For the first few minutes...

I'm skipping the middle, giving you now.

Spanish has become another concept to wrap my head around. Immersed as I may be, learning the ins and outs of a whole new language can rest uneasy on my jaw. I speak English for the greater portion of my day, as the tremendous influence of the ‘States’ is undeniable. But both before and after I reach for my headset, my world is of a different dialect. Castellano. And turning its terms and phrases on like a switch can be more like lighting a candle with a whimpering wick. Match after match, I attempt to get it right, but it takes time.

For the first few minutes, I can’t hear. I don’t know what the noises mean or accents are. I’ve been thinking too long in my own dam mind, in tones and phrases familiar to a far, northern climate. And for the first few minutes I need to stay still. I need to surpass the basic replies that normalcy and memorization have allowed me to breathe, and reach for the idiom under my tongue and the fancy palabra down my throat. For the first few minutes I feel stupid. I make noise without words and sound with no sense. I’m choking on a spanglish I thought was forgotten. My mouth dries out. Eventually I grow comfortable with what I know I know, but I still feel so far from second nature. I’ll get there, I’m sure.