The Write Thing

Houston builds its own American routine in me. Wake up early in the morning to have breakfast at the hotel that “feels like home”, grab a portion of eggs (only twice a week, their impact on cholesterol levels was never clear to me), a standard cup of coffee with half-and-half milk, some orange juice, bread or bagel depending on appetite, and off you go.

Westheimer tends to be busy at all times, and I cannot quite tell what the rush hour really is here. Probably seven, as that was the only time when I was greeted with a terrible traffic jam on my way from the airport.
8.15 am – Just before the Derek hotel, left down the sideroad that runs parallel to the I-610, right on San Felipe road and again left on Briar Oaks lane where the posh St. Regis hotel stands out as a landmark. My rental car — a Ford Fusion that is larger than my needs which, mind you, are large as well — roars to the sound of Elena Roger recreating Mina’s famous hits. The CD is a gift from two dear friends of mine, E and her significant other, given to me in presentia before I left for this business trip to Obamaland.

I decided to take only that CD with me this time, innocently imagining that I would choose my rental car this time and it would come with a suitable aux plug-in for my Ipod. It turns out to be that Ford is automatic in everything, so it does not need any more holes, which means I am stuck with the radio — which I tried repeatedly, and almost cried at when Casey Cason’s Top 10 review blasted to me from the loudspeakers one cloudy morning — or a 6-slot CD player. Ironically, I only have one CD. Elena knows this, and she seems to redouble her efforts to please me as I slowly play the Mina Che Cosa Sei performance in 10-minute segments every day, relentlessly. If you are a music lover, or not, you may concur with me on this — there is always one song that you will want to replay over and over again in almost every album. In this one, it is Mi Sei Scoppiato, which I sing along although my vocal chords are gradually being taken over by an upsetting flu. The lyrics are cheesy, but I like this song, it has become a classic, and in a way a wish. Who would not want somebody to burst out inside us, or who has not ever experienced that?

Mi sei scoppiato
dentro al cuore all’improvviso
all’improvviso non so perché
non lo so perché all’improvviso
all’improvviso
sarà perché mi hai guardato
come nessuno mi ha guardato mai
mi sento viva
all’improvviso per te

7.30 pm – I leave the car inside the hotel’s parking lot, organize my schedule for the next day, answer T’s e-mail, attached to which is a magnificent picture of Lake Tahoe, where she is skying before we meet in two days, and then I get ready for dinner time. As I sift through emails and decide on how busy I want or can afford my next morning to be, I think about how some things happen. She intrigues me. She came to me just like that… perhaps…it may be all’improvviso, but I am just finding out.