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I make this announcement in February that I’m going to change things. I tell my mother one night while we’re washing dishes that I’m moving to Buenos Aires. When you tell your mother something like this it’s difficult to justify. For one thing, I don’t know anybody in Buenos Aires. I’ve never seen the place, and we don’t have relatives there. Needless to say, she isn’t crazy about the idea. She agrees that I need a change, but taking it to the other side of the world? And what am I going to do about my job?

We don’t talk about it much after that, but once I make up my mind, that’s it. When June arrives I’m on a plane heading further south than I’ve ever been before. I find an apartment and a job, and for a while I’m satisfied. Still, after the celebrations and self-congratulatory pats on the back, I have to answer the inevitable question: “now what”? Life is good maybe, but what that means to me is different than what it means to my mother. She and my sister decide to visit in September, which worries me a little. I want them to believe I’m well situated here, but they might want to believe otherwise. Ultimately, I’ll need to convince them.

I meet them at the airport. Right away, they’re not satisfied with it. For one thing it’s small, which makes them uneasy. My mother also gets into a situation with the customs’ people. This has something to do with bypassing the line. I don’t know. Her eyes are heavy when I greet them.

In the taxi I tell them her how nice my apartment is. It doesn’t matter though, because my mother is expecting something different. My sister too.

“This is like camping for me,” she says.

“You’re a slob,” my sister adds. And in five seconds they’re ready to file a report. It’s dirtier than normal because Carmen didn’t clean yet. She cleans Monday afternoons usually. Maybe my domestic style is more rugged than they’re used to, but that doesn’t make the apartment less nice. I have Internet Access, a wine opener that works and a bed. What else do I need?

After I show them the place, we SKYPE my father who answers the call without his shirt on. SKYPE is the program we use to talk and video chat over the Internet. My father has been retired for two years now, so he’s a bit more casual. “Can you please,” my sister says shaking her head like she does, “put a shirt on”. He grumbles but reluctantly puts one on. Megan is my little sister and if there’s anybody he’ll listen to it’s her.

“Thanks for calling me AFTER T,” he says. My father makes these “I feel slighted” remarks a lot. My sister used the International phone to call T from the taxi. T is my best friend who has been dating my sister for two years. Anyway, T relayed the message to my father that they landed okay. My father would have preferred it the other way around. He gets touchy about that stuff.

“The flight was nice,” my mother says. “I slept the whole time.”

“I haven’t slept in two days,” my father says. And he looks like it too. On the webcam he sinks his face in hands so it’s hard to understand anything he says. “How’s Michael’s apartment?” My mother looks at my sister, who shakes her head.

“Nice.” She says.

“How’s Michael look?” My mother just brought me the webcam so he hasn’t seen me yet.

“Good,” she says.

“He has a little pot-belly,” my sister says, somewhat pleased.

“The painters are coming tomorrow,” my father says. My parents are repainting two bedrooms and a hallway in their house, and my father is very nervous about it.

“It’s raining here,” my mother says.

“And hot,” my sister says.

“Doesn’t Michael have the air conditioner on?” my father asks.

“It isn’t working.”

“My God!” My father sinks his face in his hands, says something about the painters, and ends the call. The three of us shrug our shoulders.

“What first?” I ask, but I can see the twinkle in my sister’s eye. She has come to Buenos Aires for one reason only: to buy stuff.

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CONTINUE READING: II. The Alchemy of Shopping

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Tags: Argentina, Buenos Aires, BUNK