I can’t relate to a noncaring dad, even if I barely ever saw him. He was the greatest father who’s ever lived. I yearned daily for the moment to see him arrive from New Jersey and carry me in his arms. My father read me comics when I was sick and took good care of me when my mother wasn’t around. He loved me more than life itself. But now he’s gone, and all I have are pictures and memories.
Tazer’s father should wake up and realize that in one second, everything can end, and he’s wasting his time by not embracing his only son. I ask him a lot of questions because I’d like to get to know him better.
I learn that in middle grade, he was a star soccer player at his school’s co-ed soccer team and won many trophies. His greatest dream was to one day be on the U.S. Men’s National Soccer Team.
“In high school, they only had co-ed and exclusively girls or boys’ teams. I was only allowed to play on the girls’ team, which I refused.” He made a fuss and became an activist, fighting for kids like him to be allowed on the boys’ team to no avail. “I almost moved to New York to join the New York Boys’ Soccer Team, where a genderqueer friend played,” he said. At school, he became a bit of a rebel and made many friends. To this day, he says he’s friends with his elementary school “buds.” Back then he couldn’t face moving away to New York and leaving them behind.
Tazer is so charming. I could see him being extremely popular.
We move farther away from the crew and stand under another Gumbo Limbo tree full of oval-shaped dark green leaves.
“Too bad you didn’t get to play on the boys’ team, but I’m glad you stayed or I’d have never met you.” I feel my ears turning red and look away from him. I’m saying what I feel and hope that Marlena won’t be upset. I can’t help but want to tell him something nice since he opened up to me. I can always let Marco know I was speaking business with Tazer. I bite my thumbnail. “Do you ever miss not having a mom?” I lean my back against the cool-feeling copper-red bark, stuff the croquetica in my mouth, and wash it down with a sip of delicious pineapple juice.
“Not really. I don’t miss what I don’t know and have never had. But I still long for my family in Cuba.” His smile reassures me. “What’s terrific is that I have no one on my back telling me what to do. I’ve got a lot of different types of friends, and I’m always out and about. Like tonight. I’m staying over at Teal’s apartment. She’s twenty-four, her body is filled with tattoos, and she’s filmed a documentary on Cuban lesbian exiles. Teal’s having a viewing party for select friends. They’re all older than me. Some are even my dad’s age.”
I lift my eyebrows in disbelief.
“We’re critiquing the film for her to help her make it better. When they leave, she and I will be up all night editing the piece. I’m sure my father would disapprove. But hey, if he started getting into my business now I’d just move away. I love him tons, but it’s too late to have him meddle in my life.”
He changes the topic. “How’s it going with your boyfriend?”
The more we talk, the more I like him. He’s smart, rugged, yet tender all at once. He’s got a softness about him and a strong sensual voice that matches his tall, slender and lean muscular body. He’s generous and sensitive in a sweet boyish way. I can tell he’s a fun, deep, smart and good person with a great heart. Something strong within me wants to be his friend. I wonder how I can work it out so all parties involved are happy and tongues won’t start wagging.
I cover the glare of the sun leaking through the branches with the palm of my hand. “Great,” I say. “I love him to death.” I’m talking about Marlena, of course!
“Grand. I didn’t tell you when we met at the beach, but I’d just been dumped after a silly argument about food. I refused to eat pizza. She wouldn’t bend. Dori climbed into her car and screeched away. That night, I went to her place and there she was with a husky baseball player guy.” He scrapes pieces of peeling bark from the tree with the stone I “gave” him. “The guy came to the front door and shook my hand when she introduced me as her ex.”
“Woah. That must have burned.”
“It stung. Especially when she started telling him personal things like, ‘Tazer’s a girl underneath it all.’”
I wish I could tell him he looks like a hot sexy guy, and he’ll soon find someone worthy of him, but I don’t dare. He might think I’m making a move on him.
Tazer puts a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s forget about me and my woes. Are things okay with your mom?”
