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As always, I'm in my designated chair at the dining room table which is my Mexican host family's generous way of including me because my caveman Spanish hasn't gotten me far. While cradling Two-Year Old and feeding her Coca-Cola through a bottle, Auntie widens her kind eyes and looks at me — the way she does when she’s about to tell me something. So far, enlarging her eyes hasn’t helped me learn more Spanish. "Quieres what what what una fiesta what what a las cinco … " I wait for the blank face to make sure a question is being asked, and … blank face. "Si," I nod and smile, while looking around for confirmation. Everyone nods and smiles. Five o'clock rolls around and no one has said anything. As I'm about to head upstairs to my one-language room, Grandma says, “What what what fiesta," and points toward the door. "Si." Tomorrow? Today? What did I learn in a year of Spanish classes? All six of us pack into The Green Car, and Uncle turns up Green Day on the radio. No one knows English. We pull up to the blue and white themed fiesta, where my ears already feel too close to the cover-rock band. But it’s not loud enough for the two girls at the front of the stage and the aggressively dancing couple in the corner. Although, the band does make it near impossible for me to botch another Spanish conversation. Then the Twins begin to giggle. With matching dresses, the Twins sitting in front of me continually turn around to stare, despite my eye contact and small waves telling them that, "You are making me uncomfortable. Please stop," and, "I know my transparent skin shows my clammy face and acne but you're being impolite." Meanwhile, Two-Year Old got ahold of a blue balloon which she uses to hit me on the head with repeatedly. It’s almost to the beat. At least Two-Year Old isn't crying every time she looks at my face, like the first couple times I met her. After about the hour-and-a-half-time period one is obligated to stay at a bad party, we made our way toward the door. Nope, Grandma starts condensing the party food. What is Grandma doing? I guess we're taking the party food. Well, if Grandma takes it, it’s a party gift. Grandma hands me the blue and white frilly basket full of tortillas and waves her hand, signaling me to follow. White Acne Girl Who Doesn't Speak Spanish Well is stealing the party food. We make for our escape. Stopped. By Party Host? No, Friend of Party Host. Friend of Party Host is crying. All the girls including me are outside. The Party Host is crying too and speaking even more rapid Spanish than usual, and I am taking her food. The women swarm to console her, except for me. My eyes desperately wander around as if they themselves are trying to escape. Make an effort. I lower the tortillas to my hip and pat her shoulder. White Acne Girl Who Doesn't Speak Spanish Well is holding the Party Host’s food and kind-of trying to console her. It’s time to change strategies, fake a phone call? I slap the phone to my ear, and start blabbering. What language I'm speaking? Language-part-of brain. Collapsing. Make. Get away. After what felt like a long time to watch someone cry, while carrying on a fake conversation with stollen tortillas on your hip, the family starts making their way back to The Green Car. Africa by Toto comes on. No one knows English. Uncle turns up the volume and I roll down my window with hot tortillas on one side of my lap and Two-Year Old on the other.