by Victoria Roberts

I was on my way to my sixth chemo in a round of eight in Mexico City. I felt my feet sinking into the floor of the Uber, as if I were driving and trying to brake. I just didn't wanna go. I had been pretty good so far, and I had been pretty lucky. Very little nausea after treatments. Terrific new Mexico City friends who put me up in their apartment whenever I came to town from San Miguel for treatment.

I asked the Uber driver to turn up the music in the car. Fortunately, we were on a pop station. A lot of 70s music. My era.

When "Galileo" by Freddie Mercury came on, I was in my element, and overjoyed. How I love Queen and Freddie!

Before I knew what I was saying, out came the sentence, "Freddie Mercury, el cantante, fue mi primo. Ya murió. Es primo del lado de mi mamá." In English, "Freddie Mercury, the singer, was my cousin. He's no longer with us. He's a cousin on my mother side."

"No me diga." "You don't say." The driver was impressed.

I'm not even a good white liar. I felt guilty, even lying to a stranger. He's getting a thrill out of it, was my excuse to myself, he'll go to lunch and tell his family, "guess who I had in the car today?"

As I had lied so quickly, and I'm not in the habit of lying, what came after was a pleasant surprise. It was fabulous to be Freddie Mercury's cousin. I loved it. I felt better. I remembered before the braces when I had gap buck teeth just like Freddie and my auntie, his mum, my mother's sister.

When I got to the hospital, I walked down the corridor feeling I was some kind of powerful pop royalty by association. I understood why people lie. Such a great feeling to not be who you are. To maybe be better, or different, more important, or just not the same old you. I was important, invincible, and ready for chemo.

When I took another Uber home eight hours later, I got a driver tuned to the same radio station. I was still riding high on Freddie. The stations must be on a cycle because "Galileo" came on again.

"No, don't do it," I was ashamed of having lied in the first place. However, once you have told your first lie, you're a liar. There was nothing to be gained by holding back.

I sank my feet into the car rug, in delight this time, and started over again.

The chemos ended. Some months later, my hair grew back. And it happened again. With people I would only see once, I told a group assembled at an uncomfortable lunch table that it had been my mother's idea to pair Cousin Freddie with Montserrat Caballé to sing "Barcelona" for the 1992 Summer Olympics.

Though I understand re-invention and the vacation from one's dull self it provides, I'm often straining to know more about people I have just met in San Miguel. I don't quite understand who they are, because the information given is conflicting. "No cuaja." In English, "It doesn't quite gel."

Just give them a bit more time, find out more. I try.

But the more I try, the less I know. A puzzle, without all of the pieces.

And then I realize, they're just Freddie's other cousins. The ones on his father's side.

The New Yorker cartoonist Victoria Roberts returns to the stage as Nona Appleby, an Australian octogenarian.
It's not stand-up; it's not storytelling; it's an encounter!
Not to be missed, this show incorporates drawings by the author displayed at their loveliest in the magnificent Teatro Santa Ana.
Music by Tres Tristes Tangos (not live)

July 9-11
Thurs. 6PM; Fri, Sat. 1pm
Teatro Santa Ana
$275

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