I found the Mariachi Station on the radio. I don't even know much Spanish, so I don't even know what they're singing about. If I had to guess, they're songs about love and longing, remorse and regret. Chances are half of them are cheesey. I don't really care.

I took a Spanish class once, in college. I don't remember the grade I got, but I'm fairly confident it wasn't one I was proud of. I didn't even have much interest in learning Spanish for the sake of Spanish. I learned it because I met two girls, sisters from Cuba. The older sister could speak a enough English to get by, the younger sister, barely a word. Every now and then when we'd hang out, other friends of theirs from their ESL class would join us. We were fast becoming friends, so I thought I should learn to meet them half way and try to learn a bit of Spanish.

I only knew them for a short time, but I learned a lot. I learned about Raggaeton and how it's not anything like Raggae, despite the similarity in names. I learned about how they had to listen to government propoganda in school, about community parties that neighborhoods and cities would have. I learned how their food was nothing like Mexican food, I remember distinctly that they would just put a bit of oil on their salad instead of dressing.

They were wonderful people. Their family and friends were all warm and inviting. Even though we couldn't communicate all that well, we still had conversations about music and art and food and clothing. There were times where we would bust out pens and paper and practically play pictionary to get our ideas across when words wouldn't work.

I remember they once made fun of me at a party for eating cake with a fork. Apparently in Cuba, you use a spoon. I remember at that same party, they didn't like an Egyptian rice dish because it was too spicy. I didn't make fun of them for it, but I thought Latino food was all about spice. I remember they argued like sisters a lot, but got along just as well. I remember trying to explain to them once that a lot of American pop-songs aren't supposed to make too much sense, just enough sense to sound good while you listen to it.

One day they told me they had to leave suddenly, to relatives in Florida I think, because they weren't supposed to be there. That was all they said. They promised to write me, but they never did. If I remember, I think that was the last day I saw them.

Sometimes I think about them and wonder what happened. Were they illegal immigrants? Were they political asylum seekers trying to escape the Cuban government? In all honesty, it was probably something more mundane, but what it could be that would cause them to drop out of college and move out with their whole family almost all the sudden, I can't really guess.

I've known a lot of people from around the world. Lithuania, Nigeria, Cape Verde, Vietnam, Cambodia, Japan, Persia, Canada. Classmates, coworkers, family friends. Those two girls stick in my head the most. I don't know where they are now, but I hope they're still in America. I hope they're citizens even. For the short time I knew them, they were good friends. There's no doubt in my mind though, they'd make excellent Americans.