The Spanish Lesson

 

She didn’t have a face and if she did, it couldn’t have been an impressive  one and he never knew her name so as far as Ethan was concerned she didn’t exist.

That’s why he would sit in the seat next to her or in front of her on the train and screech in his cheesiest  over the top Spanish complete with an extra helping of cheese accent  to his friends – “Hola Hombres! ” he didn’t stop there. He’d honk through his nose ” Como Estas? Como Estas? Hola Amigos, what’s up? ”

Ethan’s goal was  to show the world that if you spoke Spanish loud enough, gut busting laughter was sure to be experienced by all.

” Dude”  at least one of the  three guys he’d sit near or with would say, ” cut it out.”

They’d try to shoot apologetic  sideways glances at the woman with dark hair and improbably dark eyes that Ethan would swear had no face, but for the most part they just hoped she didn’t think they actually knew Ethan.

She knew.

One day last week Ethan banged his way down the aisle and as he made his way to his seat the train jumped a little and then it started to move. Ethan’s back pack swung out and hit the woman on  the side of her head.

She didn’t look up.

” So sorry Senorita!” Ethan honked through his nose. ” I am so sorry! ” he bellowed in his best  over the top, isn’t Spanish a funny language accent.

The commuters sitting around her thought it was the woman who said ” mi nombre es carnicero ”  but  no one could be sure it was  even a woman’s voice they heard. They weren’t positive, they couldn’t swear to it because the voice they heard was  just a sound, almost a whisper that touched  the back of their necks and fell into their ears with a chill.

Ethan plopped down with a thud  into the seat in front of her and they rode together until they got to Ethan’s stop about 20 minutes later.

As he stood up he turned to the woman and said at her ”  Pardon me again señora  I am so sorree. ” He laughed and brushed by her, tickled to death with his own cleverness.

She waited for him to move aways down the aisle and then she said as she stood up. ” Bald headed men are so rude aren’t they? ”

The woman sitting  next to her looked up in surprise. Why,  what was this?  The woman with jet black eyes had a heavy British accent. ” Oh that guy? The guy that just went by? He IS a jerk but  he’s not bald  ” she told her gently, almost apologetically.

The woman adjusted her jacket then she reached up and pulled down her dark brown canvas bag from the rack above their seats.

She touched something inside of it and nodded . ” No he isn’t.  Not yet.”

 

Inspired by The Tale Weaver Prompt-315- The Bald Man

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