by Johnny Diaz
“Hey, cutie!” He gets up and gives me a hug. His voice is a little hoarse.
“Hey…” is all I can muster. I don’t return the hug.
“I’m so sorry about the other night. I was sick. I had strep throat. My parents took me to the hospital because I had a hard time swallowing.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask incredulously.
“We spent most of the morning at the hospital and they gave me some strong antibiotics. Well, they knocked me out for the entire day. I woke up this morning. I missed all your calls. I’m so sorry.” He widens his big blue eyes in a plea of sympathy.
“You could have at least called or you could have had your mom or dad call. I was worried about you! So was Carlos. What a great first impression!” I fire back. We stand outside my building and then move to the sidewalk to continue talking.
Mikey rubs my shoulder and softly fingers the back of my curly hair, which tickles me. I move away.
“I just felt really sick. It was awful, like swallowing razor blades. I know I should have called, but I didn’t and I can’t change anything about it. I just feel awful that you were waiting with your friend.”
“You should!” I fold my arms and turn my back to him.
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Here.” He appears before me and hands me the flowers. “I know how much you like flowers, and of course, Diet Coke. This pack should last you, oh, two days or so?” Mikey bites down on his tongue and sticks it out. I’m angry with him, but my internal fury slowly melts away. Mikey always had that effect on me, which is why I lasted so long with him the first time we dated with all his late nights and hangovers.
“Can you forgive me, cutie?” He grabs one of the flowers and tickles my chin. Maybe he is telling the truth. His voice does sound hoarse and he doesn’t look as good as he usually does. He looks tired. He has bags under his beautiful blue eyes.
I take a deep breath and exhale.
“Sure…but don’t let it happen again. If something comes up, at least have the courtesy to call or text message, which you seem to prefer. Comprende?”
“Sí, me comprendo,” Mikey tries to imitate me. He kisses me on the cheek, and he walks me inside the building. “I guess I’ll reschedule dinner with Carlos. I know he’s having a busy week so I’ll figure out when he’s available next.”
“Sounds good to me. Anything for you, cutie.”
I hope so, but a gnawing disappointment waves at me like a red flag in my mind.
17
Carlos
Mami and I walk in a parking lot filled with Christmas trees off Douglas Road in Miami.
“Carlito, how about this one?” she points to a ten-foot tree.
“Ay, Mami! That’s too big. There’s no way I can fit that in my apartment.”
“And this one?” She points to another tree that is half the size but twice as fat.
“I don’t think that will fit through the door either.”
“Y este? Te gusta?” Now she’s standing in front of a thin tree that is about my height.
“That might do the trick. Wait a minute! What are we doing here? It was Thanksgiving the other night!”
“Mijo, this isn’t for your apartment. This is for nuestra casa. Let’s take a walk.” We stroll around the Christmas tree lot, which looks like a forest in the middle of bustling Miami. We meander through the aisles of tall and short trees or those wrapped in netting. The pines’ fragrance permeates the air. Mami and I traditionally bought the tree for the house every year. It was our tradition, and Papi and Lourdes decorated the tree. As they worked, we secretly wrapped our gifts in her bedroom or we baked holiday cookies in the shape of gingerbread men and reindeer for our family and friends.
“I am proud of you. You did well for Sanguiven.” Mami walks by my side, her right hand resting on my upper back. She leans her head against mine and pecks me on the cheek.
“What do you mean?”
“You were good to your Papi. He loved that you took him to the baseball park. Como se llama?”
“Fenway Park, Mami. You were there? But how?”
“I’m here right now, no?” She smiles and winks.
“Tu papa showed las fotos of Fenway to all his friends and customers at the store. Hiciste bien, Carlito. Muy bien.”
“It was no big deal. We just walked around and stuff.”
“Oh, and Lourdes! Did you see how much she spent at the mall with you? Ay dios mio! She was never good con el dinero. Una loquita! That’s why she has eight different credit cards. She thinks she was born to shop. She never took my advice about saving money, and she’s been shopping more ever since I left. There goes the inheritance I left her.” Mami gestures her hand in a farewell wave to emphasize her point.
