Hair styled, earrings dangling, and lips glossed, we were in the living room trying to pay attention to the soccer match on t.v., nervously
waiting for the birthday girl to finish getting ready. “What's the rush?” she
protested, “Nobody shows up for dinner anyways until 9:30.”
We looked
at each other nervously. Arriving an hour late for the birthday surprise
wouldn't do. “We have to be on time,” one of us answered. “People are waiting.”
For the entire week we had excitedly
chatted on Whatsapp about the surprise: a private flamenco show in a little
cave housed by one of Villacarrillo's bars. I had jumped on a bus
80 km away to come for the party. Seeing old friends was always a treat, but
having live Spanish music was the icing on the cake.
The birthday girl's mom, normally very
calm, threw open the front door and yelled, “C'mon, go, go! You have to leave now!”
The girl, very confused, climbed into the car and off we went. “Why are you
driving so fast? Slow down, we're in a pueblo.”
I stammered, “Uh,...I'm just really hungry.”
We arrived at the empty bar and the owner
said, “Oh, you're the first ones to arrive.” The birthday girl rolled her eyes
in a manner of “Told you so.”
“Why don't you have dinner tonight in
the cave?” said the owner slyly. We approached its entrance, which was almost pitch black. “Can someone turn on the light?” said the birthday girl. “I can't see
where I'm going.”
“Don't worry, the switch is inside.” I
said.
Suddenly, in the darkness, there was
a quick strum of a guitar. As our eyes adjusted, we saw a platform flanked by a guitarist and
singers. A deep, strong voice pierced the oscurity with a monologue about
Andalucía calling back its daughter to the village for her birthday, which made
us applaud with delight.
As we stood up and danced and clapped, someone asked the
girl what she thought of the surprise. “One of the best birthdays of my life!”
she shouted, beaming.
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