City Surprises

The thing about this city is that it never stops to amaze people. Skyscrapers with shining metal bounce the bright sun down into people-packed street sidewalks, and the sun’s rays give the people of Mark City a smile however small. Mike stepped out of his apartment building and started walking up the sidewalk, passing the barely leafy trees that refused to be taken by the city concrete. A chilly wind ruffled his messy black hair, and he pulled the black coat collar up his neck. The cold nibbled at it, and his peach-pale skin wouldn’t suffer being an icicle. Cyclists and runners passed by on the other side of the one-lane street where a small hilly park stood. Mike shook his head and looked at his watch. He couldn’t wait. He darted across one street and then another before he finally got to the grocery store. The store had narrow lanes that only two people could cross, but Mike quickly walked over to one lane that had a senior woman taking inventory. “Mike! Querido, Como vai?”  

“Ah... Tudo bem, Senhora?”  

“Bem Bem. You’re getting better,” said the short tannish woman. Mike grabbed a small basket and reached the high shelved items for her. “Ahh, Obrigado, Mike. 

“Bem... ah, I mean, De nada?” 

“Good, don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of Portuguese soon enough.” Mike nodded. The lady came to Mike’s chest, but Mike was only 5’9”. It didn’t matter to her. The beaming smile on her thin frail lips lifted Mike’s sprits a bit. “Did you get the job? The one where you can stay home?” 

“Yes! Actually, that’s what I wanted to tell you! So, I won’t have to do...paperwork,” Mike shivered. Smiling, the short woman tilted her head. 

“True. But if you got the job why are you-” Her smile grew as she looked at the clock high up on the front wall of the store. “Ahh, amor jovem–young love. Careful, the lover and the stalker both watch.” 

“I’m... just here for tomatoes.”  

“I see.” 

“Senhora,” Mike sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Please don’t embarrass me like that. I don’t even know if... What I mean to say is if she... I’m going to stop talking.” 

“Just be yourself, Querido,” Senhora said. No one in Mike’s neighborhood knew the woman’s name, so they called her Senhora.  

Bing! 

Just then, the door bell rang and Senhora and Mike looked to the front. In walked a woman with faint brownish skin and slight wavy brown hair falling past her shoulders. The air instantly smelled of oranges and mangoes fresh from the vendor’s cart in the tiny store while her sneakers squeaked on the white title. She wore slimming jeans and a dark blue shirt under a puffy brown coat. “Speaking of which,” Senhora smiled.  

“No, Senhora, don’t-” 

“Oi, Isabela!” Mike quickly darted behind the corner and hid in the other aisle.  

“Darn it,” Mike quietly cursed. Sighing, he overheard the women’s conversation. What was the point? He couldn’t understand them. After struggling to find a job where he could work at home, he thought he would have more confidence to talk to this beautiful woman that would always come in at 7:30am. Mike shook his head. The fact he knew that was worrying. Maybe he was a stalker? He shook his head again. “She’s just... she’s just a woman. Nothing more. Besides, I can’t even talk to her yet,” Mike sighed as he aimlessly walked down the store’s aisle of beans, rice, and pasta. “I don’t even know her. She’s just a pretty girl. Why can’t I just... Ugh!” He dragged his fingers down his palish face and huffed as he slowly walked down the aisle.  

His life wasn’t this romantical back when he was working the monotonous office job, scanning and looking at complaint papers, records, report papers, invoice papers, application papers, paper, paper, paper! He’d joke that were patches on his scalp from all of the literal hair pulling in the middle of the night. Day in and day out, going and coming to that office building would make Mike frequently pass the clubs and stare long at the bar filled with life-draining drinks, men, billboards, and women. Just one time, one sip, or pint, or shot into his system to just feel some inkling of life! 

Mike remembered the day he was walking to work and neared the subway terminal when he suddenly looked into his backpack; most office people use backpacks now since the briefcase didn’t carry much. He forgot his lunch, and going back wasn’t an option right now.  

The station was next to a small grocery shop that he usually passed by. Mike looked at his watch. The 8:30 was always late, so he could spare a few moments. “Ugh, and today’s the fiscal year, so I’ll be burning the candlestick at both ends.” He marched over to the shop that had just flipped the closed sign to open. He walked in, making the bell ding, and the scent of corn, beans, and curry filled his nose. In the tiny store, he could see the frozen dinner meals at the far back. Mike quickly ran over there, picked up a microwavable dish, and sped to the front, but the aisle he went down had a short tannish woman reaching for a small can of Goya pigeon peas.  

“Oh Senhor você poderia pegar isso para mim por favor?” She asked.  

“Uh... What?” Mike stuttered.  

“Oh! Sorry. I said, sir, could you get that for me please?”  

“Oh, okay.” Mike reached up and pull the can down for her.  

“Oh thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Are you buying that?” She asked, pointing to the dinner meal. Mike nodded. “I’ll help you with that. I’m the manager here.”  

“Oh... thank you...” There was no name tag on her shirt. “Uh... what is your name?” 

