Signal to Noise by Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page B

not wanting to look too excited by the whole idea. Not wanting this too badly, although he did.
    “I’m not sure.”
    “Fine.”
    “Hey, don’t get mad.”
    “I’m not mad.”
    He sat back, his head against the door of the building. Meche, in turn, rested her head against his shoulder. For others, it might have been an intimate gesture. Maybe it was, but not in the way most people might think. Meche and Sebastian were used to each other, comfortable in their proximity. They folded and kept their dreams in the same drawer, spun fantasies side by side, lived in the easy harmony of youth which did not know the need for tall walls and sturdy defenses.
    Sebastian popped the last bit of bread into his mouth and chewed it slowly. The sweet potato seller pushed his cart in front of them, the hiss of steam announcing his arrival, his voice slicing the night.
    “ Camotes ! I sell camotes !”
    The man paused and glanced in their direction, but his small, black eyes did not seem to see them. They skipped over Sebastian and Meche as he moved away, the wheels of the cart turning, the steam rising towards the night sky.
    Though he was not particularly musical, Sebastian thought of a song. Duncan Dhu, singing En Algún Lugar, and for a reason he did not understand he had this image of Meche stepping onto a plane. He put an arm around Meche’s shoulders, holding her tight.
     
     
    M ECHE WOKE UP the next morning with the giddy excitement of a child heading to open her Christmas presents. She brushed her teeth, combed her hair, rolled up the sleeves of her sweater and put on her shoes. Then she bounced towards school, eager to meet up with Sebastian.
    He was waiting for her at the street corner and they walked together, as they usually did, quiet and filled with hope.
    Hope began to disintegrate around noon when it became obvious that nothing had changed for them. They were still the same losers as the day before, still sitting in the same corner of the schoolyard, still looking forlorn at the more popular, more beautiful, more-everything kids. When the bell signalling the end of the day rang, Meche could barely contain herself. Jaw locked tightly, she hurried back home.
    “Hey,” she heard Sebastian say, but didn’t slow down to let him catch up with her and she dashed home, hands tight around the straps of her backpack.
    They had failed.
    She stomped up the steps towards her apartment, rushing into her bedroom and tossing the backpack on the floor. Meche put on a record and listened to Frank Sinatra promising to fly her to the moon. Tears threatened to leak from her eyes so she rubbed them. She hated crying. Hated feeling weak.
    Meche sniffled and cleaned her nose with the back of her hand.
    She had seriously thought it would work. She had pinned her heart on a stupid record, like a modern-day Jack showing off his beans.
    Of course it would never work.
    They would always be the same.
    Life would always be this dull shade.
    Meche turned her head and looked out the window, at the fragment of mocking grey sky. Birds sometimes dropped dead in Mexico City. That’s how polluted the city was. Because of the overwhelming smog, you couldn’t even hope for a glimpse of its snow-capped volcanoes.
    Meche draped a blanket around her shoulders and went to sleep. She did not bother changing out of her uniform and into her regular clothes.
    When she woke up it was dark and there was the smell of food wafting into her room. Meche walked towards the kitchen and found her grandmother busy, humming over a pot. She smiled at Meche.
    “I’m making chicken soup today,” she said. “It has the potatoes and carrots all nicely chopped, the way you like them.”
    “Thank you,” she muttered.
    Meche’s grandmother filled a chipped bowl with soup and Meche began to eat. The warm food soothed her belly and she slowly started feeling better. Her grandmother poured her a glass of lemonade. Meche sipped it, holding the glass with both hands.
    “Are