As soon as Angel bounces, a short, scrawny guy who looks my age, with flaming carrot-colored hair, shining green eyes, a puffy lower lip and a grease stain on his left cheek says in a husky voice, “Hola. I’m Che,” as if he were the prince of the world. He slaps me a high-five that makes my hand sting. “I’m named after the revolutionary. My father is Argentinean and my mother, Cuban. They were both crazy about him. I’m not, but it’s too late to change my name.”
“Hey.” I throw him a smile.
He’s got a tattoo of two nude girls on his left arm. Their breasts are hanging out all over the place. Just what I need so early in the morning: a freshly peeled look at life.
In the crew there’s an olive-skinned girl with a sweet, dazed look in her made-up doey eyes that makes her look sleepy. She’s got straight, dark hair with tiny, heart-shaped, painted peach lips. A pinkish skin discoloration takes up the entire right side of her face. She’s wearing large gold earring hoops and tons of gold bracelets. You’d never think she’d be the type to get her hands dirty in a job like this.
She throws a shining smile my way. “Hi, I’m Camila.”
“Hola.” I kiss her cheek. She smells tangy, like orange zest. Every time I get a whiff of a citrus scent, it brings me right to Marlena, a tangerine aficionada.
I turn to the next person.
An attractive, short, snowy white stocky girl, wearing a sleeveless purple tank—as little as a bathing suit top—showing hard muscles and soft mannerisms, gives me the biggest smile of all with two adorable crooked front teeth. Her hair is buzzed, which makes her tiny ears stick way out in a funny way. I guess you could call her androgynous.
A dimple the size of a dime pops out when, with sparkling crystal blue eyes, she says, “Hey, what’s cookin’? I’m Jaylene Morenson.” Her cheeks flush, as if she dabbed on rouge when we weren’t looking. She shakes my hand.
“Hi.” I smile.
So far there’s an andro, a macho sicko guy and a drowsy girl in my crew.
I’ve worked part-time long enough to know that eventually someone will bring forth madness. Like Gauge—a guy in my old crew—who believed he was an alien from another planet. He filled our ears with stories of his people’s “heroic intentions” to land here and show us how to rule over ourselves. He’d say things like, “In my dimension, we don’t posses the urge to kill, experience greed, or the need to manipulate. I’m here getting my PhD in evolutionary paleobiology. As a professor, I’ll teach humans about us, so one day you’re ready for our arrival. You keep beaming signals into space about silly snack foods. You should be broadcasting the need for help with your unsolvable social problems, like death, poverty, war, drugs and bullying.”
Gauge talked about how “perplexed” he felt living among humans and our strange mating habits and rituals. I wasn’t disturbed or amused by any of it. I figured he’d been reading far too many dystopian novels, until, of course, he told Marco, “I need to leave early to get to a doctor’s appointment.” The following week he came back with stitches, saying, “The doctor inserted an iron metal rod inside my esophagus so my people in my dimension can follow me more carefully.”
Because of Gauge, I knew to expect the unexpected.
Che smacks his gum and stares Jaylene up and down, up and down, with elevator eyes. I can tell something weird is brewing in his swollen, cocky brain.
A tall, husky, ruddy guy dressed in a crumpled-up blue T, worn jeans and a bright red nose, speaks up. “¡Hola! I’m George Prios.” His hands are callused, and he’s got an intense look in his coffee-ground eyes, as if he’s ready to jump into work. He smacks the arm of the burly guy next to him. “This is my big brother, Rey. He speaks just a wee bit of English.”
“¿Qué pasa, calabaza?” Rey’s large copper-penny eyes smile. “At home they call me El Tigre.” He’s wearing all white, has got thick moppy honey-colored hair and a bushy, dark beard. He’s stocky and does remind me of a tiger. He extends his hands for a strong handshake.
The crew now consists of the andro, a snoring girl, a wacked-out sicko perv, the roaring tiger and his intense workaholic brother. We’re missing the homophobic nun to wipe the smile off the lesbian, a coffee distributor guy to wake up the snoozer, and a priest (or rabbi) to “cure” the perv.
