Houston

• Post By: Keegan Edwards
• Date: February 22, 2016
• Category: Work Trip

Rafael

Welders make better cab drivers. At least, meeting Rafael reinforces the idea.

“You see, you can’t weld without paying close attention to your breathing. You have to control your breathing so you can steady yourself. You have to pay attention… concentrate on the puddle we call it in welding,” Rafael relayed as he drove his taxi van through Houston. “So that’s how I end up thinking so much when I am welding, it kind of forces you to meditate, sort of. Then, that’s how I started thinking about the number 9 like I do.”

“It’s everywhere huh? The number 9?” I responded in a quiet, curious tone. He had peaked my interest. Rafael wore a black, branded cap. The brand I didn’t know and the cap was the comfortable kind that one might buy at a garage sale. It was the type of hat that would belong to many in its lifetime. He told me he found it in his son’s room so he started to wear it, it had something to do with the number 9.

“I tell people about this, and they say, ‘what are you doing driving a cab, man?’,” he said earnestly. “I just, I don’t know. I don’t like studying it for other people, man, I won’t even read about it. It’s like the things I want to know about the number 9 are the things I’ve found out for myself. Not how someone else did the research on it or whatever.”

And I listened, not in the because I had to way, in the because I want to know more way. Rafael recounted how he’d first started seeing the number 9 in everything that was important. He introduced the topic by telling me about the Marranos, the Spanish Jews who had left for Mexico with Herman Cortez to escape the oppression of the Spanish Inquisition. This started in 1530. 1+5+3+0 =9. With a number 9, Judaism found its way to Mexico, and so began my journey into a world of ever present 9s. Rafael was Mexican after all, so Mexican history provided the fitting start.

Mexico was his cosmos and it was as much a part of the rest of the world as all of the world was Mexico.

“We have family in three countries now,” Rafael added.

“Which three?”

“Mexico, US and Spain. See that, it’s a 3. Three is the other one you usually find with 9s.”

Over the next thirty minutes or so Rafael and would give me the gift of personal sharing. He shared his thoughts on the 3 apostles, E= MC^2, ph level in human blood, the 9 dimensions and the major changes in the world that could always be inspected to find the relevance of the number 9. Finding number nine had become a sort of a mental hobby. It made sense, we all have thoughts that comfort us in the midst of tasks. Thoughts that we can rely on to stimulate us when the physical task of welding, driving, running or typing has become so ingrained that our mental facilities are freed up to wander. I wondered what my number 9 was.

“I am going to be sucked into seeing 9 everywhere now too, Rafael,” I said, being sure to roll my R at the beginning of his name in the same way he had said it.

“Man, I tell you what, 9 is everywhere. It’s in the biggest things and the smallest things. Human blood level up to the stars and the whole world man. Even all our history, you see 9s everywhere. It’s all connected, we’re all connected by this 9 thing.”

I wasn’t sure if we were or not, but I liked Rafael. That was enough. I hope I get to meet more people like Rafael. I hope Trump doesn’t get the chance to build his wall, we need more Mexican welders in America.

Theo

He went by the Magic Man and I mean it when I tell you that his card tricks were impressive. If not for one last drink at Molly’s Pub we would have never met him. Before the night was over he would earn $20 cash from Robert’s pocket, and this after us both having tried to brush him off at first.

When Theo removed his black jacket he wore a button down with his sleeves rolled up. On both arms were playing cards tattooed up and down his forearms.

“I can’t go to Vegas without sleeves on,” he smirked, “they see me and kick me off a table right away if they see my arms.” He handled a deck of cards like a pro. Theo wore glasses that slide down his small nose as he sweat and talked. He moved quickly and fidgety, eyeing passersby with the look of someone wanting to entertain. His dirty blonde hair was long on top and moussed back to lay flat and unmoving. He was 35 and very good at magic.

“You guys want some fireball, or something.” David said, speaking more slowly, sitting to Theo’s left. David knew we liked Theo, and David liked us. It was his turn to join in on the fun so we’d like him too. And we did. David had a new moped and goggles. He worked in a restaurant and was an aspiring film maker. He showed us Yelp reviews for his restaurant that mentioned how great his service was. He was born in 1973.

“Check this out, hold this, hold this. Just like that. Okay pick a card, put it back. Now blow on it,” he said, and then he stared at me looking incredulous. “Did you just blow on my deck?… what do you like me or something? You blow on my deck just like that?” A good joke for a pub, or maybe not, but authentic nonetheless. At least the attention was back on Theo, and so the next hour sitting outside the bar would go.

Theo was born in Germany, and was raised in Texas and Japan. He didn’t end up in the air force like both his parents. Theo spoke some Japanese, German and Spanish to us. His Spanish accent was very good. Mine is not. We held a momentary conversation and true to form, his Spanish was better than mine. I told him I lived in China and he said, “Ni hao, wo hen hao.” I was impressed.

He ran out of tricks, or he just wanted to drink. Either way, the magic seemed over for the evening and the bed beckoned from around the corner at Magnolia.

“Here is my card,” he said as he handed us playing cards with his name written in sharpie, “Text me when you get home. Hey, how about I come to that trade show with you guys tomorrow at your booth?”

“No, sorry, we can’t do that Theo.”

“Yeah, yeah, it will be great. I will do the tricks and pass them right over to you guys. I’ve done this type of thing before, people love it. Your booth will be packed.” He was quite the salesman. I wondered which came first, his salesmanship or his desire to have people see his magic tricks. Or, he could just need the money.

“Tell you what, just put my name on the list at security, these guys all know me, where is the show?”

“Okay, we’ll text you,” we said, knowing we wouldn’t.

“You were awesome, man, really. Way better than any street magicians I’ve ever even seen on Freemont street in Vegas even, in all honesty” I said, knowing it was.