“She was on vacation. She had a good time at the mall, but you’re right, she does go through money like toilet paper.” We both laugh and continue our walk. The trees, propped up against one another, sway with an urban breeze that sends goose bumps along my neck. This place is like a lush maze of trees, something out of Vizcaya Gardens or a mountainside.
“Listen, Carlito, Papi still needs you.”
“What are you talking about? He doesn’t need me. He’s fine in Coral Gables with Lourdes. As long as he has his baseball, work, and more work, he’s all set. Can we talk about something else, por favor?”
We stop in front of a white plastic tree that seems to glow and mesmerize at the same time. Mami faces me and puts her hands on my shoulders. She cups my face with her right hand and squeezes. She always did so to catch my attention.
“Christmas is coming up, and this will be very hard on the family, especially tu papa. He’s going to need help with a project. He needs you. I need you there.”
“What project?”
“You’ll see. Just go to Miami for Christmas. Comprende?”
“I was planning to anyway. Ay, but what do I need to do down there? What mysterious project?”
“You’ll see, Carlito. Te quiero, and tell your sister to stop spending her dinero! No man will ever marry her with her bad shopping habits. But for now, you need to get up and get going or else you will be tarde for your appointment. You don’t want to keep la doctora waiting.” Mami begins to walk away along the path of trees.
“Mami, wait a minute! Don’t go. I want to keep talking. I miss you!” Tears drip down my face. I chase her, but she disappears in the distance.
I abruptly wake up. My heart races. I’m out of breath, wheezing as if an invisible hand is clenching my air pipe. From my nightstand drawer, I grab my asthma inhaler and pump two puffs of the cool medicated air into my mouth. It leaves a metallic aftertaste. My lungs slowly begin to expand again, and I feel relieved. My alarm clock reads six o’clock. I lay back, my hands clasped behind my head. I straighten out my legs under my sheet. I try to process the dream and what it may mean. I pull out my journal from the same drawer, and I write everything that I can remember. Maybe I’ll bring this to my appointment later this afternoon with Dr. Bella Solis. How did Mami know about that, too? I’m curious to hear what she thinks of all these crazy dreams. I’m more intrigued to meet the famous doctora. Tommy spoke so highly of her the other day, and he gave me a copy of the article he wrote about her. I’ve even tuned in to her program on my drives home from work. She receives calls, mostly from women asking advice about their rebellious teenagers or cheating husbands. I wonder what she will have to say to me. I guess I’ll find out soon enough, if I can climb out of bed and start my day.
It’s four o’clock in the afternoon, and I’m on the Mass Pike heading west from Boston. I finished grading some essays and finalizing my lesson plans for the following week before leaving Dorchester High twenty minutes ago. I’m driving to Dr. Bella’s private office in Newton, the beginning of the western suburbs. As I exit the Mass Pike Newton ramp, I pass clusters of beautiful white, beige, and gray grand Victorian and colonial homes that sit on pudding stone foundations. I drive along the main street where small coffee shops,
antique stores, and shops line the thoroughfare. This feels like small town USA in the suburbs. I check the address and MapQuest directions again. I seem to be heading the right way. This also looks like an affluent neighborhood, not an office or medical district.
I finally pull up to the address—a two-story white clapboard Cape house with a Lexus hybrid parked in the driveway. I double-check the directions and the address. I guess this is it. I park in the driveway and walk along the connecting decorative stone tablets that lead to the front door. Wow, this is a lovely home. All the trees are manicured, even in winter. I press the doorbell, and an Asian gong greets me. My nerves ambush me. Suddenly, I’m as nervous as a cat in the rain. Calmate, you dork! Why did I agree to this? Maybe I can tip-toe out of here and beat traffic back to Cambridge. As I plan my escape, the door slowly opens. Dr. Bella Solis appears with a warm smile that radiates an immediate calming effect. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
“Hi there. You must be Carlos. Don’t just stand outside in the cold. Come on in.” She approaches me with a hug and the casual, familiar ease of an old family friend.