A shipment of trees, plants and flowers was delivered yesterday. Marco’s weekend crew placed them according to the design. I look around me. Everything’s a huge pile of trees, like a messy jungle.
I adore trees. They lift my spirits with their green brilliance that helps choke back pollution so we can breathe cleaner air. I feel lighthearted, as if I’ve just hiked up a mountain and with every step, I’ve let my troubles slip away.
Jaylene rubs the nubs on her head while everyone just stands around, as if waiting for instructions. I know they know what to do; they’re probably just testing me.
I remind them, “My uncle Marco wants us to push the plants back and dig holes exactly where the plants were.”
“¡Bárbaro!” Che grabs a shovel and gets to digging right away. He’s working next to me, showing off his scrawny, popped-out muscles. It’s strange to look at the girls on his arm. Every time a muscle moves, they squirm around. Maybe he gets more action from watching the tattoo than in real life.
I dig a hole that’s three feet in diameter and depth, and stick a small bottle palm in it. I love the way the tree looks pregnant. I shovel the earth back into the hole and plant a bed of purple flowers around it.
I remember the day my mom told my dad she was expecting over the phone.
“We’re going to have another baby!” Six months later, my dad came home from working in New Jersey as a horse trainer (he was always away six months out of the year). When the doctor said my mother needed constant rest or she’d lose Pedri, he prepared dinners every night for the three of us after he arrived exhausted from work. “I don’t want your mom to move a muscle,” he’d say. On weekends, instead of our usual movie night, he’d rent DVDs. The three of us watched films cuddled on the couch. He was always spreading kisses, giving my mom foot massages, scrubbing, laundering and doing chores while whistling around the house.
The night my mom’s water broke, my father ran out the door, climbed into his car, and started the engine without us—and with his pjs on! We brought him back indoors and helped him pick clothes to wear. His hands were shaking so much he could barely drive to the hospital.
I stayed in the waiting room with my grandmother. My dad came out shouting, “It’s a boy!”
Che nudges my ribs and releases the memory out of my head. He points to El Tigre. “For a whole year, that guy asked Cuban authorities to allow him to come visit his family here to no avail. They kept denying him because they considered him an ‘antisocialist blogger.’ He came in a balsa in shark-infested waters, in secret, without telling a soul. And that dumbo-eared girl with the guy’s haircut,” he juts his nose in Jaylene’s direction, “she’s into girls, guys and anything that moves.”
“So what if she’s try-sexual?”
“Oh. You’re one of those, too?”
“I was joking.”
“Well, if you’re not careful, Shai, she’ll soon be after your tail.”
My heart beats fast. The palms of my hands get sweaty and I wipe them on my overalls. I stand on the shovel and jump on it a few times to loosen the earth under me. It won’t take this nosy guy too long to figure out my life. There’s no way I’ll even hint at having once been known to friends as a free-spirit, artist, free-thinking environmentalist who transformed into a specialized lying piece of shit nobody wants.
“She won’t get my tail, that’s for sure.” The last thing I need is for Marlena’s uncle to find out about Marlena and me. He’ll realize what’s been going on under his nose whenever I sleep over at his place. I’m positive he’ll tell Marlena’s family and we don’t need more drama and heartache.
I’ve got to make sure to keep my relationship intact and sacred.
He whispers
loudly so Jaylene, across from us, hears. “Don’t be fooled. Those girls will haunt you till they catch you . . .”
I interrupt and catch him off guard. “Oh, so you’re saying they’re as bad as some guys?”
He stares at me for a moment, then says, “That’s not what I meant. Just be careful with bi’s.” He sniffs the air. “I can smell them a mile away. They prey on beautiful girls like you. When they capture you, they leave you for a guy. After they’ve used the fellow up, they’ll leave him for another female. It’s a vicious circle.”
