eptivity

I became friends with Cenaida by accident, when I called the women’s dean to find me a roommate for my sophomore year in college and the ever-responsible Cenaida had paid her room deposit already and so was hustled to the top of the list.

She was not, contrary to my persistent belief, at any time a math major.

Sometimes she would fall asleep doing her math homework, though, and try to answer her calculator when the telephone rang, which almost makes sense considering that our telephone was usually in the closet where she had left it while dressing.

Once, we sang “Frere Jacques” in four different languages. And then played racquetball in our dorm room.

She was in a traumatic stage-falling accident that year, which required some college boy to take off his shirt to bandage her wounds, prompting another college boy to write “I’m sorry that I did not take off my shirt, as did my friend,” in her get well soon card.

I taught her how to say “I have many boy-toys” in German.

The next year, I moved out of the dorm and onto Catherine Street, and she came to my house on Fridays to make food and watch Passions.

When I went home for 2 weeks that summer, she rode her bike across town every day in the superheat to take care of my plants, Ali and Ali’s Sister, and my fish, Jeff the God of Biscuits and the one whose name I’ve forgotten.

Sometime after that, I graduated and she let me move in with her mom, although she did not allow me to watch Gilmore Girls with said mom. Then she moved in too.

Then we moved out, to our downtown Luxury Apartment, where Cenaida planned on knowing the Chinese takeout delivery guy on a first-name basis but instead settled for frequent Pizza Schmizzas from downstairs.

“Let’s make some brownies,” she’d say. “Yes, let’s!” I’d say, and then continue to sit on the couch while she made all of the brownies and then let me eat some.

In 2006, we took Best Road Trip Ever 2006 to San Francisco. In 2007, we took Best Road Trip Ever 2007 to Canada/Glacier National Park.

She slept by the door of the tent so that she would get eaten by the mess o’ bears first, and she freely admitted that the McDonald’s breakfast burrito that she had been complaining about since not getting to eat one on Best Road Trip Ever 2006 was not all it was cracked up to be after all.

And I got married this one time, and Cenaida was the Best Maiden of Honor Ever.

The night before we left for the wedding, I woke up at 3 a.m., and Cenaida was still up in the kitchen putting together boxes for people staying at the lodge all weekend. She told me that she had stayed up to watch tennis because she just really, really liked tennis.

Cenaida planned our almost-surprise going away party at the end of last month. She and her brother made us this:

Through all of this time of being completely awesome, Cenaida has patiently waited for me to write her a song.*

And so now it is my great pleasure to present:

Cenaida (Mexican Flan)

Cenaida, Cenaida,
You don’t look like a man
Cenaida, Cenaida,
You’re my favorite Mexi-can
Cenaida, Cenaida,
Now let’s go make some flan
Cenaida, Cenaida, Cenaida

*You may be familiar with my earlier work, such as “Geneva in the Mint Green Stall” and “You are Karen All Day Long” (cir. 1996).