“Senhora.”  

“Sen... Senhora. Isn’t that just-” 

“That’s what people call me,” She replied with a weirdly sweet smile. It didn’t look like she would explain any more than that. Mike quickly shrugged it off and walked to the cashier with her. “Is this all you’re going to get?”  

“Yes,” Mike replied. Senhora rang up the dinner meal as Mike’s eyes pranced from one corner of the store to another when he finally looked at his watch. 7:30. He had time, but time had a funny way of sneaking past him when he wasn’t looking at it. Just then, the room’s air changed and the store's bell rang. Sweet fruity scents strolled into the store and swirled around his nose. Mike looked over his shoulder and widened his eyes. Her hair was bunched into a ponytail, and her skin glistened; it was summer around this time. Her red lipstick popped out, and she wore a loose white blouse with short jeans that stopped around the middle of her thighs.  

“Olá Senhora!”  

“Olá Isabela. Como vai?" The two women talked briefly before Isabela walked to the back of the store. Mike stared as she gracefully walked away. His heart thumped hard against his chest, but he shook his head awake and roped his emotions in. “Is everything alright, sir?” Senhora asked. 

“Uh... I’m fine. Um... who is that you’re were talking to?” 

“Oh, she’s Isabela. Sweet menina.”  

“Uh... what’s that language... I mean, what language does she speak?”  

“Oh, that’s Portuguese.” Senhora’s wrinkled corners split into a gleaming smile. “But she only speaks Portuguese.”  

“Oh...” The weight Mike’s shoulders grew.  

“Why do you ask, Senhor...” 

“Mike. Mike’s just fine. I was just... curious.”  

“Mmmm, well, I do have some teaching under my belt. I could teach you if you want to-” 

“Yes! I mean... I would like that.” His brashly placed smile only widened the shining grin on Senhora’s face. She rose her course white eyebrows as she curled her aged fingers and pressed a loose fist to her thin lips.  

“Well, here’s your meal. I hope you have a nice day,” Senhora smiled as she gave him the bag.  

Day?  

Food.  

Lunch. 

Work!  

Train!  

Mike politely yet quickly snatched the bag out of her hand and ran out the store, down the train stairs, paid the fare, stumbled like a drunkard to the platform, and looked at his watch. 7:35.  

He squinted his eyes. All that in five minutes? As he sat on the worn metal bench, his mind sailed to the woman from the grocery store while the late 8:30 finally came.  

But that was a month ago, and now he was aimlessly wandering the rice, beans, and pasta section of Senhora’s store. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Mike sadly strolled to the end of the aisle where he nearly bumped into the only other woman in the store at the time. “Oh uh... Olá" 

“Olá, Quem é o senhor?"  

“Ah, uh...” Words bumbled into his mouth. Finally, he dropped his tongue and spoke, “Um... look, I don’t really speak Portuguese all that well, but I really think you’re beautiful and I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while. I know you probably don’t understand me, but I just wanted to tell you that.” The air quietly watched the two staring at each other. Mike’s heart noisily screamed in his head. Why? Why would he say that? Especially when the woman couldn’t speak English?  

Then Isabela tilted her head. “Thank you, but what makes you think I don’t speak English?” She asked in a perfectly normal, no accent voice. Mike’s mouth dropped, and he blinked twice for each second.  

“But... but... but Senhora-” 

Isabela laughed, “And you believed Senhora?”  

“Right,” Mike grumbled. The times Senhora told him pick-up phrases instead of welcome phrases instantly came to his mind. He got a lot of her old friends to laugh at him during that time. Mike rubbed the back of his exposed neck. “It’s hard to tell if she’s telling the truth or playing a joke on me.” 

“That’s true.” The chill of the room melted with her smile. Mike shakily smiled back. “Thank you for the compliment, Mr...” 

“Mike. Just Mike.”  

“I gotta say, you’re pretty bold, Mike.” 

“I really didn’t think you could speak English.” 

“And if I didn’t, why tell me?”  

“I don’t know... hopeless romantic?” Mike shrugged. Isabela covered her mouth with a giggle. “So... what now?”  

“I don’t know,” She said as if he were supposed to know. He didn’t even know she could speak his language better than he could just a few minutes ago! Mike took a deep breath and sighed.  

“Could you... teach me Portuguese? I... don’t think I can trust Senhora.” He glanced over his shoulder where the old lady cheerily whistled a tune while she swept.  

Isabela rose an eyebrow. “Is that all?” 

“It’s a start.” 

“I just... I mean, most guys-” 

“I’m not most guys,” Mike said. Isabela smirked.  

“I can see. I’ll be at my house after work,” She said after writing it down for him. “Call me after 6?” 

“Sure,” Mike smiled. The caramel woman beamed back as her mango and orange scent left with her out of the store. Mike spun around. “So, she only speaks Portuguese, huh?!” He said loudly.  

“I’m old. I forget things,” Senhora shrugged as she innocently smiled. Like I said, this city never ceases to amaze people.