Down to the Bone (14 page)

“No. I mean I’m really different now, Shai. I’m not the same person. What we were doing was wrong.” She speaks in a dead tone, as if she were talking about dust on her counter, as if our two years and eight months together—not counting last month—didn’t mean a thing. “I don’t want to be that way anymore.”

“That way? What have they done to you?”

A flashback of Marlena standing by the window of her room the first time she told me she thought she was warped because she loved a girl, hits me hard. We’d been together over a year and it was the day after Thanksgiving. She and I had just finished a meal of leftovers with her parents. They were alarmed about news of a gay serial killer, bullying and stabbing effeminate boys to death in broad daylight. The criminal was on the loose. I will never forget what Marlena’s mom said:

“I don’t blame that man. I’d take a shotgun to
all
gay kids.” She turned to Marlena and her siblings and said, “I’d rather have a serial killer for a son or daughter than for any of you to be homosexual.”

She continues after an awkward silence.

“Don’t make it difficult for Rick and me. We’re getting married next Sunday. My entire family made a collection and are flying us off to our honeymoon in France. My wedding will be catered with French cuisine.” I turned her on to French foods, and I always told her my dreams of eloping with her to Paris. What a stab in the heart. I even learned a bunch of French words with a CD. I taught them to her so we could speak French to each other and no one would understand us. It all sounds so cruel.

“Next Sunday?” Ouch! “Are you pregnant? Tell me the truth.”

“Of course not. I just want to get on with my life and get out of my house.”

As she speaks, a flash of one of our last dinners together at a French restaurant shakes me. Her uncle and aunt were celebrating their twentieth anniversary. I can still see Marlena biting into a slice of
tarte au citrus
and savoring it as the sun entered through the window and filtered through her hair. All I could think about was how beautiful she was and how much I wanted to kiss her. While everyone spoke, I imagined that one day we’d celebrate our twentieth with friends and family, too, somewhere in France.

How could I have been so wrong
?

“Is
this
what you’re calling me for, to kick me in the stomach?”

She lets out a strange moan. “I called to let you know I’ve moved on with my life. I can’t be like that with you anymore.”

I must be the stupidest person alive. All this waiting, for what? I’m such a damned fool.

I grab Neruda and place her on my lap for comfort. “But being like
that
was the happiest time of our lives.”

“But it’s not right.” Someone took my Marlena and replaced her with a robot.

“You’re sounding wacko, like my mom and Fart Face and the kids that called me names.” I sigh. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you. It’s your crazy family’s fault. You’re letting them force you into believing what we did was wrong.”

“No, Shai.” She pauses a second, then goes on. “I don’t want to feel so different anymore. Hiding is too stressful. I’d like to belong with my family and friends and be free to be me. I need to feel good about myself, and I won’t if I’m with another girl. What we had was just a phase for me.”

Marlena has slipped away from me.

“A phase?” I sit on the floor, grab my sketchpad and a pen from the coffee table, and start doodling. “We’ve known each other for so long and were together almost three years. You
know
our love was real and beautiful. You
know
you loved me with all your heart.” I throw the sketchpad and pen on the floor. “You told me you only talked about boys when we met because I liked them and you didn’t want me to think you were weird.”

She clears her throat and steers into another direction. “All I can say is that I’m committed to Rick. I’ve decided to accept his proposal.”

“You’re so young. This news is so twisted. Did you fall in love with him? I can understand
that
.”

She won’t answer my question directly. “I want to marry Rick.” She talks in a dry tone, without much feeling, like someone depressed. “He comes over and we have dinner together every night with my family. We hang out and watch movies. We also go to the beach on Sundays, together, as a family, with his parents and mine. We get along great.”

“But are you into him like you were with me? You couldn’t keep your hands off me, remember? In fact, you kissed me first! You’re the most lesbian girl I’ve ever met, and I’m meeting tons of them.” I need to see if she has any jealousy left in her.

“I’m trying to fall in love with Rick. I think eventually I will. He’s good to me, good for me, and my family loves him.” She stays away from the lesbian remark.

“So you suddenly stopped loving me, wanting to kiss me and be with me; wanting me right there next to you to sleep with at nights like you said, right?” I close my eyes and wait for the answer. Once I know, I can move on.

