To Bilbao

Situated far, far north of us on a five-hour bus ride that made me queasy as it wound slowly through the mountains, Bilbao is a haven of Basque, another regional Spanish language and culture, and our summer camp friend Ginny. We got there around 8:00 and promptly went to her birthday bash in the backwoods of the province, where there was much fun had by all.

Ginny's boyfriend, Juan Luis, drank a little too much fermented grape juice and headed back to the room he normally stays in with Ginny, which I had taken over for the night. He knocked on the door lightly, but came in as I woke up. "Ginny, Ginny..." he drunkenly calls to me. I sigh. "Juan Luis! It's not Ginny!" It takes him a moment to register. "Who are you, then?" I put my head back down on the pillow. "I'm Dean, Juan Luis." He apologizes and shuts the door. An hour later, I feel a hand lightly touch my leg as Juan Luis crawls into bed with me. I bat him off with an extra hand as I pull the covers up to my neck. "Juan Luis, you're making a big mistake!" I call to him. He stops stroking Ginny's leg as he realizes it is actually my hairy limb.
The next morning, he remembers nothing.