Un Poco Loco
"I don't want to talk about it," Héctor answered, sadly.
"Come on, Héctor, you can tell me anything," Imelda said encouragingly.
"No, I can't! I don't think you'd bear to hear it! It was one of the worst memories of my entire life!" The songwriter cried, covering his face. "And I wish to forget about it!"
"Héctor, talking will make you feel better."
Imelda knew that if her friend didn't say anything, she'd never figure out what's wrong. "I'm not going to give up asking until you finally say something! So talk!"
Héctor sighed, knowing that there was no way to avoid this conversation.
"Um, where do I start?" he asked, cluelessly, plopping down on the couch.
"How about the beginning?" Imelda prompted, sitting next to him.
Héctor blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Everything was dreadful!" He sighed, again. The failed musician summarized the whole evening, starting at the talent show in which he explained how happy he was when they performed their song. When Imelda asked him when things started to turn bad, that was when Héctor gulped. Briefly, he explained that Ernesto put him on the spot to sing his very personal song, did a mediocre job, and didn't get to go on the world tour! In a moment of anger, Héctor revealed, "After having a fight with the band, I stormed off to Sol Inn bar to drink my sorrows and happened to see Ernesto kissing a woman!" He quickly covered his mouth, as soon as he said that. Oh shoot, he wasn't supposed to say anything.
Imelda was stunned, to say the least. Then after a long moment of silence, she sighed angrily. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Huh?" Héctor's jaw dropped.
"Oh, I already know about his dirty little secret!"
Seeing that her guest was still completely dumbfounded, Imelda breathed another sigh of annoyance.
"This wasn't the first time he cheated on me," the woman explained. "At first, he was loyal to me. Then after the death of my baby, Ernesto started leaving the house a lot. I didn't know where he was. I didn't even know what he was doing until I heard from my friends that they saw him making out with a prostitute in the alley. I didn't believe them at first. Then when I came home from shopping, I spotted him making out with a woman in his bedroom!"
Héctor had a bad feeling about where this was going.
"I was livid!" Imelda cried. "I left him right away! I went back to my parents' mansion, and plead with them to let me stay! But they turned me away! Do you know what they said to me?"
The musician shook his head.
"They said, 'Oh sorry Imelda, but your husband is your family now. His house is your home now.'"
"That's...that's awful!" Héctor gasped. "Don't you have other family members that could take you?"
"No, I have nowhere else to go," Imelda said in a small voice. "My other family members are either dead or have moved to Texas. I have no future."
"I have no future, either," Héctor said, remembering what happened tonight.
"What's the name of your song?" Imelda asked. She was willing to change the subject from her back to him. "What made you mess it up?"
"Un Poco Loco. I felt odd singing in front of the audience because I didn't write it for them. I wrote it for a very special girl-one that I am in love with."
"Can you sing it to me?"
"I'm not good at it," Héctor said, in a scared voice.
"It's okay," Imelda responded kindly. "Just sing it to me anyway."
The musician was still a bit nervous. But he looked into Imelda's eyes and began to sing slow and sweetly.
"What color's the sky?
¡Ay mi amor, ay mi amor!
You tell me that it's red
¡Ay mi amor, ay mi amor!
Where should I put my shoes?
¡Ay mi amor, ay mi amor!
You say, 'put them on your head!'
¡Ay mi amor, ay mi amor!"
The world had slipped away and it was just the two of them. The musician continued vocalizing his feelings to her.
"You make me un poco loco
Un poquititito loco
The way you keep me guessing
I'm nodding and i'm yesing
I'll count it as a blessing
That I'm only un poco loco
The loco that you make me
It is just un poco crazy
The sense that you're not making
The liberties you're taking
Leaves my cabeza shaking
You're just un poco loco
(He's just un poco crazy)
Leaves my cabeza shaking
(He's just un poco crazy)
Leaves my cabeza shaking
(He's just un poco crazy)
Leaves my cabeza shaking
(He's just un poco crazy)
Leaves my cabeza shaking
Un poquititititititititititititito loco!"