There’s a long silence. She covers the receiver, and I think I hear her sniffling.

“I still care about you,” she says carefully, in a quavering voice. “You were my closest friend.”

“Friend?!”

“Yes. We had a lot of fun, and we went through a great deal together.” She sniffles and sighs really deeply. “I can never go back to the way we were.”

I look outside the backyard windows. Light purple streaks melt into yellows and reds. But at least they sink in vivid colors.

How can the two people I loved and trusted the most have lost track of everything that’s really important in life? I need to stop caring. It’s useless to keep convincing myself that family, friends and girlfriends will be loyal and care about you till the end. Everybody’s out for themselves first. No one really gives a shit. I hope Soli doesn’t turn on me too. She, Viva and my little brother are my only hope for humanity.

She coughs and clears her voice. “I need to hang up. Rick is about to get to my house, and I’ve been out too long. We need to work on our invitations. I don’t want anyone getting any ideas.”

I massage my temples, they’re throbbing with pain. “Can you call me some other time so we can finish this conversation?” It’s hard to believe Marlena has let go of me so easily. But if my own mother can do it, why did I expect more from her? I’ve got to admit, though, it’s hard to believe that at seventeen, she’s getting married. That kills.

“I can’t. Don’t you understand? It’s over. I pray you have a good life. I hope you find a boyfriend who adores you as much as Rick loves me. Accept this and let go. I’ll pray for you so you too can change and lead a more normal life.”

“I don’t need prayers and I
hate
being normal.”

I’m startled by Soli’s loud banging on the front door and her shrieky singing as she walks in: “Food time! Food time! I brought food for all of us, Shyly, so you don’t have to cook tonight.” She places a large garlic-smelling bag on the kitchen table.

“Betrayer,” I say into the receiver with gritted teeth. I throw my cell against a wall, and dash into the bathroom with Neruda after me. I slam the door behind me, swing it open a few times, and shut it so hard I think I’ve broken it.

“What happened?” Soli comes to the bathroom door.

I tell her everything. “Marlena kept me hanging. She’s such an asshole! I hate her so much.”

I punch the door over and over again till my knuckles bleed. Why did I believe her? Why am I such an imbecile?

I drop to my knees. A hard pain fills my bones. I curl into a ball on the cool terrazzo floor.
Nothing matters. I hope the sky closes in on me
.

Soli knocks lightly on the door. “Open up, Shyly.”

Neruda jumps on me to lick the blood off my knuckles and comfort me. I place her next to me and spoon her.

Soli pleads in a calm tone, “Please, Shyly, come out.”

My body shakes with pain. I stick my head in the toilet and throw up neon-yellow bile—the color Mami would’ve loved me to paint the bathroom walls.

I wash my face, splash cold water on myself, brush my teeth, and open the door.

She grabs me forcefully and pulls me against her. “I
know
it’s hard.”

Tears burst out of me.

Memories of my mom and Marlena get all tangled up into one. They’re both traitors.

Soli throws the piles of clothes off her bed and we climb onto it. I cuddle up into her arms under her patched quilt. She smells like caramel candy, like she used to when we were little. “You’re my best friend, Soli. I love you so much. Please don’t ever leave me.”

“I’ll never leave you, Shyly. We’re friends for life.”

11—X’d Out

There must be an epidemic of betrayal going around, casting a dark tinge around everything and everyone I come in contact with.

I don’t know how to detach from the bitter feelings and sadness that comes from losing people you belonged with. My mom, Marlena, and friends can’t all be wrong, can they? They say it takes two, but I’m not sure where my fault lies. What did I ever do to
them
? It’s definitely my stupidity to have trusted and believed that family, friends and girlfriends would stay around forever, simply because they loved you.

I won’t be a beggar, though, pleading for them to take me back. I’m going to change and put all that behind me.

Today is the Betrayer’s wedding. I’m sure they’ll be serving Marlena’s favorite appetizer, something we discovered at a food and art festival on our way to our first picnic on the beach:
foie gras
. We dared each other to try something new and didn’t know it was duck liver or we might not have eaten it. Regardless, it was delicious (and too expensive!). I hope Rick gorges on it, gets sick and barfs all over Marlena while they’re doing it.

