You Only Need 5 Words of Spanish

That high school class finally paid off.

I was thrilled when my friend Azalea asked me to be a bridesmaid.

I was even more delighted that she was getting married at a local church in L.A. (Destination weddings are way pricey.)

On that lovely summer afternoon, Azalea and her beau exchanged vows.

At her side were eight ladies in ruffly red dresses and high heels.

Next to the groom: one guy in a rented tuxedo.

As the wedding party departed the charming old church, hundreds of relatives and friends cheered, snapped pictures, and tossed bird seed at the happy couple (it’s trendier than rice).

This was the coolest wedding ever.

It wasn’t until the reception at a nearby hotel that I realized I was in a pickle.

I was the only person in the banquet room who didn’t speak Spanish.

Azalea is from Brazil. Her husband, Ecuador.

I was surrounded by people roaring complicated sentences my brain could not decipher.

I couldn’t remember anything useful from my high school Spanish class.

No worries, I thought. I’ll wing it.

As Azalea’s mother introduced me to the other guests, I gave them cheerful, silent nods.

Everyone was in a great mood. The champagne and cocktails were flowing. Handsome men kept luring me onto the dance floor.

The DJ put on something modern and fast.

That song triggered an odd little memory.

Several years ago, the singer — one of the biggest names in the music industry — appeared on a late-night talk show.

The host asked her an unexpected personal question.

She stammered, then replied coyly, “Why do you ask?”

Suddenly, I remembered a Spanish word with two meanings.

My high school classmates once playfully argued:

“¿Por qué?” (“Why?”)

“¡Porque!” (“Because!”)

Five minutes later, that word came in handy.

Azalea’s grandmother and elderly aunts plunked me into a seat at their table and urgently questioned me.

My smile froze. Were they hoping to convince me to trade in my crappy old car? Or were they fixing me up with one of my friend’s cousins?

The grandmother demanded, “¿Por qué?”

Oh, I was so ready. “¡Porque!” I cheerfully replied.

The women stared at me, appalled.

Uh, oh. Wrong answer.

“¿Por qué no?” grumbled Azalea’s grandma.

“¡Sí! ¿Por qué no?” I nodded fervently.

The women relaxed. All was well.

I had no clue what I was agreeing to. I excused myself and hurried to the ladies’ room for a moment of privacy.

I had to rework my strategy. I needed more words. Now.

“OK, what have I got?” I mumbled. “Why, because, yes, and no. What else…maybe if I could say…wait a second…”

I opened an English-Spanish translation app on my phone and typed: maybe.

Quizás.

“Kee-zahs,” I repeated several times fast.

I charged out the door with renewed enthusiasm.

I would never have found my assigned seat if it hadn’t been for Azalea’s Uncle Ramon.

The somber, gray-haired gentleman pointed out an empty chair at his table.

I was relieved to see Carrie printed on the card propped on the white linen tablecloth. I was beginning to wonder if I was at the right party.

Ramon introduced me to the two men seated across from me.

Their faces were also subdued. Our table was a quiet oasis in the midst of the boisterous wedding reception.

They stood up, shook my hand with gentle formality, and passed me their business cards.

I recognized an impressive word embossed below their names: Universidad.

Azalea had college professors in her family.

I had stashed a few business cards in my small clutch. When I handed them around, the men murmured over them.

Astonished, Ramon asked me something.

“Sí,” I replied instantly.

“Ahh,” the men chorused.

Their reserve vanished. They brought me into their confidence. The magnificent theories of the academic world flowed over the table.

Often they prompted me for my opinion. The expected answer was obvious from their eager expressions.

“¡Sí!” I agreed politely.

The waiter arrived. I deduced that he was offering us the choice of chicken or something else.

Ramon impatiently banished him with instructions to bring us all the same entree.

The men resumed their animated conversation. Now it was different, though. Some disagreement had arisen.

They looked at me expectantly.

The word Ramon had tagged onto his last sentence was, “¿No?”

I tilted my gaze to the ceiling and pretended I was considering their conversation.

I tried to recall that excellent word I had memorized in the ladies’ room.

A welcome distraction: the waiter returned with plates of prime rib.

While he circled the table with our dinners, I glanced down at my phone in my lap.

“Quizás,” I said calmly.

Ramon slammed his palm on the table.

The men nodded at one another. Their robust conversation took flight once more.

After dinner, Azalea found me in the ladies’ room.

I was translating Ramon’s business card on my phone.

“Your uncle,” I told her, “teaches aerospace engineering. You put a sci-fi writer at a table with rocket scientists.”

“I don’t know what you said to them, but they’re on the phone with the university right now.”

“I didn’t—”

“Uncle Ramon said there was a problem with their prototype, but after they talked it out with you, they got their project back on track.” Azalea touched up her makeup in the mirror. “I didn’t realize you’re that fluent in Spanish.”

Thanks for reading my story! Your comments are always welcome.