I want to roll my eyes at the empathy, utmost care and consideration he has for people who aren’t like him. I’ll keep chucking whatever he says out my imaginary window and go on working. I hate that I’m stuck with a judgmental guy. Where’s the morbidly endearing Gauge when I need him? The truth is that sometimes Gauge broke my heart. When everyone shunned him, laughed at him, or told him to shut up, I wanted to pull up a chair next to him and ask him to tell me more stories. But Che, no way. I know he already expects a lot of comments from me, and for me to take his side, as he judges everyone.
I don’t respond.
He points toward Jaylene. “I can turn any invertida around. Once tortilleras and bi girls have a taste of me, they never go back.” He smirks. “They just need a real man.”
This must be the stupidest guy on the planet. “I doubt that. She’d probably prefer a dildo to do the job.” I feel like telling him he could stick his shovel where the sun doesn’t shine, but I don’t.
I can already hear him spewing one tangent after another, rambling away his misogynistic thoughts about lezzies and bi girls. If he knew I was closely connected at the heart to that subject, I wonder what he’d say. Having to deal with this type of idiot isn’t going to be fun. I wish I had a stronger personality and the courage to ask him to zip it.
Jaylene overhears and comes over to us. She wraps her hands around the shovel handle. “A real man?” She bores holes into his pupils. I love the way she stands up to him.
He grins and spits on the ground. “Yeah. You’re just too scared to try me.” He smiles. “I told you I’d give you the best time you’ve ever had. I’ll shave so smooth you’ll think you’re with a girl.”
“Just because I like both genders, and am up with the queer movement, doesn’t mean I’m insane. Your type doesn’t do it for me, Crud.” She says it loud enough so everyone hears. Everybody looks up and stops working.
“You tell him,” George speaks up and turns to Che. “I’ve got a few girls I can introduce you to if you’re having a hard time meeting females.”
Before Che responds, I say, “Hey guys, my uncle’s coming back soon.” Surprisingly, they get back to digging. I keep digging, trying to mind my own business, but Jaylene stays put.
“You know what they say, don’t you?” she asks Che. He shrugs. “Well, I won’t give you the pleasure of finding out.” She leans over and whispers into my ear. “They say imbecilic macho ignoramuses like him have small shriveled up worms. They have to prove their masculinity by talking shit. You think any girl into girls would ever go for him?”
I want to laugh, but I don’t. I need respect in this job. I’ve got to play it wise and safe and befriend everyone. On the other hand, I admire people like Jaylene and would like to get to know her better. She doesn’t wear a façade and will probably expect the same from me. I don’t think I should undo this mask any time soon, though.
“Oh, so you like me, eh?” Che tells her. “You’re giving me so much attention.”
“If you were the only life-sustaining force on Earth, I wouldn’t date you, an obvious misogynist maggot.”
He lets out a chest full of anger. “At least I don’t try to hide my true lust behind bisexual political theories. You’ll hook up with anybody. Admit it and we’ll move on.”
I realize these two have a history of which I don’t want to know about. “Guys,” I interrupt. “Come on.” They shovel in silence.
Jaylene is the first to finish the biggest hole of all. Without asking for help, she picks up a small, heavy date palm tree and places it in the hole she dug. She throws in the rest of the soil and pats the earth down. She plants white lance-like flowers in a circular way around the tree and goes for the hose. She knows her stuff.
Che is having a hard time with some coral rock. He’s hitting the rocks extremely hard with the shovel, with a lot of force, trying to break them loose. “Oye,” he looks up to me as he wipes sweat off his brow. “She’s just acting tough because deep down she’s into me. I took her to the movies once. She didn’t text me back. I know she’s playing hard to get. I bet if I ask her out again, she’ll hook up with me.”
That’s all Jaylene needs, a worm after her butt. “Ask her and see.” I stick the shovel in a crack on the earth and whack my foot hard against it, thinking it’s Che. I’m cracking open his skull to plant colorful flowers in there. He needs something pretty to shake up his messed-up head.
“Those bi’s will screw anybody. That’s all I wanted from her. Come to think of it, I won’t ask her out again. I’m glad nothing happened between us. You better stay away from her if you don’t want AIDS. Who knows what STDs people like her are carrying.” He continues to shovel.
