Beantown Cubans

by Johnny Diaz

  “I’ll take what you’ve said into consideration, Dr. Bella. Thank you.” I grab another tissue and blow my nose.

  “Now, I want you to come with me for a second. We are going to practice an exercise.” She motions for me to get up. She leads me to a large mirror above the red brick fireplace. Dr. Bella then stands behind me.

  “What do you see, Carlos, when you look at yourself?” She places her hands on my shoulders in a comforting manner, like Mami would when I would arrange a dress tie.

  “I see a good person. I see a lonely person. I see a sad man.” I wipe away a tear with the wadded tissue from earlier.

  “What else do you see? Look closely and focus.”

  I zero in on my face. My light brown eyes stare back at me.

  “I see my father. I have his nose, his eyes, his wavy brown hair when he had some.” I shrug and laugh.

  “Do you know what I see, Carlos? I see a handsome, intelligent, good guy with a big heart that he wants to share with his students, his friends, and most of all, his father. I also see a little boy who wants to love and be loved by his father. Can you see that?”

  “Yeah, a little.”

  “We want to take care of that little boy, reassure him that it’s okay to miss a parent, that it is okay to want the love and the attention of a father. Now I want you to repeat after me: ‘I am a complete man with a good heart who deserves the best in this world and nothing less. I am a resilient man who loves his father but most of all, loves himself.’”

  I repeat what Dr. Bella says.

  “You’re going to be fine.” She pats me on the back and turns to face me. “Until we meet next time, I want you to think of a way to honor your mother. What would she appreciate more than anything? What was something she enjoyed doing for you, your sister, and your father, or for herself? The answer will come to you in time. How about if we meet again after your Christmas vacation? I want to hear about your holiday with your father and sister. I’ll be back in Boston after the New Year. I’m going to the Bahamas with my family. I’m as pale as the snow outside.”

  “Okay. Maybe I’ll have more to share when I come back.”

  Dr. Bella loops her arm around my elbow and walks me to her front door where she gives me a hug. I catch a trace of her perfume, which carries a sweet, powdery, lavender scent.

  “Take care of yourself. And if you need to talk to someone in case of an emergency, here’s my cell phone number.” She hands me her business card with her cell phone number scribbled on the back.

  “I’m here for you, Carlos. I’m your friend. I’m only here to help.”

  I wave good-bye as I venture back outside into the frigid cold weather with a heavy heart filled with questions.

  18

  Tommy

  Mikey and I stroll the wide corridors of South Shore Plaza for an early Christmas shopping spree. The mall bustles with shoppers who are dashing from one sale to the next. White Christmas lights bedeck the trees that line the mall’s center. Reindeer, Santa hats, and stockings hang like ornaments above the stores. Holiday music from “Jingle Bells” to Mariah Carey’s Christmas CD plays overhead on hidden speakers. I love this time of year because Boston bounces back to life for Christmas, despite the frigid temperatures. The city embraces the holiday spirit and wears it like an old favorite coat too comfortable to take off. Down the street from the mall, gingerbread men and elf figurines pose on the front lawns of snow-caked homes while sparkling twinkling lights adorn windows and front doors. Christmas in Boston feels more authentic than it does in Miami because of the weather. Santa might suffer a heat stroke from South Florida’s rampant tropical humidity. Something magical and breathtaking happens in Boston when December arrives. Cold weather becomes an afterthought because of the warmth of the holiday spirit. A Boston Christmas is a Norman Rockwell painting that morphs to life, and I am glad to be a small character in that scene.