I’m caught off guard. “Well . . . uhh . . . well . . . let me put it to you this way . . .” I jump in and tell him about a “dyke’s” texts to me, without mentioning her name. I explain the way I was treated afterward and how my mother threw me out of the house. It just pours out of me. But I lie. “The lesbian wrote in explicit detail what she’d do to me under the covers if I dated her, but I’m not into that.” I go on and on.
His eyes widen. “Hell. The teacher read it to the class?”
“Yeah. It was horrifying.” I look away from him then smack into his eyes. I don’t want him to know about Marlena and me. I’m almost sure this information will be safe with him, but I doubt Marlena will allow it. I don’t blame her. I mean, Marco knows the guy and his dad now.
“I wish you’d told me at the beach your mom had just kicked you out.” He looks at me with a sparkly puppy-dog face, the type Neruda puts on when I pet her belly.
I look down at my working boots. “It wasn’t the right time. I was dealing with too much.”
“I get it.” He bites the skin off his thumb. “We have a lot in common. We can do what we like with our lives without parents hounding us. We’re free to be ourselves without needing to follow rules. That can only be a great thing.”
“I don’t know, Tazer. I’d rather have my mom and brother back.”
“Freedom comes with a price. I guess you can get lonely without a family who cares,” he admits. “On the other hand, you’ll make decisions on your own. You’ll mature quickly and have a thrilling life while you’re at it. Oh, and the best part is that we never need to come home if we don’t want to.” His smile makes his eyes glow.
“I still have a curfew. I’m living with my best friend and her mom. She’s easy but there are rules.”
“If things get too strict over there, you can move here. I’m serious. My dad will never, ever know. This is pretty much my own place.”
“Thanks.”
There’s a certainty in Tazer’s voice, a tone bordering on “everything in life is grand and will work out just fine” that’s energizing. I relish his self-assuredness and love his enthusiasm.
His smile broadens. “Now that we’re getting to be friends, I’m stoked you’re being honest and sharing with me.”
Yeah, I’m more honest than a pathological liar.
This sucks. What the hell am I doing? Here I am with a fantastic person I could talk to truthfully about my life and what do I do? Tell him lies to keep protecting my girlfriend and me. I probably shouldn’t have said anything at all.
A soft breeze comes our way. He pushes his long bangs away from his face. We stand, just feeling the gust on our faces.
“Breezes like these could make anyone a believer,” he says.
It’s true. On such a hot, muggy day this wind makes me feel like we’re floating on an ocean wave.
I sip the sweet drink and it goes down soft as rainfall. “A believer in what? In a god?” I don’t know exactly what he means.
He crosses his beautiful arms over his flat chest and leans his broad shoulders on the tree. “I’m certain I’m one with everything and everyone that exists and existed, and together, we make God.” I know many people who believe the same thing, but that’s not me.
We talk about our philosophies. I let him know that in fourth grade, I stopped believing in a god up there with a little wand after my buddy Ray died of a complication from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Multiple Chemical Sensitivities. I prayed so hard that year. I even went to
church on Sundays. The day Ray passed, I started thinking about poverty, war, illnesses, rapists, pedophiles and how unjust the world was. That’s when I began critically reflecting on everything I’d been taught that suddenly made no sense. My parents and teachers didn’t know how to answer my questions. My dad kept saying, “God is a mystery and we don’t know why he chose to take Ray.” Our teachers said idiotic things like, “It was God’s will Ray died,” or “Everything happens for a reason,” a cliché I’ve learned to hate.
“If there’s a little girl right now being stabbed in the heart by a kidnapper, suffering as she bleeds to death for a reason, and a teen somewhere having the time of his life traveling the world after inheriting a billion dollars, then this is a truly insane world.”
“I agree,” he states.
“That’s why I can’t be part of things that are evil. No way could I be one with Hitler, murderers and criminals.”
“So what do you believe in?”
“In myself and in something I call Sacred Nature. Feeling one with nature soothes me. She feeds all of us. That’s why I must take care of her and keep her sacred. When I’m in nature, I feel connected, like I belong. It’s as if I know where I come from, and where I’m going.”
