretty.”

  “Meche, you are pretty.”

  Meche raised her head, her eyes dark and cold. “I’m not and I don’t like it when you lie to make me feel better,” she said flatly.

  “I’m not a liar.”

  Meche said nothing, though skepticism danced in her eyes. Fine. Maybe he was trying to be nice; was that such a big crime? When had a kindness become a slap in the face? The truth was it would take some spell for Constantino to pick Meche over Isadora, but he didn’t want to say it outright.

  “I’m polite.”

  She was getting ready to come back at him with a quick, witt
y jab and Sebastian found himself holding his breath, waiting. Before Meche could speak and needle him with some cynical line from a song, he leaned down and in a sudden case of insanity—maybe because he felt bad about her, maybe because he felt bad about himself, maybe because Constantino was never going to pick her but Isadora was not going to pick him either—kissed her.

  Meche opened her mouth, no doubt to insult him, but all this did was deepen the kiss.

  Sebastian knew he probably wasn’t doing it right because the only time he had kissed another girl before had been in sixth grade, when he’d been invited to a dreadful game of Spin the Bottle and ended up locking lips with a classmate who seemed utterly grossed out by the fact that it was Sebastian instead of the boy sitting next to him.

  Meche’s sharp intake of breath made him pause and he drew back, just staring at her in utter confusion.

  Meche looked like she had been run over by a truck, her eyes all big and wide.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean it.” He paused and added, “Are we cool?”

  “Jesus,” Meche said, reaching behind the couch and grabbing her jacket.

  “Meche...”

  “My backpack. Where is it?”

  She looked around the couch, finding the backpack on the floor and quickly zipping it closed.

  “Why are you mad?”

  “Because you’re right. You didn’t mean it,” she said.

  Sebastian raised his hands, unable to articulate a proper response. She slammed the door shut on her way out.

  MECHE DID NOT understand. The room was dark, the apartment was quiet. She had her Walkman by the pillow, the cassette tape turning, playing Leonard Cohen. This was a quick recipe for sleep but sleep did not come.

  She got up and brushed past her poster of The Police, her hands dancing over her records, the familiar shapes of the action figures sitting on the shelves.

  She peeked out the window and tried to find the moon but she did not see it and sat back on her bed, wondering if Sebastian was also awake.

  Meche did not understand what happened. Had Sebastian gone mad? Why had he done a thing like that? And then, he had been sorry... obviously.

  She pressed a finger against her lips and opened the window.

  VICENTE SAT LISTENING to his wife and his daughter. It was like tuning into one of the old radio dramas on XEW. All it lacked was the appropriate, tear-jerker music. He wasn’t in the mood for dramas and every word was like a nail into his skull. He wanted to tell them to fight outside.