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1
When I removed my new digital Internet phone from the installation kit, I stared at it in awe. The same way I had when I bought my first CD by CeCe Peniston and placed it in my new portable Sony CD player. I remember sitting on the lower level of the Staten Island Ferry, on my way to work, jamming to "Finally" early in the morning, across from my friends, who were jamming to the music playing in their Sony Walkmans. Even back then I thought about how much had changed since the late eighties when I was a teenager playing hooky from school, escaping Global Studies and taking a round-trip to Manhattan on the ferry with my other delinquent classmates. The lower level, before Sony Walkmans and portable CD players came out, used to be filled with the sounds of a hundred conversations. Strangers and friends talked loudly to be heard over a teenager's giant--sized boom box blasting Public Enemy cassettes.
I thought about how fast everything seemed to be moving these days. My life was beginning to look like that Madonna video with the cars and people moving at warp speed. The thought of having to quicken the pace of my own life, in order to catch up to everyone and everything else around me, gave me a mini anxiety attack. I placed the digital Internet phone back in the box and tossed it under the television console. I wasn't- in a self--installation mood anyway. Besides, what's wrong with the phones we've been using for the past hundred or so years? I picked up my old trusty reliable landline phone and called Selenis. Thinking about the end of cassette players and old-school jams like Taylor Dayne's "Tell It to My Heart" and Soul II Soul's "Keep on Movin'" was making me feelnostalgic, and since I'd known Selenis practically all my life, who better to share this wistful moment?
She answered on the first ring.
"Hey, you up?" I asked, glancing at the clock over my kitchen table. It was 11:53 p.m.
"Apparently," she said, sounding half asleep.
"I need to talk."
"What's wrong?"
"You know what I've been thinking a lot about lately?"
"Blowing up Manny's car?"
"No. Club 90."
"Ah, Club 90."
"The memories just keep coming up, for some reason. Like the night you danced with that freckle--faced Colombian dude, I forget his name. You were so drunk you didn't- realize that your left nipple was hanging over your dress," I said, laughing so loud that I almost forgot that my son, Junito, was asleep in the next room.
"Roland Sanchez," she answered, with a little more pep in her voice.
From the corner of my eye, I saw an instant message pop up on my laptop.
AN INSTANT MESSAGE FROM MACHOMAN1970. WILL YOU ACCEPT?
It was from Manny, my husband. No, correction, estranged husband. I hit the "No, I will not accept" button and continued talking to Selenis.
"He used to kiss you with his eyes open. Don't- you ever wonder what he looks like now?" I said, staring at the laptop screen waiting for Manny's next move.
"Idalis, he's old like us."
"Oh, come on now, fifteen years didn't- do much to us."
"Fifteen years ago we were wearing tiny stretchy pants and short bolero jackets. Let's try that shit now."
"So we went up a size or two because of the kids. Big deal. I would die to be able to go back to Club 90 and meet up with the old crew, like la loca Regina and Victor."
"You mean Panamanian Victor, who wore two different socks the night he met your parents?"
"Yeah, my mother had picked the most awkward moment, while we were all eating, to tell Victor that gray didn't- go with brown. Victor had no clue what she was talking about until my mother told him to stand up and pull up his pant legs."
"Your mother is too funny sometimes. She cracks me up," Selenis said, laughing out loud.
"Bendito, I felt so sorry for him. He liked me so much, but he was no Trisco Mendez."
"Trisco and Kique."
When she said their names, I could hear the nostalgic longing in Selenis's voice. Kique was her first real crush and the "one" she wished she had gone all the way with. And that's how I felt about Trisco.
"I wonder where they are. Let me Google them," I said, typing the letters into the search bar.
"Idalis, leave that shit alone."
"What are you afraid of? That we'll find them? What happened to that happy--go--lucky, free--spirited chica I used to know? I'm Googling right now."
But before I could finish typing Trisco's last name into the Google search bar, Selenis fled.
"Me voy, Idalis. I have to go. Carlito is still up watching Justice League with his father and he has to go to bed."
"You're- such a chickenshit! What's the big deal if I Google Trisco's name?"
"Later, girl. Go to sleep already," Selenis said, before hanging up the phone and leaving me with my memories.
I finished typing into the search bar and pressed enter. Wow, 123,358 matches; I guess that's what happens when you're- looking for a Latino on the World Wide Web. Half the population comes up. So I tried narrowing the search.
TRISCO MENDEZ + BRONX, NEW YORK
I couldn't- imagine what I would do if I actually found him. I wondered if he was married. I wondered if he looked the same. Some guys get better with time. I wondered what he'd think of me now. Then again, Trisco was one of those guys who, no matter how much time went by, was always happy to see me. He was the one I should've- married. Trisco and I were always happy to be together. We never argued. I could always count on him for a good night of dancing and just plain fun. Not to mention that he had those nice full succulent lips that I wish I could've- tasted.