Héctor jumped in mid-air and finished the song with a big grito. He was surprised to see Imelda smiling and clapping.
"Héctor, that was amazing!" She was so thrilled, that she threw her arms around him.
"Really?" The musician blushed.
"Yes, I mean it!" Imelda winked. "Why was it so personal? Who was the girl you wrote it-" her voice trailed off as she pulled away and started making connections. She had figured it this was a love song. Her friend said it was a personal song, written for someone. Was it her? Wasn't it too long ago that she told him to put his shoes over his head? Or that the sky was red?
"Was this song written for me?"
The musician slowly nodded. He turned away, afraid of how she might react.
His hostess put her hands on his face and slowly turned him back to her.
"Héctor, are you in love with me?"
The musician gulped and his heart pounded. What should he do? What should he say?
"Ah gee, will you look at the time?" He said, changing the subject. "Is it midnight already?" He stood up a bit too quickly. "Let's go to bed-um, I mean-I need to go to bed! It's been a long night for me and I need-"
Before he could leave and make a run for the room or door-he didn't know-Imelda grabbed him firmly by the arm.
"Héctor Rivera," the woman said, very firmly. "I'm asking you a question."
"Well, can't it wait until morning?" The musician asked, sheepishly.
"No!"
"Oh boy," he sighed. Usually, he always finds his way out of trouble, but not his time.
"Are you in love with me?" Imelda repeated.
Héctor really didn't want to answer the question. Who knew how she would react? He didn't know if she reciprocated his feelings! Besides, the musician knew he wasn't supposed to be with her. His feelings for her may be romantic but they are sinful. He felt as if there were an angel and a demon battling over him back and forth. His bad side suggested that he could lie to her, just to save her honor. As much he was tempted to, Héctor's good side encouraged him to tell her the truth. Imelda is the type of person that values honesty very much-even if the truth hurts. What if she loved him back? What if she rejected him?
"Héctor, did you hear me?" Imelda was becoming impatient.
"Sí, mi amor," Héctor answered, kindly. At the sound of Imelda's gasp, he quickly put his fingers to his lips. 'Oh shoot, did I call her that?' He thought.
"You do love me," the woman said, clasping her hands. Her voice sounded shocked and... relieved? The songwriter didn't want to take the chance. As much as he wanted to kiss her, he couldn't do it.
"Oh, what does it matter whether I love you or not?" He asked, a bit angrily. "You are married to my best friend and I am going back to Santa Cecilia in two days! It would never work!" He stormed away to his room, while Imelda worriedly, followed him.
After he grabbed his guitar and packed his suitcase, he headed toward the door. "Gracias for your hospitality. You have been very kind and generous to me during these past few months, but I must leave!"
Imelda caught up with him. shocked and afraid of losing her only dear friend, she grabbed his arm. "Wait, where are you going?"
"Sol Inn."
"No, please don't leave me!" the woman pleaded, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Héctor, I beseech you to stay! Don't you see? I love you!"
Her confession made Héctor's heart soar with joy. He wished with all his heart that he could take her into his arms and kiss her all night long. Or maybe take her with him. But his mind strictly reminded him that she belonged to his best friend. It wouldn't be fair to him, Ernesto, or Imelda. "I love you too," he replied, sadly. He gave her a long hug, which was the only innocent gesture he could do, without putting them both in danger. "But we can't be together, no matter how much I wanted." After the musician concluded his confession, he opened the door and left.
Imelda blew a kiss at him before closing the door. With her head down, she plopped down on the couch, feeling downhearted. She felt her cat, putting her paws on her left knee and meowing sympathetically. "I'll never see him again," she said, sorrowfully.
"The story is over already?" Miguel asked. He was hoping for more and the tale felt incomplete.
Well, I guess that's the end," Enrique said, shrugging his shoulders in disappointment. "How anticlimactic!" Rosa and Abel grumbled.
"It's not over yet, niños," Mama Coco said, gently. "Pepita led Papa back to Mama."