You might think that Lethe grieved over the news that he would have to leave the Senora’s apartment, but he didn’t grieve at all. Their relationship had become strained over the last couple weeks. Lethe continued to come home late on the weekends and it was still not clear whether the Senora heard him enter her apartment at night. Sometimes he stayed up nearly an hour afterward with the lights burning in his smoky room. Noises rattled from underneath his door. The sound of his chair moving back and forth on its wobbly legs and the grating of his mother’s credit card probably aroused some suspicion. A VISA card with silver lacquer shimmered, cutting into the night.

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The Director called the next morning when Lethe was still in bed. The Senora was slicing vegetables in the kitchen, full of anxious vigor. “Si . . . si . . . un momento.”

Lethe crawled out of bed and came into the kitchen. He looked like a ball of melted wax; expression hadn’t seeped into his face yet. He took the phone from the Senora’s hand and pressed his ear against the garlic-smelling receiver. The Director’s gruff, commanding voice greeted him: “Good morning, Lethe.”

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When Lethe arrived back at the Senora’s apartment it was 2:30 in the morning. The residential street resembled nothing like the rest of Madrid on a Friday night. Whereas other sections of Madrid were clamorously alive, the Senora’s street went to bed before twelve o’clock.

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On Friday night Lethe met his Spanish friends at the end of the cul de sac. All the group was there, Carlos, Ricky, Javier, Damien and the others; but they seemed to be waiting for Lethe to arrive so they could take him off somewhere.  Javier, the fat-cheeked, jovial Spaniard, approached Lethe with open arms and ushered him toward the group . . . “My parents are gone for the weekend,” he said. “We’re celebrating at their condo. Will you come?”

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Chapter 25

They sat at the table waiting for Lethe to arrive. The meal was Spanish rice and beans; a quick meal; the Senora was tired of cooking for absent people. Donte told a story about his classmates while the Senora drank from her glass of wine. Once she enjoyed listening to Donte speak his pretty fluent sentences but now they grated on her aged ears and the more embellishment he gave to the Spanish language the less she cared to listen to him. His head had an oily sheen that reminded her of a slippery eel. She dismissed these thoughts because they were irrelevant.

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The Director of the study abroad program had a shiny bald pate with a fluff of thin, gray hair around the back of his head. He smiled generously and spread his arms to welcome you into his office. Some of the younger women (his female students) stood back in terror, but the Director reassured them it was only his “personalidad espanol” coming out. When in his native land, he felt a change in himself, a return to his natural way of being.

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Chapter 23

Lethe tells his psychiatrist that he doesn’t need to see a dermatologist anymore.  And his Spanish friends have asked him to work the mini bar at the local discotheque.

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Chapter 22

Lethe exults in his new-found friendship with the Spaniards.  The Senora is skeptical and wary of his overflowing enthusiasm.  Will he be able to make a smooth transition from lonely and anguished to popular and loved?

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Photo by “Mouldfish” on Flickr