That night just before sunset, I went to go eat at McDonalds. I had two cheeseburgers, a large coke, and some apple pie. It was supposed to be one of those empty nights to be filed away within a special pocket of memory for the interchangeable. Buy some food, watch TV and drink a beer, maybe, if I felt motivated, I’d masturbate before going to sleep… 

Yet by whatever eventful string of coincidence, I ran into Sofia at the cornershop near my apartment on my way back home from McDonalds that night. She was walking home with a couple of friends from a little get together they had just attended, and under the unusual circumstances, she decided to split from her group and catch up. 

It could have been avoided maybe, by some trivial gesture or hesitation. If I had ordered a vanilla sundae instead of an apple pie, or if I had taken a longer piss in the morning, I don’t really know. It is not much of a practical way of looking at things. But for a fact, I would have not gone out of my way to see her and she would have not gone out of her way to see me. 

So she told me about herself and I told her about myself. 

***

She looked beautiful in the moonlight as she spoke in a hushed shy tone.

“I am actually here for work. I work for an advertising company now. You know those annoying advertisements that come in the mail that everyone hates? Stamped by yours truly. Or at least that’s how I started–I am a manager now. I am here to meet for some sort of leadership orientation…out of all places, in our little town.” 

It hurt the way she said “our little town”, because it was almost like a term of endearment. “Little.” A diminutive. “Our.” A plural possessive. A single syllable. 

I looked awkwardly at my feet pacing the sidewalk as she continued to speak.

“Pay is alright. It was tough at the beginning though. I can’t lick envelopes anymore. I had to start keeping a cup of water by my desk so I could wet my fingers and seal them like that instead. But managing isn’t so bad. It may not be the most ideal thing out there, but its not bad.” 

As we approached the gas station, I bought us some cheap beer. She still looked beautiful. Even in that harsh and sterile artificial gas station light.

We walked over to my apartment and we sat on the stoop. 

It was my turn to speak.

“I am an editor for a translating company now.” I muttered.

“ I don’t have a regular schedule, so I do most of my work late at night. I really do enjoy translation… it demands all, sorts of creative decisions. Yet there is no such thing as pure translation without some loss of linguistic value. It can be a little difficult at times, but it keeps me on my feet.” 

“Can you give me an example?” She asked eagerly. I answered without hesitation.

“In Spanish there is a word that I really love. “Enlunado”. It translates in English to “moonlit” but that isn’t entirely correct, both in meaning and in form. There is something more poetic, more romantic in “enlunado” that the word “moonlit” lacks. “Enlunado” can also suggest how someone is metaphorically affected or influenced by the moon in a much more profound way. “Moonlit” lacks the sentimentality of “enlunado”. “Moonlit” is an adjective, while “enlunado” can act both as an adjective but also a verb. For example:

Mis pensamientos enlunados/

Me regresan hacia el olvido/

De nuestro breve amor.

Which translates to:

My moonlit thoughts/

Return me to the oblivion/

Of our short-lived love.

“In the original Spanish, “enlunados” strongly conveys that the speaker’s thoughts are influenced by the moon. In English, it is more suggestive. The intention is still there, but it is more elusive. The poem is definitely more beautiful and poignant in Spanish.”

“I see.” She replied in a serious tone.

I took a long gulp of my drink and reached for the pack of Marlboro’s in my pocket. 

“Do you mind if I smoke?” I asked nervously.

“No not at all.” She giggled slightly.

“Is it weird seeing me smoke?” 

“Just a little, I never took you for a cigarette smoker.” She awkwardly admitted.

“I guess I only really smoke cigarettes from time to time. I do smoke weed regularly though, it’s kind of embarrassing, I mean I don’t think there’s anything inherently wrong with it, but there’s all these bad connotations, but I am probably just over thinking it…” 

“I’ve never smoked, but I’d like to, if that’s okay with you.” She interrupted.

“Like right now?” I said astonished.

“Yea why not. I can give you some money if you want.” She blushed.

“No that’s okay. You don’t have to give me anything.” 

“You sure? I really don’t mind…” 

“Its fine, let’s just go inside.” I insisted.

*** 

I could feel the effects of the alcohol kicking in. The wind was cold but my belly was warm. Things began mixing into each other—lights, sounds, old memories. My heart kept shaping itself into terrible unspeakable forms. 

I wish I could have planned this better ahead of time. Cleaned up my place a bit, maybe I would have even gotten a fancy bottle of wine. 

I rolled the joint as we sat side by side on the couch. 

“Isn’t it funny to be here like this? You know, just hanging out casually after everything that happened.” She said nervously. 

“I’m glad we can do this. I was worried about you for a long time, I am just happy we both made it out okay.” 

I took the first hit. 

“It might be a little harsh. Don’t breathe in too much at once.” 

“Am I supposed to feel anything?” 

“No, not yet, but it will kick in, don’t worry.” 

There was a momentary silence in the conversation, the type that makes room for all sorts of unnecessary thoughts. 

I didn’t know what to tell her. Somewhere in the world of the past, I loved her, and she loved me. It was a strange configuration of events. 

“So how long will you be staying around for? I asked. 

“I was supposed to leave last night but the company made a mistake booking the flight so I leave Tuesday instead.” 

“I see.” I tried to mask my disappointment.

“I was wondering if you could give me a ride home in a bit, if not I can call a cab.” She uttered with a hint of regret.

“Its fine I can drop you off, I am assuming you are staying at your parent’s place?” 

“Yes, it is still the same address. Hey, do you have eye-drops by any chance? My eyes are probably blood-shot.” 

“I do actually.” I replied.

After applying the drops carefully, two small drops traveled down her face. I couldn’t help but feel sadness take root in my body. She wore no expression, not even the slightest hint of misfortune, only two small traces of artificial tears. 

“Sofia, I don’t think I ever learned how to unlove you.” I finally pronounced. 

Except I actually didn’t say that. I could have never said that. I drove her home instead and then I went to sleep. A long uninterrupted dreamless sleep. 

©Scarlett S. Diaz 2025