Everyone knew us as the royal couple of Club 90. But it's funny how we never took our love outside of the club. Even though we used to dance with other people, Trisco always made me feel like I was the only one for him. One time I hurt my arm playing handball and couldn't- go out for about a month, but as soon as I came back to Club 90, there he was waiting for me. Trisco and I had this unspoken agreement. If I was at the club, I was his and he was mine. Although our nightclub relationship never saw the light of day, it was ours forever. No questions. No doubts. We'd always be waiting for each other.
AN INSTANT MESSAGE FROM MACHOMAN1970. WILL YOU ACCEPT?
Of course, Manny, Mr. Macho Man to the tenth power, would ruin this good moment. That was what Manny did so well these days. What could he possibly want at midnight on a Friday night? I decided I wasn't- answering. Let Manny find someone else to mess with.
So again I hit the "No, I will not accept" button.
If only Manny were more like Trisco. Trisco was so open with his feelings and was never afraid to show his sensitive side. After ten years I wasn't- sure Manny had a sensitive side. Hell, I'd never seen Manny cry. Not at our wedding, not when Junito was born; I thought I saw a tear drop when the Giants lost the Super Bowl championship in 2001, but he told me it was from the spicy buffalo wings he was eating.
AN INSTANT MESSAGE FROM MACHOMAN1970. WILL YOU ACCEPT?
Why was he stalking me?
FreestyleChica: What?
MACHOMAN1970: Cálmate, I can feel your attitude. Where's my son?
FreestyleChica: Out partying with a couple of whores. And don't- tell me to calm down.
MACHOMAN1970: Oh, is that what first--graders do nowadays?
FreestyleChica: Oh, maybe if you hung around a first--grader you might not have to ask.
MACHOMAN1970: Like you didn't- know I had plans with my brother last week.
FreestyleChica: Manny, I have to get up early to take Junito to soccer. Bye.
MACHOMAN1970: I thought I was taking him.
FreestyleChica: You didn't- arrange that.
MACHOMAN1970: I always take Junito to soccer.
FreestyleChica: You didn't- take him last week. Besides, he's getting very used to me taking him.
MACHOMAN1970: Well, I guess we're both going then. See you there.
MACHOMAN1970: Signed off. 12:06 a.m.
What didn't- I resolve in my past life that I was being forced to work out now? Manny was the only person I knew who could challenge my spiritual peace. If I ever meet Oprah, I'd love to ask her, "Ms. Winfrey, when Stedman gets on your last nerve, are you as nice and patient with him as you are with the rest of the world? Or do you just lose it and kick his ass from time to time?"
I didn't- know what was going to happen to my marriage. I really didn't-. I hated not knowing. Why couldn't- I ever be the one to make a decision about this relationship? I shouldn't- be hanging around waiting for him to give me an answer, especially since he hadn't- shown any signs of wanting to get back together. What if he'd fallen in love with someone else while I'd been waiting for him to decide what to do? That would just piss me off. I should be able to make a decision, stick with it, and not feel like I'm making the worst mistake of my life. Maybe I should send a declaration out into the universe.
Here goes: "There is no way that I'm going to get back together with Emmanuel Rivera. I'm going to be strong and learn how to live life alone. I don't- need a man to define me. That's it! I will never go back to Manny. Never ever, nunca!"
"Ma?"
"Oh, Junito, did I wake you up?"
Me and my big mouth.
"Yes."
"Come here, papito. I'm sorry, Mami was just making a wish on a star."
Lord, please tell me he didn't- hear what I just yelled out the window.
"It's okay, Mami."
"Let me wrap you up like one of Abuela's delicious empanadas," I said. Junito jumped into my arms and sat with his back against my chest. I held him tight.
"Is it true?" Junito asked, looking at me with those beautiful long black lashes and hazel eyes, the only good things that came from his father's gene pool.
I cloaked the blanket around us as we gazed out at the full moon. A little six--year--old boy enveloped in his mother's arms; a wonderful fairy--tale moment, waiting to be narrated by someone with a sweet, light, airy voice.
"Qué, Junito?" I asked, in that voice, acting as if I had forgotten what I'd just offered the universe.
"You'll- never go back with Papi?" Junito asked, continuing to stare at the moon, which seemed to be smirking at me and taunting: "Go ahead with your pendejaness. Answer the kid. Try for once to tell him the truth. Would it kill you to finally be a grown, responsible individual and take control of your life? ¡Estúpida! ¡Pendeja!" I guess the moon had an attitude tonight; reminded me of my mother.
"Junito, listen..." I paused for a second to avoid turning this beautiful children's story moment into a Chucky kills Mami novela. Why should I be the one to do all the dirty work? Let Manny be the villain for a change. It was his idea to separate. "It's late, papi. I think we should go to bed and not worry. Things have a way of working themselves out, pa; really, always for the best," I said, also trying to convince myself.
If only I could believe it.
Copyright © 2008 by Latino Flavored Productions, Inc.
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