Un Lugar en Medio
by Alexander Holcomb
For a time, there was a café in Mexico City called Un Lugar en Medio.
He would go there and speak beginner Spanish with baristas who could only respond with confused looks. A veteran employee would notice the exchange and ask, in English, if he wanted his usual, to which he responded with nods and whispered repetitions of sí. The small talk never translated; his Spanish, or lack thereof, barred him from connection.
He called himself Nova. Even the most seasoned baristas never learned his real name. Nova was his bastardization of the word nuevo—new in Spanish. But when he tried this name out on his first day at work, no one understood him, so they called him Nova. He liked how exotic it sounded—how Spanish it sounded. The name gave him confidence.
Most days, it rained for a couple of hours in Mexico City, and since he finished work at lunch, he often watched the warm shower come down in the café. He would arrive just before it started, order a cup, open an English newspaper or book, and listen to the rain. After, he would get up, nod at the barista, and walk home on the splashing sidewalks.
He lived a simple life.
Nova turned 25 right before he went to Mexico. Moving abroad on a whim seems like a 21-year-old’s idea, but applying for a job and then moving sounds more like a 29-year-old’s plan.
Before departing, he hated when people asked him why.
Why not? Moving would be a welcome change from his boring life in Missouri.
He preferred when people asked, “Is it safe?”
Of course it was safe—just as safe as any big city, but the charged questions made him sound like the adventuring type.
The Spanish built Mexico City on top of Tenochtitlan, the island capital of a civilization who called themselves the Mexica. Visitors to Mexico City can see the ruins of that civilization—a beautiful, thriving culture, buried under myths perpetuated by the Spanish in the name of their god. Before long, the Spanish outgrew the island. Taking notes from former farming communities, they created a floating city that covered almost all of Lake Texcoco.
The city was an engineering feat, but the weight of North America’s most populous city required massive water removal.
In short, Mexico City was sinking.
When Nova’s brother died, his mom texted him, Your brother passed. I don’t know anything else. Sorry. She sent a link to the obituary. Nova and his mother had a relationship somewhere between reluctant and estranged. She called a few times a month, but the conversations always floated on the surface. He didn’t cry when he found out about the death; he placed his phone down and watched the rain, really watched it, and wondered if his brother ever visited Mexico.
When Nova’s feet hit the floor every morning, he would wonder how much his world had descended. He didn’t know when the city would fully envelop into the water, but he promised that he would stay when it happened. Mexico City felt like home. The coffee shop felt like home. He would be like Nahuatl, the Mexica’s language. He would survive. He would sink with the city.
But he made these promises at 25.
At 29, his daily trip to the coffee shop felt more like an expense than an experience. His desire to sink sank faster than the city. His mom began to complain of aging pains, and as her only living son, he felt ashamed not to help. He spoke Spanish well enough now, but it flew off his tongue in fat chunks, not the staccato melody that native speakers emit.
In places he never worried about before, he began to feel unsafe. The historic center turned bland while his job became monotonous. His wonder vanished. Drowning in American sitcoms replaced watching the rain as he pined for the rural life he had once hated.
Then, one day, he left.
Mexico City sank less than seven feet before he broke his promise, but the Mexica didn’t need him anyway. They never did. Un Lugar en Medio closed soon after.
Alexander Holcomb (he/him) uses art to explore family, belief, and trauma. His publishers include Poets’ Choice, Bright Flash Literary Review, and various nonfiction presses. He lives in Knoxville, Tennessee, with Olivia, his wife and favorite editor. Alexander's other words can be found on alexanderholcomb.substack.com.