A short fiction for Mental Health Awareness Month
“Tacos al Pastor”`
Thank you. OK, two tacos al pastor for the out of towner, coming up.
Sure, what? I can cook and talk.
Yeah, I guess I seen some stuff here. I mean, 20 years on a corner of a plaza in this city, you gonna see some stuff. It’s a little less going on than when I started but always something.
Well, like big city stuff, sabes? Other people’s dramas. Monday was a medical emergency over by the fountain. Big fuss, 911, cops, ambulances. Old guy, he trip, he fall. I think he OK. Before that last week, some punk skateboarding on the fountain, she didn’t fall good, broke something. Lotta that sort of stuff. There were the big demonstrations a couple years ago. That was actually good for business. Weddings and proposals too, some folks think that fountain’s romantic or something, get the photographer and the lights and all. I think my cart is in the background of a lotta folks’ wedding pictures. See more of that nowadays, instagram and stuff. They come here afterwards. You want funny, you watch someone eat a taco and keep their wedding dress clean But you know, you serve up tacos the same place for 20 years, same place, you see stuff, ¿sabes?
No, nobody famous. Least I don’t know. There was a guy, a few years ago, Hamid—the shawarma guy over there—got all excited about him, selfie with the cart, autograph. No idea who he was, sports maybe, forgot his name. Hamid still got the picture on his cart.
Salsa verde? Roja? Chipotle? Guac? Crema? All on the end there.
No, I don’t mind, kind of slow right now. You early. Half hour, I won’t be able to breathe, never mind talk with a tourist. Where you from?
Nice. Never been there, got a cousin there though. No, he don’t have a taco cart, I hope you don’t meet him, he’s a lawyer. I mean, Chano is nice and all but even if he’s on your side you’ll come out poorer.
Yeah, lot of lawyers. Tall buildings like this get a lot of lawyers and guys like me and Hamid to feed ‘em. Visitors like you. Lot of everybody, all sortsa people. I’m never bored, there’s always something or someone.
Funny question. I mean, I’ve learned taco guy stuff—some people are just too generous with the guac, or don’t tip, or tip a whole lot—one guy must have just won, he tipped me a hundred! They take a ton of napkins, or say they want spicy but they don’t really. Some people good, some, eh…
Ok, so there was this one chica a couple weeks ago. Maybe new lawyer, maybe paralegal, younger, really put together. Not expensive clothes like you see on some of them, really just put together. She walk, she dressed, the makeup, the chispa—not like she fancy beautiful or rich, but really put together, you know what I mean? Put together. So, nothing unusual, she order the al pastor, like you…she smile and wave at someone across the plaza. There’s something, a sense, the way she move and look…I sorta guess she from…well, near my hometown.
Now, I’ll tell you, friend, a taco isn’t just a taco. I’m here twenty years but my tacos still taste like mi mami’s in San Lázaro de Cruz. I make everything just like her. Pues, this girl take one bite and ¡WOOOSH!—like water balloon, just all of a sudden all the put together comes apart and she crying, no more put together. I say I’m sorry but she don’t say nothing, she mostly pulls it all back. She take a whole lot of napkins, it’s OK I don’t mind. Her face put together again but her eyes still real crying. She say thank you—not “gracias”—she walk away, she she don’t finish the taco, but she walking a little different, I don’t see her ever again.
No, no. But like, we all like that. You ask what I learn here, that’s what I learn. We all water balloons full of tears, man, we all got that inside us, we miss home, we lost, we work hard and hope hard and it don’t work out, we carrying it around, close it up, in a suit or the way we walk or joke, think it’s closed up and safe. But we all got a spot, we all got it, you just touch it and it all busts out. You got that weak spot, I got it too, even if I don’t know where it is until it get poked. You don’t know. It’s a word, a picture, a song, a taco that taste like home…we all carrying that, we all ready to bust.
Everyone.
No, no, some people got happy tears. I seen that my own eyes! But yeah, most people don’t, not happy tears, and that…pues, man, life is hard, you know?
You know what else? We all got something that will make someone else bust, that pokes that weak spot on them. It make me look at people different, ¿sabes? You know that’s there, you gotta be careful, man…you walk through a city full of water balloons full of tears and you got pins all over you like cactus, you gotta care, man, be NICE. That’s what I learn here. Be nice. Be nice.
Yeah. Sorry to get all serious, man. Sometimes you get more than taco for lunch. Taco good? You like?
Gracias. That’s the taste of San Lázaro de Cruz.
Nah, I wouldn’t. There’s not much there, and you can get the taste here, without stepping in pig…you know.
Two hours before you gotta go? Go to the museum, the big one, it’s like four blocks, modern wing, first floor, room 901. Kathe Kollwitz, “Las Madres.” It’s…ah…ay… … …sorry. There’s other good stuff there, too. Enjoy the city and if you see Chano when you get home—and pray to the saints you don’t!—tell him “hi from Lejo and don’t sue me.”
You’re welcome! Hello what can I get you, miss?
