On the Tip of My Tongue

A HISTÓRIA

It's Sunday, July 22nd, 2029, eleven at night, on the terrace of the top-floor flat. It's still thirty degrees, and the Giralda is lit up over the roofs. Sarah is on a night shift. Mom and Julian have gone to a concert in the gardens of the Alcazar. Dad stayed behind, because his feet hurt, and Encarna came up with a bottle of dry sherry and two small glasses, because, she says, nobody should sit on a terrace alone. Dad's Spanish is slow. Encarna's isn't. They've been sitting in silence for a while, and it isn't uncomfortable. At one in the morning, Mom and Julian come back and find them in the dark. This is the conversation you'll be able to say by the end of the lesson.