  It’s Saturday afternoon, and Mikey and I decide not to buy each other’s gifts today. Instead, we shop for everyone else. We always have fun at the mall. Somehow, no matter what we do, it’s always an adventure. We each carry two bags filled with gifts. Mikey bought his mom and sister gift cards to Macy’s and his father a shirt from Sears. I bought Carlos a gift card to Banana Republic. For Rico, I got a gift card to Hollister. He loves wearing the store’s ribbed, body-defining shirts. For Mami and Papi, I bought a nice card with holiday wishes in Spanish. I also plan to enclose a check for $500. They need the money, and I know they would rather have this than some artificial gift card that they would probably give away to someone else. They are simple people who don’t need or want for much, except that I call them each night. Besides, I plan to be there for the holidays so that’s my other gift. And for my sister Mary, I bought a gift card to Talbot’s, one of her favorite stores. If I were to buy her a blouse or a shirt from that store or any other, she would return it right away. I haven’t bought anything for Mikey yet. I’m stumped on what to purchase. Maybe when I visit Miami for the holidays, I’ll get him something there.

  “Let’s get some cheesecake, cutie,” Mikey says when we pass the crowds circling outside The Cheesecake Factory.

  “Ugh. I don’t want to ruin my dinner. That stuff is really fattening.”

  “You need to gain some weight, cutie. I want you to be a bear, my bear.”

  He rubs my stomach like a genie. I stop walking.

  “A bear?” I blurt out.

  “Yeah, you would make a cute sexy bear with your hairy chest. You’re too thin.”

  “I don’t want to be a bear. Bears are fat, gay, old men with chests and backs as hairy as carpets, the guys you see roaming around Provincetown like polar bears in the summer. How about a cub? They’re younger and thinner.”

  “Okay, you’re my Cuban cub. I’ll call you Boo Boo.”

  “Thanks, Yogi. Remember, you’re older than me by two years.”

  Mikey sticks out his tongue at me and bites down. I mimic him and twitch my nose. We share a quiet laugh.

  “What are you doing for Christmas? My family is having our annual dinner at the Marriott Hotel. I was thinking you could come over,” Mikey suggests as we eye the rows of cheesecakes in the cool and brightly lit dessert case at the restaurant, which swarms with couples, children, and parked empty baby strollers. I surrender to the Cheesecake Gods and decide to order a slice to go.

  “I’m headed to Miami. Since I didn’t go home for Thanksgiving, I must go for Christmas. It’s usually one or the other, or I won’t hear the end of it from my parents. The Latin guilt trip!”

  “Oh.”

  “But I’ll be back for New Year’s.”

  “So I’ll have you all to myself on the last day of this year and the first day of the next.”

  “You got it!”

  We order our obscenely fattening desserts. I get the Linda’s Fudge Cake, which is flanked by sprinkles and swirls of fudge. Mikey orders a slice of the colossal carrot cake. We pay the cashier and carry our plastic boxes and utensils back to the mall’s main corridor. Under the mall’s skylights, we sit on one of the benches across from the CVS. We feed each other the desserts.

  “So what do you want for Christmas, cutie?”

  “You don’t have to buy me anything. Really. I rather you spend your money on something else.” I suck a clump of chocolate and fudge off my spoon.

  “But I want to get you something.” He scoops some of his carrot cake onto his fork and shoves it in his mouth. A crust of frosting smears his upper lip. I lean in closer and lick it off.

  “How about making a donation to an organization in my name? Maybe Fenway Community Center or the Make-A-Wish folks. There are people in need of gifts and toys. I’m happy with my Jeep, Diet Coke, and Providence reruns. Seriously, I really don’t need anything.”

  Mikey moves closer and kisses me on the cheek.

  “That’s why I love you. You always think of other people.”

  As we sit and wolf down our desserts, I study Mikey’s
face and feel his sweet energy. What is it about Mikey that endears him to my heart? Something connects me to him, and I can’t put my finger on exactly what. There’s an indescribable pull when we’re together, and yet, I feel his presence when we’re apart. I use my index finger to tickle the light brown scruff on his face. He fires back by threatening to shove some cake in my face.

  “You wouldn’t!” I say.

  “Try me!” He dangles his fork near my hair.

  “Okay, okay! I believe you. Now just back up and step away from the hair! Step away from the hair,” I say, like a police commander might negotiate a crime scene.

  As we finish our cakes, my phone vibrates. The caller ID displays Carlos’s name.

  I excuse myself from Mikey for a moment and turn around to talk.

  “Loco, what are you doing?”

