“Touché. I just don’t think it’s like that anymore. She’s going through her own relationship drama.”
“Shut up and work your magic. Ever since you got with Adelina, you’ve lost your mojo. You doubt yourself too much.” Sammy straightens her back and speaks with a faux British accent, “it’s very unbecoming of you.”
Hearing her name reminds me of everything that played out today. Then a flash of my parent’s faces makes my stomach turn. I drink and take more bumps to bypass reality. My vision blurs the deeper I go into the void. This crossover to the other side of intoxication convinces me to call Adelina. When she doesn’t pick up her cellphone, I call the house. Her mother picks up after too many rings.
“Adelina, please.” I slur.
“Do you know what time it is?” she reprimands.
“It’s an emergency, Señora.”
“Well, she’s not here anyway. She’s at Jesenia’s. What’s your name? I’ll tell her in the morning.”
“My name ish Solei. Tell her I don’t want to be her boyfriend anymore.” I hang up, then take another bump.
My sense of consequence diminishes the further I spiral.
“Should I call Jesenia?”
“Hell yeah,” Sammy instigates.
Jesenia answers after a few rings.
“Hey, it’s Sol. Put Adelina on the phone.”
“You have some nerve calling me at this time.”
“I know it’s late, but it’s not like you’re sleeping anyway. Can I speak to her, please?”
“She’s not here, Sol.”
“I know she is! Her mother told me.”
“I’m just a decoy, babe. An excuse for her mother not to worry. Your woman was getting that money for you to finally become a man, but I guess that’s not happening anymore.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Where is she?”
“You don’t know?” Jesenia taunts. “The girl you’re so in love with, whose name you got tattooed… and you don’t know what she’s doing in the middle of the night? Tsk, tsk.”
Inebriation takes over as she continues.
“You chose the wrong girl, Solei. See how I’m home being a good girl? While the one you picked is shaking her ass in the strip club.”
“What?”
Jesenia laughs in a cruel, Cruella De Vil kind of way, “Oops, maybe I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”
“Why are you making shit up to mess with my head?”
“You wish I was. Too bad your relationship is over now that Adelina knows you’re a fake. It’s time for a real man in her life. I knew she wasn’t gay.”
I hang up before she can say anything more, then begin to connect the dots, and wonder how long Adelina has been a stripper. She continued to spend money freely, even after we stopped working at TLC. Whenever I asked how she was able to, she would brush it off and say her father’s trading company was doing well. I believed her even though they had a beat-up minivan parked in the driveway. The signs were all there. Her shoe collection just kept growing. Plus, the way she’s been dressing lately and posing for pictures. Now to find out, this was how she was planning to fund the surgery.
It’s 1 a.m. when I leave Sammy’s on a mission to Queens. Halfway there, a realization comes to mind. What if Adelina goes to Jesenia’s at the end of the night? I hadn’t thought about that in my rash decision to leave the Bronx. There’s no turning back now, though. I’ll take my chances and hope she comes home instead. A gravitational pull keeps me going one foot after the other to the corner of her block.
Even though the bedroom lights are off, little rocks get thrown, in hopes she pops her head out. Nothing. My walk continues to avoid looking suspicious. On the way back down, I start to check car doors. A few tries later, a couple of houses down from Adelina’s, an unlocked car becomes my temporary shelter. My inner detective watches each headlight that drives by.
What am I going to say when I see her? I was so intent on getting here that I have no clue what my objective is.
After waiting the most drawn-out hours of my life, a black BMW pulls up to the front of Adelina’s house and parks. My entire being sinks like an anchor has just dropped off the side of me. When no one comes out, I emerge from the borrowed car in a slow and steady prowl. My adrenaline is pumping at full speed. Adelina is sitting on the passenger side, making out with some random man in the driver’s seat. My first instinct is to punch the window as hard as I can. She jumps and turns to face me.
“Get out of the car!” I yell while slamming against the glass repeatedly. Adelina then motions for the driver to take off. He shifts the car into gear. Just before they peel off, I jump on the front, gripping at the edges of the hood.
“What are you doing?” Adelina screams through the glass.
Tires screech into a turn—my body slams on the concrete. The impact cracks against my kneecap and scrapes my elbow. I tumble and roll to a stop. The sidewalk becomes a resting place as I sit in disbelief. Shortly after, heels pounding the pavement walk in my direction. Adelina turns the corner.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“I’m fantastic, Adelina. Never better.”
I dust myself off.
“What are you doing here?”
“You don’t get to ask questions when you just pulled up in some dude’s car.” I snap. “And you were kissing him? Who was that?”
“I don’t need to explain myself. You did this when you decided you didn’t want to be Tyler!”