I’ve never met such an idiot in all my life. I’m going to have a lot to deal with in this crew.
8—A Tazer Seed
Morning passes quickly and before you know it, Tazer gets home. Angel is off with Jaylene to the tree warehouse nursery. Tazer comes by with croquetas de pollo and cold pineapple juice for everyone.
“¡Gracias!” The crew throws down their shovels and runs to the snacks.
We walk away from them and stand under a tall, bushy, Gumbo Limbo tree. He’s looking really handsome in khaki pants and sandals and a dark forest green tank top that shows long lean muscles.
“Oye, chica, you look sweeeeeet. Long time.” He smacks me a kiss on my cheek.
“Hey. Good to see you again.” In a strange way, I’m excited to see him. I just hope he won’t bring me problems with Marco.
It’s tempting for me to befriend Tazer and people like Jaylene, but it’s not easy to cross the boundary I’ve kept myself behind and step into other territories right now. All I need is to lose Marlena because of one simple slip. My friendship needs were so fulfilled until the Incident. I don’t like feeling isolated when I have a string of new people I can befriend, right in front of my face. I know Marco will find it strange if I talk too much to Tazer, but not if I stick with Che.
“Look what I found while digging.” I stick my hand in my pocket and bring out a smooth turquoise-colored stone. It’s got thin black streaks around it. I’m saving it for Pedri. I love to give natural things like rocks, leaves and hand-picked dried flowers. They mean something special, and you can save them forever.
He scrutinizes it as he rubs his fingers over its smooth surface. “The markings are so artistic, as if someone drew them. I love it. Thanks.”
Oops. He thinks I’m giving it to him. That’s okay. I’ll find another one for my little brother.
Tazer’s thick dark eyebrows and sparkling eyes are stunning. His skin is smooth as a mango peel. It’s too bad he dyes his hair with chemicals. Maybe I can get him to change his mind about growing back his natural color.
“You look striking in boots.” His smile radiates.
“And you look handsome in pants.”
He lets out a smooth, boyish laugh.
“Hey, where’s your dad?” Angel needed to show him the backyard design I drew with Marco’s help last week, when I didn’t realize we were at Tazer’s house. Marco points to the trees and plants from a book, and I draw them in. It’s a piece of guava.
My favorite part of my job, though, is to be allowed to sketch in some elements of surprise, unexpected moss paths, wild bushes or anything I’m moved to draw, really. My strength lies in being able to see an empty lot and know how to make it beautiful simply by following my gut feelings. I need to keep prov
ing to Marco I no longer need photos of trees to know how to design.
When I was little, I was always engrossed in playing a computer game my father gave me for my birthday. As soon as he realized I was in love with painting jungles and forests, he got it for me. I’d place a kid (myself) in a forest. I sketched myself surrounded by toucans, wild animals and all sorts of colorful plants from my imagination. I befriended the tigers and rode the elephants. In the end, it became one big animated story I shared with my family. My mom said it was the only thing that kept me still for hours when my father was away in New Jersey, working.
“My dad, well . . .” Tazer stares at his long fingers, “I practically live alone with our maid, Sulima. My father’s a workaholic. He’s only here when he’s got an appointment. He’s juggling two girlfriends and he’s always flying them places.”
I’m always surprised at how unpredictable people’s experiences can be compared to what they look like. I’d have never thought someone so joyous would have a dad who doesn’t care. You’d think folks with parents who neglect them would be in a corner, weeping all day long. I guess anyone could say the same thing about me, now that I belong to that special tribe of “orphans” with parents.
I’m glad he feels comfortable telling me intimate things. I guess he can see I’m a trustworthy person.
“Now that my father’s rich, on weekends he flies them all over the place—one at a time, that is—especially to the Caribbean. If he didn’t send me pics of him on my cell, I might not know what he looks like. Luckily, he texts and calls me once or twice a day.”
His words remain floating in midair. He tries to smile, but I can see right through him. I totally get it. I wish my mom would start sending me pictures of her and Pedri.
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