The Beautiful Things

“Have you been to Miami?” the Argentines ask. “Do you know Nueva York?” They pronounce it “Jork” in that harsh Argentine way. They look disappointed when I say, no, never been to Miami and yes, I know New York but I don’t like it because it is too big and there are too many people. Blank stares. Was I making a joke? They shrug it off and say, “New York is re linda, very pretty, did you go to Broadway?”
I am sitting in an apartment in Cordoba, Argentina, having this conversation for the tenth time. My friends are city people; they do not understand why I miss trees. I do not understand why they put mayonnaise on hotdogs. It is past two AM now and Caro and Mai are still talking about Miami. I feel very alone.
Ale whispers in my ear. “Do you like kiiika?”
He is a couple of drinks in and the English word catches on his tongue and makes him sound ridiculous, but he stares at me intently so I know this is an important question.
“Do I like what?”
His real name is Diego but we call him Ale for Alejandro for Lady Gaga’s Alealealejaandro. I’ve never understood why. I am fluent in conversation and capable of talking myself out of traffic violations and yet utterly hopeless when it comes to jokes.
“Kiiit kaat,” Ale tries again, “chocolate, the best thing about USA. Te gusta?”
“Sure,” I say.
“Okay, I bring you one,” and to the girls, “and for you two as well, but only one, and you have to like it because I brought them from Los Angeles.”
I follow him to the fridge and peer over his shoulder. A massive box of Kit Kats lurks behind a tub of mayo and a liter of Quilmes.
We sit at the table and eat the Kit Kats and drink our wine. “Do you like?” Ale asks.
The girls are unsure. “It tastes like almonds,” suggests Caro. Ale doesn’t think there are almonds involved, but he can’t say for sure. I’ve never liked Kit Kats but I enjoy this one, perhaps because I’m 5,000 miles from home and it’s slightly frozen because the fridge is on too high. It tastes like Argentina and America all mixed together into one small rock-hard candy bar. It tastes like one of those rare, transient moments where the loneliness dissipates and gives way to something that feels a lot like acceptance and a bit like courage.
Caro decides she likes the Kit Kat. “There are three beautiful things in the world,” she announces, pausing for dramatic effect.
“Well, tell us.” Ale says.
“Chocolate, vino, café.” Chocolate, wine, coffee. She pours more wine and says, “These are the beautiful things.”