Past Midnight

a vignette entre la cuidad de la furia y mi mueble

I think it was a Thursday, or maybe a Sunday night. 

We sat in the living room. 

There was a live concert playing on TV, como serenata de fondo. It was one of those rock en español bands, Soda Stereo, or was it una balada de Rocío Dúrcal? 

We shared some wine. Or whiskey? No. Era una cerveza fría, en lata. Una Modelo. 

A car alarm went off down the block, joined by police sirens a few streets over. The neighbors upstairs stomped so hard it made the light fixture shake. Afuera, la ciudad de la furia. 

You passed me the beer and sank into the couch, rolling up your sleeves and loosening your tie. Staring at me. Taking me in. God. I love when you look at me like that.

I took a sip, tasting the trace of your lips left on the rim. I brought the can back to my lips to taste them once more.

I felt your eyes crawl along my skin, stopping at the dip of my collarbone. I wondered if you were imagining what it would feel like debajo de tus manos.

You looked back up at me, and I handed you back the beer. 

“It’s late,” you said.

It was already past midnight.
I had to be up early.

But we hadn’t finished the beer.

Jack Vettriano. ‘After Midnight’

Afterword: On Memory, Language and Culture

How many of us hold on to a memory and replay it, over and over, like a movie in our heads? Past Midnight is one of those memories, un pedacito de las muchas noches que se me han quedado pegadas en mi memoria.

It’s written as a vignette so it reads as what it is: a memory. I wanted it to feel like I’m recalling and sorting through all those nights on my couch, retelling it as it comes to me, like speaking the memory out loud on the page.

The Spanglish throughout not only reflects how I think and speak, but also serve as form of intimacy. Certain feelings (sensuality, nostalgia, affection) and phrases are felt differently in Spanish, in ways that English can’t quite do.

The details, while all true, were also intentional. The televised concert in the living room, for example, isn’t exclusive to Latino culture, but for us it’s like a tradition. It’s what brings us together.

I also included the background noise of the city to situate us there without saying, we’re in my apt in the city. In writing it, I realized it tied so well with the song we had playing on TV, En la Ciudad de la Furia by Soda Stereo. It created the feeling I was going for: the chaos outside juxtaposed with the intimacy happening inside.

I chose to end it with the unfinished beer because it felt like the truest way to show we didn’t want the night to end. It was our way of stretching time, holding on to that moment for as long as we could, choosing pleasure over the responsibilities waiting on the other side of midnight.

It’s a memory I come to often, que me recuerda que los placeres de la vida muchas veces son sencillas, y de que vale la pena perderse en ellos.