“You’re right. It doesn’t even matter anymore. But why did you tell my mother all those things? Why are you trying to ruin my life?”
“Lower your voice. You’re going to wake people up.”
“Are you kidding me? You disrupt my entire life, and you expect me to be thoughtful of your neighbors?”
“Solei, please. Calm down.”
“Don’t ever call my house or look for me again.”
I walk away, leaving Adelina and all the bullshit she put me through behind. The ride back home is just as long as the night has been. My reflection on the train car door looks sickly from dilated pupils and swollen, bloodshot eyes with dirty clothes after being thrown off the car. It’s broad daylight when I get back to the Bronx.
Each key gets slipped in slowly to avoid making noise, but the chain is latched when I push open the door. Now I have to ring the bell to get in. If I know anything about my mother, it’s that she’s very deliberate when she does things like this. Whatever time I arrived, we were going to finish our talk. The sound of the doorbell sets off barking from the dog first. When Mami reaches the front door, she unleashes her wrath, breaking things all over the house. Her screaming and cursing lead to kicking me out of the house once more – the barrage of insults shreds my already wounded spirit. By the time Papi comes down, the kitchen has become a combat zone. The blame is now being projected onto him.
“This is your fault, Kelvin. Look at her! ¡Quiere ser un macho!” she screams as she shatters a dish on the floor.
My worn-out eyes burn from the salt of tears. I walk back out of the house and lay down in the middle of the road, hoping for a car to speed through and not notice me until it’s too late. There’s peace with this being the end of my life. The comfort puts me into a deep sleep right where I am. When my consciousness returns, police officers and EMT workers are surrounding me. Mami cries for them to leave me alone while Papi is being asked a series of questions.
“Ma, what’s happening?” I ask when I realize that I’m strapped to the stretcher.
She’s unable to talk through her sobs. Papi answers me in a low voice.
“They’re going to admit you for a psychiatric hold because they think you tried to kill yourself. You’re going to get the help you need, muñeca.” Papi takes out his handkerchief and wipes his eyes.
EMT workers take me away.
90 Days Later…
After almost three months of sleeping at a rehab facility, my own weeping wakes me up again. I still don’t recognize the bare white walls. I’m drenched in sweat and breathing rapidly. The seventy-two hour hold I was placed under for psychiatric evaluation resulted in ninety days at the Five Elements Rehab Center.
This morning is the last session with my therapist, Ms. Takara. The meeting is brief and ends with her handing me my paperwork and release forms.
“You have to bring these documents to the county clerk’s office. Once you do that, your program is officially complete, and they will close your case.”
“Thank you so much.” I shake her hand as a free woman.
My parents drive me home with my mother’s evil dog, Sammy sitting in the back. I’m actually kind of happy to see the little fucker. He declares a truce by lying next to me and taking a deep sigh. His eyes avert back and forth, making sure I don’t try anything.
Winnie greets me in the front yard with “Welcome Home” balloons and a banner when we pull up. The rest of my family and friends jump out, yelling, “SURPRISE!” when I get inside.
“I didn’t know you were throwing me a party.”
“You know Mami and Papi take any opportunity to throw a party.” Winnie jokes.
Sammy runs up and gives me a bear hug.
“I have a surprise for you.”
She pulls me through aunts, uncles, and cousins, showering me in hugs and kisses until we reach the backyard. Her girlfriend, Natalia, is sitting on a lounge chair next to a certain someone.
“Hey, stranger.” Camila smiles.
“I went through a lot to track this girl down for your party,” Sammy says proudly.
“That’s so crazy. I had a dream with you last night.” I admit.
Camila blushes.
“I don’t mean it like that… it wasn’t sexual or anything.”
“Oh, shucks. I could use some action these days.” she teases.
“Seriously, though. You kept trying to save me but couldn’t. I was sinking into quicksand while you were frantically looking for something to pull me up with. It happened twice, and both times I died.”
“Well, damn. That’s morbid,” Sammy says.
“There’s this website that interprets dreams. Let me see what it says. I’ll check quicksand first.” Camila then reads the description: “To dream that you are sinking in quicksand indicates feelings of insecurity. You have misjudged the solid foundation you are on. You need to pay attention to what you are doing and where you are going.”
“That could mean something, right?”
“Let’s see what it says under death,” she continues. “To die in your dream symbolizes inner changes, transformation, self-discovery, and positive developments that are happening within you or your life,” she pauses and stares into my eyes. “You’re moving on to new beginnings, leaving the past behind you.”
“The accuracy, though!” Sammy chimes in.
“Okay, that one definitely means something,” I confirm.
Camila smirks and pulls an envelope from her purse.
“I got you a present.”
