Bairro Alto by Bodil Jonsson

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Do you remember that night in Bairro Alto when we couldn’t agree on a restaurant? You used the last of your battery checking reviews on TripAdvisor; my phone was already dead. Then you just walked into that place with the rustic tables and lamps made from old cartwheels. How you struggled to make yourself understood. Offering poor school Spanish to the elderly owners only insulted them:   

‘Não falamos Espanhol. Nos somos portugueses!’

Deaf to my pleas to consider the pizza place across the street, you studied the menu as if you understood it. With the expression of a connoisseur you ordered what you knew to be grilled fish, and you ordered the same for me when I failed to choose something off the menu. And when the waiter came from the kitchen with two generous servings of braised offal, you kept a straight face and ate everything on your plate. That glare, when I offered you my portion too. Then we walked all the way back to the hotel. The whole time you didn’t say a word.

Even when I think of that night, I miss you.

Edited by Kate Whittington

Creative Writing, fiction, MA Professional Writing, student work, FalWritingFalWriting TeamFalWriting, creative writing, Bodil Jonsson, Falmouth University, Kate Whittington