“Hi, Dr. Bella. So nice to meet you. I wasn’t sure if I had the right place. I thought I was going to an office.”
“I have an office in my home. I find that it makes my patients more comfortable. Would you like something to drink? I just brewed some chamomile tea. It’s my own special recipe.”
“Sure. Gracias.” She takes my wool coat and hangs it up in a hallway closet by the front door. We walk through her living room, which is lined with two large, golden, plush sofas that flank a fireplace where a small fire simmers and crackles. The vibrant colors on the walls, which feature beautiful lush paintings of nature, from sunsets to beach scenes, warmly embrace me, making me forget that it’s chilly and wet outside. Lighted gardenia-scented candles perfume the house. She escorts me to yet another room, which I take as her office although it looks more like a cozy reading room. The walls are painted a light blue and lined with shelves of Spanish literary titles and medical journals. Next to a golden brown sofa is a table with one of those Asian fountains where water streams over granite rocks and stones. It’s very soothing. I like the sound it makes. It also puts me at ease.
“I’ll be right back with your tea. Make yourself comfortable.” I settle into the sofa, and it swallows me. My entire body sinks into it, and my feet are elevated off the Berber cream-colored carpeting. The central heat also hums in a mechanical purr. I glance around the room and notice photographs of Bella with the mayor and Spanish television celebrities such as Cristina from Univision, Don Francisco from Sábado Gigante, and Padre Alberto, the boyish-looking Miami priest with his own show. There’s another photo with Dr. Bella and the Estefans at a fundraiser for children. Framed awards from the city and youth organizations also bedeck the walls. I also notice older photographs of a younger Dr. Bella surrounded by middle school age kids. Maybe students? I wonder if she was a teacher. Behind the love seat across from me is a framed adage: “You have the power to change!” I’ve heard her repeat that several times on her radio show.
A few minutes later, Dr. Bella returns with a nice yellow mug of steaming tea. She closes the door and then sits down in another loveseat in front of me. She warmly smiles and leans back in her chair. Tommy was right, she really does look like a Latina Julie Andrews but with longer straight hair that falls to the middle of her back. She tucks her hair behind her ears often.
“Are you comfortable, Carlos?”
“Yes, very much. Thank you for the tea and for seeing me on such short notice. This was Tommy’s idea. I thought it couldn’t hurt.”
“You’re welcome. Tommy told me that he had a good friend who needed someone to talk to. He didn’t say exactly why, but he did tell me a little about you, that you’re a teacher, that you moved here from Miami, and that you’ve been a little down. That’s all I know,” she says, crossing her legs. “Tell me a little about yourself. What brought you to Boston?”
“Were you a teacher, Dr. Bella?” I sip my tea.
“Yes, I was. I was a middle school teacher for a few years.” She points to some of the photos of her former students. “My principal noticed that I had a line of students waiting to speak with me after school on Fridays about their problems, and he encouraged me to leave the classroom and try counseling. So I eventually followed his advice. And that led me to the radio work. Everything that has come my way, I did not ask for,” she says, in a soothing, how-can-I-help you voice. “If you believe in what you do, if you do it with passion, things will come your way. I understand you’re a teacher, too, and a new job brought you to Boston. That is wonderful, Carlos. We can always use good teachers here.” She grins and leans in closer from her chair.
I tell her about the job fair I attended in Miami for Boston school teachers. I tell her how I became a teacher and how it gave me a sense of purpose in life. I start rambling. I’m suddenly hyper and nervous, and I’m speaking a mile a minute.
“Carlos, calm down. Take a few deep, slow breaths. You’re okay. You’re in a safe place. I’m just here to listen. I am here to help you. I am your psychologist, your friend.” Dr. Bella reaches out and holds my hands in hers. A calming energy invades me.
