“I am bored Ray. Let’s do something other than blog, blog, blog.”
‘What do you suggest, La Flor*? You got your start because of a blog and now you’re turning your back on it? It smacks of being a bit ungrateful, don’t you think?”
“Not at all. You don’t listen to the same song all the time, do you? I am so tired of you playing the same songs every morning over and over again. I’ve memorized all of them.
“I like those songs. Besides, you don’t sound like George Strait.”
“It’s the same food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Today’s Friday, and I already know what you’re going to cook for Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. How about the time you leave for the Y? Shall I continue?”
“Stop. I get your point. What do you suggest we do to break the routine?”
“Let’s go to the Riverwalk. You can order your iced tea. I’ll get a margarita. And, we will people watch and make snap judgments.”
“A Margarita?” I asked.
“What other kinds of drink do you suggest for a beautiful, tough, and edgy PI on the San Antonio Riverwalk?”
“How about ice water with lemon?”
30 minutes later we were sitting under red, white, and green umbrella at a table next to the San Antonio River on the Riverwalk. Crowds of people passing by looking for an empty table. Good luck to them and the Red Sox. It’s a good thing I’m writing this blog. I made sure we got a table with a view so we could make our snap judgments. Crowds of people passing by looking for an empty table. Good luck to them and the Red Sox. It’s a good thing I’m writing this blog. I made sure we got a table with a view so we could make our snap judgments.
A mariachi band was playing close by. I like mariachi music. There’s something about it that will never make the top of the charts, yet, it tugs at the heartstrings – especially when you’re writing a blog. When the song ended, the leader of the mariachi band came over. He took off his sombrero and bow, then said, “Senor, would you like us to play a haunting romantic melody for the señorita and you?”
I was about to say no, when La Flor said, “Perfecto.”
I wondered where La Flor was picking up her knowledge of the Spanish language. Within seconds, a trumpet player, a violin player, and a guitar player who doubled as a vocalist surrounded us. We were the center of attention on the Riverwalk. I wanted to crawl under the table. La Flor moved her chair closer to me. I looked at her and said, “You’re embarrassing me.”
She grabbed hold of my arm. I removed it. She grabbed hold of it again. With my other hand, I reached into my pants pulled out a $20 and asked the leader to move on. A wave of the sombrero, a bow, and thankfully La Flor released my arm to applaud.
“You are not my girlfriend,” I said.
She said, “I’m a girl, right?”
“Right,” I answered, too blind to see the sixteen-wheeler approaching me at 110 miles an hour.approaching me at 110 miles an hour.approaching me at 110 miles an hour.
“I’m your friend, right?” she said.
“Right,” I answered and switched metaphors. ‘Houston, Houston,” my mind screamed, ‘I have a problem.’ Only problem, NASA isn’t reading my mind.
I fell head first into the fifth-grade trap.
La Flor said, “Then I’m your girlfriend.”
“What about Jack Reacher?” I asked.
“What Jack doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” she said.
“How many margaritas have you had?” I asked.
“Not to worry, Ray. The chips and salsa absorb the Marguerite.”
“What are you talking about?”
La floor didn’t answer me. She took one more sip of her margarita and said, with the littlest voice I’ve heard in years, “Ray, I’m so happy you are the designated driver. La Flor PI is taking the rest of the day off. Can we go home?” Burp
We went to the Riverwalk with the intention of making snap judgments on other people. All in good fun. Not intending any harm. We didn’t make any snap judgments. There may have been many snap judgments made about us and deservedly so. I have no intention of making any towards La Flor. She’s sleeping so I can tell you she has a heart of gold and her rough edges, at times, obscure the wonderful person she is. That is true of all of us. Our rough edges often hide our genuine goodness.
* La Flor is a fictional character and acts as my alt ego. Her character has evolved over the blog posts. She began with a single letter as her name. Her name gradually grew to two letters, then three before she settled on La Flor. She liked the name because it fit her idea of a beautiful, tough, and edgy feminine PI. It is my interaction with her persona that serves as the source of these blog posts. I have no notion how La Flor will continue to evolve. It is an adventure for me as well as the reader.