“Nice.” He cracks a big juicy smile.
I talk to him about how jails are filled with murderers and serial killers with faith in god. “If I were to create my own religion, it would be called True Environmentalism, you know, the type where people actually practice what they preach. There are plenty of my ex-school friends’ parents who called themselves Green yet spray their lawns and dogs with pesticides, wash clothes with chemicals instead of nontoxics, and use chemicals for everything.”
“I get you.”
“I also believe in love from my little brother, my best friend, her mom and Neruda. They’d never hurt me, or anyone else.”
I don’t think I’ll ever trust anyone again except for the four I mentioned. I no longer believe in people. They can turn on you from one second to the next. And nature . . . well, it’s always had its natural catastrophes before people polluted the earth, but now it’s letting us know it’s suffering greatly by expressing its pain with more severe hurricanes, earthquakes, tsunamis and tornadoes. It’s trying to save itself from the extreme pollution folks keep making that has everyone getting sick. I see it like this: if you’re allergic to smoke and someone locks you in a room full of cigarette, cigar and pipe smoke, you’d whirl around the room like an insane maniac, too, trying to find a window to leap out of.
I change the subject. “You don’t use pesticides here, right?”
“Nope. I’d never do that.”
I open up to him a little. “My dad died of kidney disease caused by pesticide poisoning a year after my little brother Pedri was born. He was a horse trainer, and he used to spray the horse corrals with that junk to keep bugs away. The doctor said pesticides seeped into his bloodstream and fried his kidneys.” In Cuba, my dad was an engineer and a pilot, but since he didn’t know a word of English, he ended up working at his hobby (he adored horses).
“That’s awful. I’m sorry.”
I lower my head. “Thanks. I was thinking . . . you’ve got so much land that, after the landscape’s installed, maybe I can come over and we’ll plant an organic veggie garden together. Then, we can watch foreign films. Just please don’t tell anybody here or Marco about it. It’s a long story.” I can’t believe these words just slipped out of my mouth so easily without considering Marlena first. I need to do what feels right for me. I don’t want to upset her, but she must understand that I need friends right now, especially because she has a boyfriend on the side and won’t let go of Rick.
“For sure!” He gives me a knuckle-to-knuckle punch.
I notice Angel parking and Jaylene climbing out of the truck and heading off to work.
“Hey, it was fun talking with you but I’ve got to go,” I tell Tazer. “Do you have a CD player?”
He raises his voice to the crew. “It’s retro boom box time! Get ready for beats!” He runs off and comes back with a huge, ancient ghetto blaster and blasts some tunes.
“¡Música!” the crew trumpets.
Jaylene makes up some cha-cha-cha steps on the spot and wiggles her butt. “Cuban power!” She twirls once, twice; uno, dos, tres, then goes back to digging.
“Jaylene’s definitely gay,” Tazer assures me.
“She says she’s bi and calls herself ‘queer.’”
“She’s too butch and political to be my type. I like feminine girls.”
I look around me. The rows of palms we’ve planted remind me of the Cuban countryside, of women on stilts with windblown hair. Soon the emptiness in Tazer’s land will be transformed into paradise. Maybe that will happen to me too. While I work, I’ll scoop out every bit of love I had for my old friends who shunned me, and plant a Tazer seed in my heart. Who knows? Maybe it’ll grow into a magnificent friendship tree. I don’t know. Just maybe.
9—Yours and Only Yours
For the past two months, it’s been a blast living at Soli’s. I’m sleeping on the living room pullout couch and it’s super comfy. Of course I miss my mom and brother, and think about them 24/7, but that’s another story.
Soli, Marlena and I go to the movies with Soli’s friends, and whoever she’s dating, on some weekend nights. Afterward, we hit the beach boardwalk. Surprisingly, Marlena has allowed us to walk with our arms around each other as Soli and her straight friends do. I’d like to stray with her to spots where no one can see us kissing, but Marlena always thinks there’s impending danger. “That’s reckless. What if they catch us?” she’ll say.
“Who’ll find us half a mile away hidden by shrubs?”