  “Hey, Carlos. I’m here at the mall with Mikey. We’re shopping. What’s up?”

  “I just worked out. What are you doing later? Want to get some dinner?”

  “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll invite Mikey to come with us. Is that cool?”

  “Of course. I still want to meet him even though he was a no show the other night. I guess…” Carlos sighs, “I can give him another chance. Ay, loco!”

  “Thanks, amigo. I want to see what you think of him. I’ll come over with Mikey at eight o’clock. That way, he can see your cute apartment.”

  “Bueno, see you later, loco.”

  I flip my phone shut and whirl around back to Mikey. He looks like he wants to say something.

  “Did you hear that? I thought it would be nice if we had dinner with Carlos like we planned last week.”

  Mikey grimaces and shoves more carrot cake into his mouth. He then looks at his watch and checks his phone.

  “I’d love to, cutie, but I told my sister I’d drop by her place and visit my nieces. I thought we were shopping today and just having lunch.”

  Hmm. I’m not sure whether to believe him or not. He didn’t mention this at all earlier when we met at the mall. Where is this coming from? More Mikey doubts, just as when he didn’t show up for Carlos’s dinner.

  “Can’t you cancel this one time? I’m sure your sister would be okay with it. I really would like you to meet Carlos. He’s like family.”

  “I know, Tommy, and I will, but I was looking forward to seeing my family. Maybe next week?” He begins to tickle the back of my hair.

  “Umm…sure, I guess,” I deadpan, but I’m really not sure. As we finish shopping, concerns linger inside my head and my heart. It seems that whenever I make plans for Mikey to meet a friend, specifically Carlos, Mikey (poof!) disappears. He wasn’t like this when we first dated. In fact, he was always drinking and hanging out with his friends. He was the social butterfly with the bright blue eyes. He met Rico a few times. Although they didn’t care for each other, Mikey at least met him.

  I decide, against my better judgment (it must be the holiday spirit), to let Mikey off the hook this time. Eventually, he’ll meet Carlos and any other friend I have. How could he not? My patience is beginning to wear thin.

  It’s eight o’clock on the dot, and I’m walking the three flights of wooden creaking stairs to Carlos’s apartment. When I arrive at his door, he appears with a big smile on his face, which is quickly replaced with a pensive, confused look.

  “Hey…where’s your guy?” Carlos says, looking behind me and down the stairs for Mikey.

  I wipe my shoes on his welcome mat, which is in the shape of Cuba.

  “He had plans to see his family tonight. I’m sorry.”

  I walk in, and Carlos takes my coat and hangs it on his coatrack by the front door.

  “Loco, that is so lame, again! That’s two strikes in my book. What’s his deal anyway? How hard is it for him to meet a friend of yours?”

  “I know. The first time he was sick. This time, it’s his family.”

  Carlos raises his left eyebrow and tilts his head in disbelief. I bet he does this with his students when they give him a bullshit story for skipping class. We walk to his bar table in his kitchen and plop ourselves on stools that face one another. A depressing pile of essays and homework sits next to us and blocks the view of the living room.

  “And what will the excuse be next time?”

  “Carlos, you will meet him. I promise. But I have to agree, I find this all so strange. He knows we’re close, so he should want to meet you.”

  “Well, I am beginning to take offense to it. I haven’t done anything to him. I think there’s more going on here than you realize. Is he shy?”

  I lean forward on the table and twirl a piece of a paper towel around my finger.

  “He’s not shy, at least not the first time we dated. With me, he’s very outgoing and chatty. He’s a lot of fun in his own way.”

  “I see. And he’s a guidance counselor, so he deals with students one-on-one?”

  “Yeah!”

  As he talks, Carlos gets up from the table and grabs a plastic bottle of water for himself and a Diet Coke for me. He keeps a stash handy for my frequent visits.

  “I may be going out on a limb here, but do you think he’s socially uncomfortable without having alcohol around? Maybe he’s shy without the liquor. That would explain these sudden disappearing acts when you want him to interact with you and another person, especially un amigo.”

