What an eventful year 1997 was, that or I just documented all the sappy things in my life much better then. I just remember this road trip because it was the last car-based adventure I had with Sonia and I never drove to Houston after this for another five years. Flying doesn’t count since I only use their airport to change planes.
Sonia was done with finals at UT and was off to see her future husband Philippe in Paris for several weeks. I had the opportunity to come along because she needed a ride and I wanted a break from work and Austin for a day. My car still had some novelty left in it so I still enjoyed taking it on long trips whenever I could. Lastly, any chance to visit Sonia’s family is always enjoyable, including her parents who barely speak English which is okay, I know less Spanish. I have no idea what they’re saying yet they say it so nicely, I can only smile as if I were dog being shown a card trick (a nod to Bill Hicks for that expression).
The trip to the International airport was the memorable part. Sonia’s parents wanted to come along which was natural but due to the language barrier and my general ignorance of Houston’s geography, I arm-twisted one the nephews into coming as navigator and interpreter. Wise move on my part for once. On the way back to her sister’s house, I got a tad lost. I quickly realized it, so I was trying to correct the error without anyone noticing. Then Sonia’s mother said something in Spanish and the only word I recognized was “perdido,” lost, perdu in French. I responded, “Si! Yo soy perdido.” This elicited laughter and the nephew explained, “You just said you’re always lost.”