A gift certificate to a writer’s workshop is taped on the inside of a card that reads:
I remember when we were together, you would write the most beautiful poems and short stories. This is my way of paying it forward with the gift of creativity. May these classes spark something within you that brings you closer to your higher self. -Camila
“Cheers to your rebirth, Solei Romero.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A decade has passed since the first edition of this book was written, under the title Adelina’s Perfect Girl. During this time, the collective growth we have gone through has been beautiful yet tragic. Some friendships have fallen off, because when you’re young, everyone is your friend, but then life happens, and you find yourself with only a handful of confidantes. This, too, has been a beautiful yet tragic experience.
I will start once again by thanking the creative energies of the Universe. The force that flows within us and pushes us to – do that thing you’ve been thinking about – is a profound act when you give it your full attention and manifest what is channeling through you. I will continue to answer the call. It’s the only thing that makes the solitude of this work bearable. On that note, I’d like to say thank you to my ancestors for fueling my dreams’ momentum while protecting me from the world, your guidance is felt in the whispers of the wind.
Thank you to the love of my life and the greatest adventure I’ve ever been a part of; Stephanie Barquero. One of the best decisions I’ve ever made was to create that vision board a week before meeting you! Everything I asked for, I have found in you, and it blows my mind on a regular basis. Thank you for the hours of edits and being with me in the trenches to make this little book match how I saw it in my mind’s eye. Thank you for believing in me, in us, and in this thing we’re building together. You’re the stuff dreams are made of.
To my parents and siblings, thank you for the gift of tough love growing up. It has helped me to grow a thick skin and survive anything this world throws at me. As the “problem child” of the family, I know I’ve given you many headaches and sleepless nights. You may question my choices at times, but you have never given up on me. In the end, that was exactly what I needed to flourish. To my beautiful nieces, Chelsie and Hailey, I’m so proud to be your titi, and I’m grateful to watch you grow into your own identities. May you love yourself in ways that force the people around you to match that energy. And to my in-laws, Terri and Eddie. Thanks for loving our crazy family! We love you back.
Special thanks to the photographer, Paulina Barasch, the model that embodied a “young Slim” for the cover, Sacha Selhi, and Madel Hidalgo, for helping me to focus on a trans-friendly portrayal of my brush with this reality. The trans community deserves to be represented with love and respect as we create new worlds and better stories that include all of us. I promise to be mindful of the work I’m creating and the ways in which we are all portrayed.
To all the beautiful humans that are still part of my story after this wild ride called life, I love you and thank you for all the manifestations you bring into my world. May we continue to make beautiful memories until our teeth fall out and the wheels fall off.
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
Writer and independent filmmaker, Meriam Rodriguez, is a South Bronx native that has created and performed in various mediums throughout the New York City underground for the past twenty years. The city’s harshness has shaped an identity of activism coupled with a love of storytelling. From theater, writing, and spoken word, to grinding as a production assistant, she has continuously worked her way up the ladder. Meriam’s work seeks to identify and heal from the human condition with all the ways we come up short of our ideologies. She has studied the filmmaking craft at every level to form an intrinsic understanding of the journey we set out to create.
Her earlier work includes a novel titled Adelina’s Perfect Girl (2012), honored with a new look and title in this edition of Identity Interrupted (2021). Meriam has since worked on different sets for film and television productions, filming in the city and tri-state area. She started as a production assistant, learned the craft, and made her way into the Art Department. Her credits include Uncut Gems, Clifford the Big Red Dog, Russian Doll, High Fidelity, and more. In between productions, she produces independent short films and documentaries under her own production company, Making Vintage Productions.
Meriam’s short film Be My Baby (2021) poses the question, where do you draw the line in the manipulation of science and technology to solve our problems, and who has the right to make that decision – with Marina and Jose facing their individual realities of infertility, and her determination to go an unconventional route that seems to trigger everyone around her, this question becomes the c
atalyst in one woman›s fight for motherhood.
In 2013 she co-produced, co-wrote, and featured in a spoken word performance for Soledad Speaks. A journey that begins on the island of Puerto Rico and ends in modern-day New York City. Revisiting the colonization of an island, the effects on its women, and their journey from slavery, to rebellion, to freedom, Soledad Speaks’ paid homage to those who came before us in hopes of understanding how their legacy has defined who we are today.
Meriam has also performed in different cities, venues, and colleges, including the legendary Nuyorican Poets Café, Camaradas, La Pregunta, The Bowery Poetry Club, HISPANIC PANIC!, Bronx Academy of Arts and Dance (BAAD!), Hostos, and more since 2006. Her travels also include performances in the plays Jose Can Speak and Pink: The Chronicles of BC Jenny.
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