  “Hmm. I hadn’t thought of it that way.” I open my drink, which oozes carbonated fizz. I take a long pull.

  “When it’s just you and Mikey, it’s great, right? But if you try to expand your social circle with him, he has something else to do. Why else wouldn’t he meet me or anyone else you know?”

  “Well, last year he met Rico a few times.”

  “Yeah, but he was drinking like a fish then. From what I know about alcoholics, liquor acts as a social lubricant. It puts them at ease in social settings. Without it, they can feel naked and awkward. Maybe you need to talk to Dr. Bella, too. I had a great session with her the other day. She helped me see things a little differently.”

  “I knew Dr. Bella would offer some insight. She’s really great, like a cool and understanding aunt you can confide in.”

  Carlos nods his head and takes a swig from his bottled water. His light brown eyes suddenly become animated.

  “Oye, I have an idea. I know how I can finally meet Mikey. Let’s ambush him!”

  “Que cosa?” I almost spit out my drink.

  “Trust me on this. The next time you have plans to have Mikey over at your place or if you guys meet at the bookstore, I’ll suddenly show up and make it look like an accident. He won’t be able to run away. He’ll have to say hi and talk a little. I am loving this idea, loco.”

  I cringe.

  “Don’t you think that’s kind of rude? Would you want that to happen to you if you were in his shoes?”

  “Tommy, rude is not meeting your boyfriend’s really nice and smart friend who is new to Boston and wants to make friends.” Carlos’s eyes widen to make his point, and he tilts his head again in his teacher mode.

  “I can make it look completely natural, an accident, a meeting by chance. I can be shopping for books for my class.”

  I digest the idea. It can’t hurt, right?

  “What if he gets up to go the bathroom and escapes through a back window? Then what?”

  “Well, then you know that he might not be as comfortable as he says he is with his alcoholism. Recovery is a lifetime process, and if you guys are seriously dating, wouldn’t you rather know now than later whether or not he can socialize with your friends and family? It can’t always be just the two of you, especially with me around here and your family and friends in Miami. You can’t escape a Cuban family. I’m learning that the hard way.”

  “Okay, it’s a deal. We’ll do this your way. Carlito’s way,” I humor him. “The next time we meet up, I’ll call you ahead of time and you can, ahem, accidentally find us there. When did you suddenly become a smart and sneaky teacher?”


  Carlos caps the top of his water bottle and feigns offense.

  “I learned it from you, loco! So we’re all set for Project MA—Mikey Ambush. I can’t wait. Now let’s get out of here and get something to eat. I want to tell you all about my visit with Dr. Bella.” Carlos clears the table of our drinks, and grabs our coats from the rack. “You won’t believe what she told me. I actually feel good about this therapy thing.”

  “You should, Carlos. She’s one of the best around.”

  19

  Carlos

  I stroll up and down the rows of desks and collect my students’ essays on The Gift of the Magi. It’s the last day of class before Christmas break, and the students are rowdy and distracted. I don’t blame them. I want to get out of here and head to Miami and relax in the warmer weather.

  “So class, does anyone have any big plans for Christmas break?” My students chatter and rummage through their bags. Their chairs screech against the black tile floor as they wait for the last bell to ring. In the back of the classroom, the radiator clanks and hisses.

  “I’m going to Puerto Rico to see mi abuelo,” shouts Pedro, in his Latino Boston accent, which I never knew existed until I moved here. He’s a C student, but I give him an A for conduct because he’s mostly well-behaved.

  “That’s great, Pedro. You can escape this horrible cold and bring us back some of the warm weather. I’ll have your paper graded by the time you come back with a tan.”

  Sue, one of my chattier students, turns around in her desk and looks up at me.

  “My family is going skiing in Vermont. Do ya ski, Mr. Martin?”

  “Ah, no. I haven’t gotten around to taking lessons. I think I might scare away the deer if I were to tumble and scream down a mountain. I don’t think Cubans and snow mix all that well, especially in the mountains.”

  I pass Leroy’s desk. He sketches in his art pad.