No matter how much I try to talk her into it, she won’t budge.
***
I go on Facebook every day even if it still kills me to know CC, Olivia and a few other friends I’ve known forever X’d me out. A lot of my elementary school friends are there, some from high school. They’re into very different things than I am and we barely get together.
I help Viva clean, wash clothes, organize and cook. I’ve taught her to play chess. She’s become addicted to the game. Every time we’re together and have spare time, she wants to play. Usually, I allow her to eat my queen, simply because it thrills her. She had thought it was a game for intellectuals and scholars and had been scared of it. She’s gotten so good I’m going to need to stop giving her chances!
Just for fun, and to behave like eccentrics we’ve seen in foreign films, I’ve had Viva pose for wacky portraits wearing outrageous hats, large sunglasses, miniskirts and knee-high boots we get at the thrift shop for pennies, while listening to loud opera for inspiration. She’s such a sport. That’s one of the reasons I love her so much. We sell the paintings at Little Havana’s Cultural Friday Art Festivals for big bucks. I try to give her half the money, and also pay rent and food, but she won’t accept it. She makes me save it in the bank so I can buy myself a car. My mother still won’t let me come back unless I spill the frijoles, but at least I get to talk to Pedri every day. He sneaks calls to me when she’s taking a bath.
Marlena hasn’t been keen on my befriending anyone gay or trans, especially Jaylene or Tazer. She’s jealous and thinks everyone’s into me. When she isn’t happy, it leaks into our relationship. I still want to keep things smooth. That’s why I keep making up excuses. I started telling Jaylene and Tazer I couldn’t chill with them and their friends because I was spending time with my “boyfriend.” Luckily, after we stopped working at Tazer’s house, I’ve never seen them again and we’ve quit texting. I don’t feel good about lying, but Marlena has nothing to worry about now.
Some days after work, I throw my bike in the back of Marco’s truck and we head on over to his house—he always invites me to eat. I rinse off with a hose before diving into his Olympic-sized pool with Marlena. We compete to see who swims the fastest. I usually win, but then end up allowing her to beat
me by doing a slow version of the butterfly stroke. After dinner, and a few reality shows we watch with the whole family, we head to bed. When everyone’s sleeping, Marlena and I explore, traveling slowly through specific points of destinations. We have a beautiful time under the sheets.
There’s terrible news, though.
Last week, Marlena’s brother left early to go back to Puerto Rico because of an emergency with his girlfriend. As soon as he arrived, her parents called. They said she wouldn’t be finishing high school in Miami, as they’d promised her. They missed her too much. Her mom had already enrolled her in “Academia Escolar” a private, highly expensive high school. Now she has to return to Puerto Rico right away to start classes in a few weeks.
We just finished an exquisite brunch with Marlena’s family: ham steaks with pineapple chunks dripping in their natural juices, fluffy plantain omelet, Cuban bread drenched in dripping butter and glasses of guava nectar.
We sigh in unison when the taxi man honks.
Marlena’s tío Marco, tía Hilda, abuelita, and little cousins help Marlena and me carry her bags into the taxi. We kiss everyone goodbye and climb into the backseat.
From now on I know what to expect. I’ll be stuck in a dense fog between the Island of Missing Her and the coast of Hell. Marlena’s departure is hurtful in a way that only secret lovers can understand. Her family will miss her, but never as much as I will. I’ve tasted all of her, kissed her starting at sunset, all the way up to dawn, while her two moons lit up our nights. I’ll miss her warm body stretched out next to mine so much, but I can’t show it so she doesn’t get too sad.
A bearded Cuban guy with a hairy chest and bushy arms remarks, “No hablo inglés.” He doesn’t speak English, and that’s great with us. He puffs on his big fat cigar even if there’s a sign that says: NO SMOKING. Disgusting smoke ringlets float up to the ceiling.
We roll down our windows and I throw my head out for fresh air. I look past the expressway, toward the shoreline filled with neon apartments. Marlena’s uncle’s house is getting smaller and smaller in the distance, and my heart sinks.
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