La Feria de las Flores

I checked my cell phone for the fourth time in 10 minutes.


Ojitos was running late. The show would be starting soon and we still had to pick up snacks and drinks. Although the Los Lobos concert was only a few miles away, I worried we wouldn’t be able to find parking. The beach was bound to be packed for a free show.

He called. Did he get lost, I wondered? No, he was on my street, which he insisted was pronounced with a long A rather than the short A.

I grabbed my things and walked out to greet him. Unlike the Sunday comedy show, all jitters were gone.

He stood outside his car smiling. I hugged him and breathed in the lingering scent of coconut sunblock. He was handsome and casual in a light blue Ñoño t-shirt, jeans, a green track jacket, and Chucks. I smiled as I noticed how that we were dressed similarly (my black t-shirt depicted an Aztec rockero). It was only fitting that I’d be attracted to a guy who looked great in the standard Chicano uniform.

After making brief trips to buy ice, beer, sandwiches and snacks, we finally headed west to the beach.

In Santa Monica, we waited to get in to the parking lot. We were complaining about having to pay for parking or why a Los Lobos concert on the Westside would be so crowded, when he stopped. He looked over at me, turned my face towards his and gave me a kiss. It was good. Sunday night wasn’t a fluke, alcohol-, or heat-induced. It was real.

We parked and headed to pier. I could hear the faint sounds of Los Lobos playing their hits.

“How are we supposed to find your friends?” I asked as I trudged through the sand with the Dodgers blanket and Subway sandwiches.

“We have to look for L. She said she’d be standing around dancing with glow sticks,” he responded as he looked into the crowd for his friends.

He put down the ice chest he was carrying and called again. A few minutes later we’d found his friends thanks to L’s glow sticks.

I greeted M (the mutual contact). It was no surprise to see him as he was the one who initially informed me about the show. Ojitos introduced me to the rest of the small group.

L, a pretty girl with curly hair, munched on some of the chips and hummus we brought and turned to me, “you look familiar.”

“That’s what I told her when we first met,” Ojitos said.

“Yeah, but it was a pick up line,” retorted M.

I blushed.

“No, it wasn’t,” Ojitos contested. “She really did look familiar.”

I looked familiar to L for the same reason I looked familiar to Ojitos, we all went to the same school. Small world.

I can’t tell you what Los Lobos played. I actually didn’t pay much attention to the show. From where we were seated south of the pier, I couldn’t see the band and the sound quality was less than stellar. I didn’t mind. I had good company.


14 thoughts on “La Feria de las Flores

  1. I’m torn here… I want these posts to keep going so I can find out what happened, in fact I find myself getting disappointed towards the end of the posts because I want the story to continue, but at the same time I know I could just search the archives and end the suspense… but I’m too lazy… screw it, I’m going to pull a Diego and peek… I guess I’m not that lazy.

  2. Besides the obvious reasons why this post kicks ass, I love to see the HUGE differences there are between East Coast and West Coast people.

    That’s in regards to the clothing (chicano uniform) and the activities.
    Soooo different than what we do in NY.

    I agree with P-3000. The post show stories?… lol

  3. Gustavo Arellano says:

    See, Cindy? I only said it already happened–I didn’t pull a Diego!

    Diego: Ever thought of getting into investigative journalism?

  4. Gustavo: Yes, I have, actually, which is why I considered applying to be an intern at the OC Weekly (the LA Weekly didn’t have any such positions open) for the summer. Sadly, the commute from South Gate to Santa Ana is hell, especially on the bus.

  5. Mooch16,
    More like young and in like.

    It’s okay if you search, just don’t spoil it for the people who want to wait to read the story.

    I think you missed the first kiss. Post show? Huh?

    Why am I thinking of the 80s song? Where is the tenderness?

    Actually, the archives are not as interesting as the story. I know, I wrote them. But seriously, you’ll find out where the story goes without a single detail.

    So there’s no “uniform” guys in NY wear when they go out on a casual date? Post show? Huh?

    Punk Rock Mom,
    You know? I’m glad you enjoy it.

    I didn’t get mad at you for pointing it out. Someone was bound to mention it. However, I do think it’s funny that all the people who know the story (and there are a handful who read the blog) are not commenting. I wonder if I’ve bored them.

    Don Pierre,
    The shirts are from Mis Nopales. I bought my t-shirt (the Aztec rockero) at Tianguis in Chicago.

  6. oops, I just like the while driving reach over and plant one types. Very LA, no?

    post show…. what happend after the show.

    metiche y que?

    so good.

    would you two use Bambi voices while whispering sweetness to each other? I’m just saying.

  7. P3000,
    It does seem very LA, but then again I don’t really date guys in other cities so I wouldn’t know. I only used the Bambi voice once. He didn’t use it.

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