“Now tell me, why are you really here? It’s okay. You can trust me. Whatever you feel like discussing is fine with me. This is your time, your space.”
My eyes well up. I start talking about my mother and how she died over a year ago and how Miami was never the same, how I’ve never been the same.
“She loved to garden. She had this beautiful garden at our house in Coral Gables. She thought of it as her other child.” I glance down at the pristine carpeting, and I remember Mami’s face.
“The loss of a parent is a very difficult experience. I can tell you loved her, that you still love her very much. And you moved here to start over on your own?”
“Yeah, I thought if I could get away from Miami and from all my memories there that I would be okay. Don’t get me wrong, I love Boston and the great job I have, and I have Tommy as my buddy here. But for some reason, being here has also been very difficult because Mami keeps appearing in my dreams and it feels like she is still very much alive, telling me what to do.”
“Your dreams? What happens in these dreams?”
I describe the most recent ones. I pull out my journal, and I show Dr. Bella how I write them down before I forget.
“Do you mind if I read some of them?”
“Sure, go ahead.” I hand her the journal. Dr. Bella then sits back and reads the book as I study the rest of the photos and plaques on her wall. Dr. Bella is apparently well regarded in the professional medical community as well as the civic one. She smiles and laughs as she reads. As she closes the journal, Dr. Bella looks up at me with her big soulful green eyes and tilts her head.
“Your mother sounded like quite a lady. By reading your journal, I can tell how much you love her and miss her. From what you are telling me and from what I’ve read, I sense there is some unfinished business that your mother wants you to take care of. Tell me about your father. What is your relationship with him? You haven’t talked about him. Are you close?”
“Well, that has always been a weird relationship. He’s closer to my sister Lourdes. I always felt more comfortable with Mami.”
“Did your father ever do something to you when you were younger? I hear a little resentment in your voice. Your shoulders tensed when you mentioned him. When you talk about your mother, you light up and your body is relaxed. When I mention your father, you seem agitated and somewhat uncomfortable. What is that relationship like?”
“It’s just always been weird with him. We are nothing alike. He likes sports. I don’t. He loves to talk about money. I don’t. He is a very simple man who came from Cuba and opened his own convenience mart in Miami Springs. He works very hard, and he did that a lot when I was growing up. It was always about the store.”
“Ahh, I see. And your mother was al
ways around to spend time with you and tried to fill that void? Did you want to spend time with your father when you were little?”
“Um, not a lot. He was up here a few days ago for Thanksgiving. I took him to Fenway. He’s a big baseball fan.”
“And what was that like? Did you have fun?”
“He loved it. He was like a little kid. We took some photos so he could show his friends in Miami.”
“So you enjoyed that time with him? I get the feeling that you and your father never spent much time together. I take it that this was a special day, no?”
“Yeah, after the park, he told me how much he loved me and how proud he was of me even though we don’t have the same relationship as I did with Mami.”
“And that moved you. You were surprised by his revelation. Your father doesn’t open up like that a lot, right? “
“Ah, no! He’s one of those Cuban macho guys with the iron exterior. He barely cried at the funeral. It’s as if by not showing emotion, he is showing the world how strong and indestructible he is. His wife died. He should have showed more emotion.”
“Carlos, I think when you moved to Boston, it wasn’t solely about getting away from Miami. I believe you were trying to get away from your father. And I believe that you are not just mourning the loss of your mother but that you miss your Papi very deeply. In fact, I think you’ve yearned for your father’s love and attention longer than you realize or care to acknowledge.”
My throat constricts and my eyes tear up.
“You think I miss Papi? In Miami, he was never around.”
“Exactly!”
Dr. Bella hands me a tissue.
“Here,” she offers with a closed grin. “Think about your relationship with your father. What have you always wanted from him? Why did you gravitate to your mom so much? Your mother is trying to tell you something very important in these dreams. In the last one, you wrote how she mentioned a project that she wants you to assist your father with. Pay attention to that, Carlos. Spend time with your father for the holidays. I believe something very important will come out of this.”