Soli and I tore up Marlena’s snail mail letters and burned them. I cut up the clothes she’d sent me and threw them in the trash. I feel like such a fool. I should have been dating other people while she was with Rick. I asked Soli to take me to a gay club. I’m determined to forget Marlena if it’s the last thing I do.

Soli and Diego, her newest boy toy, brought me to Papaya’s, a mixed club. The funny thing about Papaya’s is that most tourists who come here don’t get that it means you know, the girl’s part. That’s what Cubans call it.

There’s a famous Cuban saying that comes to mind now because some conservatives use it as an antigay slur, “
Dime con quién andas y te diré quién eres/
Tell me who you hang around with and I’ll tell you who you are.”

We got in thanks to Diego, better known as DJ-Smooth, a part-time DJ and Poetry Slam poet here, who fixed us up with false IDs.

Tazer called Soli for a haircut, and she invited him to come. Soli’s been buzzing and dying Tazer’s hair for months now. I stayed completely under the radar because of Marlena, and sent my hellos. Now that Marlena is out of the picture, I’d like to become friends with Tazer—if he’ll have me, that is.

Papaya’s is filled with gays, straights, bi’s, trans, drag queens and kings, but mostly with feminine-looking gay Cuban girls who don’t label themselves. They all look straight, wear makeup, fancy shoes, perfume and gold jewelry. I think I want my next girlfriend to be a gringa; they’re drama free, very cute and extremely smart. It would be fun to meet an out-of-state girl who doesn’t know anything about Cuban culture. I’ll introduce her to all our fun sayings, food and craziness.

I’ll take her to my grandma’s apartment in Calle Ocho, where excitable Cubans scream and gesticulate heavily, all at once, to make a point. I guess I miss Mami’s way, how she, like every Cuban mom, yelled at the top of her lungs to call me for dinner when I was actually a few feet from her, in the living room, watching TV. I wonder what my new
Americana
girlfriend will think if we walk around and a group of girls, talking about this and that, just break into dancing mambo without any type of music whatsoever. I’ll tell her stories about my dad’s tiny, ancient convertible. On some Saturdays, we’d pack the four-passenger car with him, my mom, me, two cousins and my large grandmother who’d complain in Spanish, “Let’s go pick up your aunts and uncles. We can still squeeze a few more people in here!”

Yeah. That’s what I’ll do. A gringa will be fun to impress with all our insanity. I’ll make her laugh with stories about how when I got sick, my mom rubbed “vi-vaporru” on my chest and inside my nostrils and I was better by the next morning. She’ll ask what that was and I’ll let her know, Vicks VapoRub, of course! She’d need to get used to drinking
cafecitos
, because every Cuban is addicted to espressos. Since I was in diapers, we had
cafecitos
before going to sleep and upon waking up in the mornings, and it’s why we’re all always so happy and lively. I don’t know. Maybe an American girl won’t be into me because of my wacky culture. We’ll see.

I look different from everyone else, as if I don’t belong. I threw on my tight white hip-hugger corduroy pants and a white silky top that shows my belly button. I slid on my square-toed brown ankle boots and smudged a little organic mandarin lip-gloss on my lips.

I’m twirling around a group of drag queens. T-girls start shuffling their feet around me, clapping with hands up in the air, singing, “Shake it! Break it!” We dance nonstop for well over an hour. I’m all sweaty so I stop for a breather and kiss the girls goodbye.

There’s something about drag queens that draws me to them. In one way, they break my heart because I’m sure they’ve been through a lot. On the other hand, they’re mostly brilliant and hilarious and don’t take themselves seriously. But still . . .

Soli and Diego are in a dark corner, arms around each other, making out. She looks weird in Diego’s baggy jeans and floppy shirt, my work hiking boots, and a nose ring that sticks out like a sore wart. She’s trying hard to look butch, just for fun, but it doesn’t work.

Soli leaves Diego and comes to me in long strides, smiling, arching her right eyebrow.

“Shylypop,” she fiddles with her nose ring, “dancing with queens is a blast, but why aren’t you asking a girl to dance?”