Jesse's Farewell

Jesse Forester’s farewell party was last night. He leaves today at 2:30, but has a layover in Chile, and then he’ll arrive in Miami, Houston, and finally Dallas. He plans on teaching “How to waste time in Airports” as his Kaplan interview lesson. I met him at Taco Tuesday. Annemarie and Damian stopped by to eat, but left early to give up their seats to Jesse’s friends: Neesha, Raj, and Andres. Raj is Neesha’s brother, sent down from the Midwest to make sure Neesha comes back home, and Andres is a Chilean dude who’s interested in animation. Both Neesha and Andres work at this bar in Palermo called Sugar. They say we’re going there for happy hour: $5 peso drinks. I resist. It wasn’t on my agenda. “What else are you going to do? Get up early so you can run and then sit in a café for coffee?” Actually yes, and I was planning on eating lunch at Bio, the organic vegetarian place in Palermo that makes its food with Incan quinoa grain. But I suppose you have to be flexible in life.
So we hail a cab, and I figure since there are five of us, I’ll be the martyr and bow out. Take the bus home and snuggle up to my book. But no, the cabbie will let us cram in the back. “Good thing we were so close in high school,” Jesse jokes with my elbow wedged into his back.
On the subte ride to Microcentro, I stood next to a black man reading a book in English. After three stops, I worked up the courage to ask him, “Where are you from?” “Jamaica” he says in his thick beautiful singsong voice. I love that accent. “I know Jamaica!’ I tell him. He is from Kingston, but he is familiar with Mandeville. We talk jerk chicken, patties, rice and peas… He says I am making him hungry. He hasn’t been in Jamaica in ten years. He’s been teaching English in South America all this time. I invite him to dinner, telling him the food is not Jamaican spicy but spicy nonetheless. He can’t go, has to teach another English class. I ask him why everyone seems to leave Jamaica. He tells me it is like Alcatraz, a beautiful prison. I suppose so. It is so corrupt. But it is also so beautiful. The people there are so beautiful.
So we arrive at Sugar, this bar in Palermo owned by two British ex-pats. No, not Ollie and Ed, but Matt and Con. I resist ordering a drink; I don’t plan on staying long. Long enough to be a good sport. Matt asks me, “How would you feel if you spent all your time hand carving your boat and no one ever wanted to take it out to the water?” Fine, I order a Quilmes to sip on.

Quilmes and Meg

Andres asks me my story. I don’t really know what to say but I suppose I told him what he wanted to hear. Then Neesha and Andres get behind the bar to mix drinks, even though it is their night off. Andres makes us a round of shots with Malibu, tequila, vodka, and lemon. Then he makes the girls margaritas. I enjoy talking to Matt, with his British accent. He is from Kingston, England and has spent a lot of time traveling and bar tending before opening a bar in Barcelona, and eventually here. His friend from Ireland sits next to me, with a pierced chin and lilting accent. Her name is Sinead. (How awesome is that?) I tell her my family is Irish, and apparently the Irish hate hearing that. If you were Irish you would live in Ireland. True I suppose. She worked for a travel agency back home and every day would get several phone calls from American tourists saying, “I’m Irish, but it’s my first time to visit Ireland.” I wonder if my grandmother was one of those phone calls. But Sinead leaves and I chat with Matt about his playlist. There is a theme tonight. (It was colors. Either in the song title, album title, or artist name.) One of the songs they played was “Brown Girl in the Ring,” which I always supposed to be a Jamaican folk song, since Chevelle and Patriann introduced me to a ring game danced to that song. Apparently it was a big hit in the UK during the 90s. It was weird to hear that song again. Jamaica came full circle last night.

Andres and Meg at Sugar

Matt asks me what I’m doing here. I tell him nothing, just passing time before grad school. “Do you want to be our waitress? Friday 11 o’clock?” I can’t decide if he’s serious. Actually, I know they were serious; I just can’t decide if I’m serious about trying it out.

Con (future boss?) and Jesse at Sugar