Killer Kiwi #9

Rick absolutely could not roll the R.

“Come on,” I said. “You put your tongue right here-“ I pointed to the roof of my mouth – “and it’s like a car motor. Rrrrrrrr.”

Rick shook his head. “I can’t do it, Paula.”

“El ferrocarril corre muy rapido,” I said, overdoing the Rs. “El ferrocarril tiene barriles de cigarros.”

“Forget it. Let’s work on something else.”

I had been helping Rick, who lived in my building, improve his accent one day a week for a month. He was off to the Peace Corps soon, in Belize, and while he had studied college Spanish for three years, he still had a crappy, hillbilly, white-boy accent that made gracias sound more like grassy ass. I couldn’t understand how any teacher had let him get away with it.

“I have great grammar,” he shrugged. “I write essays like a motherfucker. I just sound like I’m from Kentucky.”

“You are from Kentucky.”

“Exactly,” he said. “I don’t want them to hate me and think I’m some weirdo Southern gringo who doesn’t care enough to speak their language right. That’s why you have to fix me, Paula.”

So we worked. I made him listen to Juanes and Luis Miguel records and sing along. I made him listen to the booktape of Harry Potter y la piedra filosofal in his car. But more than anything, I made him repeat sentences. One for each vowel, each sound that he couldn’t get right. Over and over. A: La muchacha me da unas manzanas. E: El bebe quiere comer setenta y tres chupetes.

“Like me,” I’d say. “Listen. Watch my mouth.” And he would, scrunching up his face in concentration, his eyes on my lips.

We had a breakthrough with O. Dos poetas toman ocho conchas en el elevador. In the space of twenty minutes, he stopped saying it with a W behind it – ohhW – and really heard me open up the sound, make it short and clean. O. I felt like Henry Higgins. He said it again carefully. DOs pOetas tOman OchO cOnchas en el elevadOr. Not perfect, but so, so much better. MejOr.

And a few weeks later, it was time for him to leave. Rick came to my apartment one last time, holding a bottle of wine and a paper bag.

“This is for you,” he said, handing me the bottle. “Also, I have a confession.” He looked embarrassed, almost ashamed. I raised my eyebrows.

“Paula”, he said. “Me ayudaste mucho. Pero la verdad es que mi acento no fue tan malo como dije.”

My eyes began to widen. This wasn’t the hesitant new accent we had been cultivating. This was much better.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” he said. “I liked you. I like you. A lot. I always did, the whole time I’ve lived here. When I found out I’d be using my Spanish overseas I thought it was a chance to spend time with you. This was the best story I could think of.”

I put my hands over my face. “Oh God, Rick,” I said. “I have a boyfriend.”

“I know,” he said. “I didn't want to be that guy. That’s why I’m making this embarrassing scene right before I make my big exit.”

I shook my head. “What did you get out of it?”

“Two months of Tuesdays with you,” he said. “And I got to watch your lips the whole time. You even told me to. That was nice.”

I sighed, then pulled him away from the door, toward the elevator. “I don’t know what to say,” I said. “I feel tricked. I also feel…kind of good, knowing I’m worth faking a shitty accent for.”

Rick pushed the elevator button. “I didn’t give you your other present. I thought, if you weren’t too mad, you could look at it and, you know, remember me. If you wanted.” He handed me the paper bag.

I peeked inside. A small pile of seashells. I looked back at him and couldn’t help grinning.

He pointed at us, then the bag, then the elevator. “Dos poetas toman ocho conchas en el elevador,” he said, perfectly.

“I’ll walk you down,” I said. I took his arm by the crook, tilted my head up, and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. His eyes brightened. “Un besO para dOs añOs muy lejOs de aqui,” I said. He kissed my hand, and looked like he had more to say, but said nothing.

When he was gone, I looked back at my bag of shells. Ocho conchas, y yo, una poeta sola. Oyendo el sonido del oceano, pensando en el futuro misterioso. The Os circled around me, dizzying and open and wide.