I Have Never Laughed So Much

We had drinks on Saturday for a girl who is leaving. The lads from work decided to go to an 80s club to dance, but I dunno why, I just felt that I needed to go to the Chilean bar. I was determined not to go on my own, so I called my friend Alex who finished work at 2am. “Yeah, I’ll meet you at the Sugar at 3. I’m with 2 friends from work. I think it would be really bad form if you stayed home now!”

Rubber arm duly twisted, I headed down to meet him and after strangely finding many places were closed, I decided the Chilean would be a good bet.

As we rounded the final corner in our approach, I noticed four people standing in the shrouds of darkness. A blue light flickered, bathing the wattle door in a weak wash of light. Two characters stepped out from the shadows, cigarettes hidden in the palms of their hands, blue light lighting their faces.

“Hi.” One is the musician from the bar, Mario, and the other is one of the prescripted tall dark and handsome types that I feel sure I have met before but can’t recall if it’s actually the case. The two other figures stop rummaging in the back of the police car, and head back through the wattle door of the Chilean bar. What’s going on, I ask Mario, although it is quite clear that the lads have been busted for not having a license. There is a fifth presence in the shadows who I know is listening to us. “Well,” says Mario, head nodding slightly towards your man, “seems like they are shutting down Sergio’s…” But where will all the Chileans go to hang out and play music now, I ask. Mario smiles and nods approvingly, taking a drag off his cigarette and stepping back under the shade of his tree.

I turn around to Alex and his two friends, who look bored. Will we hang on for them, I ask. The lads shrug, and after a serious amount of foot-dragging on all sides, decide to head down to Papillon. Mario, Dark Nico and recently-liberated-of-his-bar Sergio all know me better than I realised, and say they are going drinking and playing music. How can I refuse? I bid goodbye to Alex, who doesn’t really mind but probably is a bit pissed off by all the time-wasting, and head off up the street where incidentally I got mugged before.

A quick survey of night bars proves why the police never do anything about robbers in the area. Not a chink of light to be seen. In a strange moment of foresight I think we are entering a house which we will eventually end up in later in Raval. But we pass on, until I propose sitting on a bench and drinking the beers Sergio managed to smuggle from the bar. For some reason there are many beautiful girls passing and the three lads are having a good oogle. Oh feck it, so am I, although Sergio who I know has a crush on me, makes a gentlemanly effort to chat about something else. We all laugh and chat and everyone tries not to snigger as they pass. Dark Nico is like a crazy man, jumping back and forth with the speed of a firecracker, and serving beers in his lovely yellow trousers that make me laugh. I tell him he reminds me of a banana.

At 6am we raise ourselves and head to a nearby bar, where the rest of Chile seems to be drinking. Mario starts playing music, and a quiet homeless man makes his way over to us. He has no voice, it’s the heroin he tells me later, and in a breathy scratchy hiss, he requests a song from Victor Jarra. Nico instantly buys the man a beer, and several rebel songs later, we are deep in discussion with Jesus about music and politics. Nico is just as energetic and leftwing about his politics, which pleasantly surprises me. He is surprised I have any knowledge of Chilean politics, and I tell him of the shrines to the Disappeared I visited when I was there. Somehow we have a band started and a guy across the table has this hat on that makes his head look deformed. I start drawing cartoons of what is really under the hat and how it all happened, and we have a really good laugh. Sergio and Mario ask me to play a song. All goes quiet and I think ah crap, here is the bit where people think first I dunno what I’m doing, and then tell me I’m great because now they fancy my voice. Nico leans in. Crap. I decide to play a song for Jesus about the area I grew up in, where there are still many heroin addicts. It starts off very quietly, and I hear one of the women behind me telling me to go on, you can do it. It is a nice gesture and makes me laugh, and the chorus comes and is belted out and I love seeing everyone’s expressions. I can sing but people always expect I won’t be able to. Mario and Sergio are preening themselves and Nico is squinting at me. When I finish Jesus tells me he liked it a lot, and that the police had been there but had gone off. Somehow everyone is singing or playing percussion on tables and bottles, and the guitar is being passed back and forth. A percussionist singer who plays with Mario arrives on the scene and plays a few Cuban songs. It turns out he is the owner of the flat which we return to, to carry on playing music.

Steffan’s flat is like a small room that has been divided horizontally in two. I assume upstairs is a loftbed, cos there is little room for more. The bathroom down the hall is similar to a student campus. With five of us and a skinny black cat, we are all practically sitting on top of each other, Mario on the yellowing fridge, Sergio on the floor, Nico (who has been stealing kisses from me) and Steffan and I all play musical chairs as we dance and sing and bang about. They are all beautiful yet completely different singers. Mario is a traditional tenor and is the eldest of us. Steffan has obviously less training but a simple clear high voice which is unique. Nico has a rich low full bass voice, with quite a high range. Sergio obviously doesn’t think he can sing but sounds lovely backing everything. The harmonies are sublime.

It is 11 o’clock and there are giant empty beer bottles lining the skirting. Nico has been saying he is leaving for about 3 hours now and is still here. He has purple eyelids and I feel sorry for him. I am secretly delighted he is still here. I decide to leave. Mario is not pleased. He insists on walking “Sergio’s girl” to the metro. They all call me that, although we all know which way this is going. The three of us leave, kisses all round, and I wonder when will be the next time I see this lot if I can’t go to the Chilean anymore.

I am sure now that Nico is just playing with me, but I don’t mind, cos I am having fun. We stand talking at the metro gates, an impatient Mario going on ahead, and it is not til he pushes me back against the map as commuters stream past us and kisses me full force mid-sentence that I realise what is going on. Up until now I was sure this handsome man was just flirting because he knew how attractive he is and was having fun. But a combination of joint silliness and the attraction of good musicianship and mad energy (on both our parts) has fused us into really understanding each other. “You know,” he says thoughtfully. “You are attractive and intelligent. But you have something else. You are incredibly silly. I like that. Let’s get married in four years. Mark the date!” Of course I am delighted with the flattery even if it normally makes me squirm. I am very simple: I tell him to take my phone number, even though I am not sure what it is yet as it is new. “I will call you tomorrow at 11,” he says. I know he means it. So simple!

I hate waiting for phone calls, and I am not joking you when I say that on Sunday I did press-ups while watching a film in an effort to take my mind off the possible disappointment of no call. When the call arrives, I shake so much that I can barely put my jumper on. I had deliberately not dressed up just in case, but five minutes later I am waiting on the street corner like a lost dog, with a piece of paper and pen in my bag to draw some more silly cartoons.