Down to the Bone

by Mayra Lazara Dole

  Memories of her slicing onions every night, singing to a salsa CD and twirling me around while the food was simmering make me more confused. I want to stick to the positive, but, suddenly, everything has me missing her. If she loved me that much as a child, how could the one wrong thing I did have changed her opinion of me? I don’t want to think about my mom any more. I’m determined to push all thoughts of her away. I’ll focus on Viva, who makes me happier.

  Viva’s the only Cuban mother on this planet who doesn’t even know how to boil milk. She burns toast, and even adds salt when what is needed is sugar. She’s a total wacked-out differently-abled “chef.”

  I bathe and dress in tight button-down hip-hugger jeans, a thick brown belt, and a short, chartreuse, silky Brazilian top Viva ironed and hung for me on the towel rack. After getting so cruddy at work, I love to scrub till I’m squeaky clean, then dress nice, even if I’m just staying home. I’ve told her dozens of times not to iron my clothes, though. I hate it! But she doesn’t give three cracked coconuts.

  Viva’s by her seven-foot statue of La Virgencita María lighting candles and praying, as I sauté onions and green peppers in olive oil. When they get soft, I add sliced carrots, cubed potatoes, salt, oregano, and cumin. I stir fry everything ten minutes then pour in a can of organic garbanzo beans and one of tomato paste. I throw in a few cloves of crushed garlic, and a handful of olives and raisins. The pot gets covered with a tight lid to cook while the white rice bakes.

  I learned a great deal of tricks from helping Mami. Luckily, now it comes easy to me and I love it.

  “Boong-caboong-boong-bang!” Soli’s pounding on the front door gives us a jolt.

  “Use your keys, nut case! We’re not going to open!”

  Neruda flies to the door and slides smack into it. Soli leaps into the living room like a wild panther in heat, smelling slightly of perfume. “Yuk!” I hold my nose. “You’re a stink bomb!” I go around opening the windows. Then, I make her wash behind her neck and ears.

  “Mima, Shyly, I’m in love, totally enamorada!” Soli dances around, flapping her arms, imitating a chicken, in her skintight miniskirt under a guy’s white shirt. My pup howls and hops around like a bunny rabbit, wild with happiness. “I’ve fallen in love with Diego!” She lifts Nerudi’s two front legs and twirls her around. Soli goes a little nutty once a month around the time of her period, which I call the PM Double S: Psycho Maniac Soli Syndrome.

  I dice a tomato and throw it over the food, squeeze a lemon over everything, then pour a teaspoon of the juice the green olives are packed in, and stir. “Yes, Hootchi Momma. You’re in love, ice no longer melts, and your butt’s gone flat.”

  I serve the three of us. Viva brings three glasses of jugo de melocotón to the table, and a sliced-up avocado and onion salad. She and I sit to eat.

  Soli sticks her plate in the fridge. “I’m going out to dinner. I’ll save it for later.”

  “Soli, you no cook or eat with us no more. Please, Soli Luna, sit and eat with us, like a family.”

  “Listen to your mom, creep head. She just came home from cleaning four houses.” Viva hardly ever scolds her. She pretty much has no control over Soli, but she tries. “When your mother talks to you it’s as if she’s talking to a Cheez Doodle. You don’t give a flying banana.”

  Soli picks at some garbanzo beans from the pan, sticks them in her mouth, and licks her fingers clean. “Mmmm . . . I don’t have time to cook, Mima. Shyly cooks delicious.” She washes her hands in the sink and wipes them dry on her skirt.

  “Shylita works too. She clean up, organize, cook and she help me with everyting.”

  I shoot Soli a steely look, which means, You could at least fake your mom out. Soli always knows what I’m thinking and vice versa. No need to talk.

  She pinches Viva’s cheek. “Okay, okay, Mima. Chill. I promise to cook more often.” She winks at me from behind Viva. I throw her a smile as I stuff my face.

  “Shylypop, I’m serious,” she goes on, all bright-eyed. “I’m really in love with Diego.”

  I take a few tablespoons of rice, throw it in the pan, and stir it around in order to suck up every drop of salsita. I pile it back on my plate and gobble up some more. “Right, and I’m a celibate priest wearing nothing but a thong in outer space visiting alien sex fiends for an orgy.”

  Soli lets out an ear-splitting laugh.

  Viva noisily scrapes sticky sauce from the pan and shoves a spoonful into her mouth. “¡Qué rrrico, Shylita!”

  I love when people like my food. It makes me feel like they love me tons.

  Soli opens the fridge and finds a leftover chicken drumstick from Pollo Tropical. “Hey, Organic Celibate Nun, I redid Tazer’s bangs in blue, blond, black and red streaks, just a few minutes ago.”

  “Why not give him ammonia to drink? That might make his skin grow vivid patches and leak in bright colors to match his gorgeous hair.”

  Soli chuckles. She tackles the tough chicken fat between her front teeth and pulls at it with her thumb and index finger. “Tazer was my last appointment. He’s so incredible. We’re meeting at Cha-Cha’s at seven thirty tonight; it’s a gay Cuban organic veggie restaurant that just opened. Can you believe it?” She throws the drumstick back into the fridge and takes the fork from my hand. “Stop gorging! You’re coming with us.”

  “I’m not going out to dinner, dingbat.” I grab my fork. “Can’t you see I’m eating with your mom?” I try to not act excited about my friendship with Tazer. Soli will stuff him down my throat till I’m nauseous. If anything’s going to happen with Tazer, I want it to occur naturally, without Soli getting involved and spoiling everything. “And besides, I already saw Tazer today.”

  “Well, at least come greet Diego. He thinks you’re amazing, Shyly. He wants to say hi. He’s out in the car. Come on!”

  “You’ve got Diego waiting out there all this time? You’re so rude.” I hope one day she finds someone who won’t tolerate her ways. That’ll be the day she might fall in love.

  “I no teach you bad manners, Soli Luna. Tell Diegito to come eats with us. We got mucho food to share.”

  ***

  A flow of merengue rides the wind into the duplex from Soli’s car. We stay quiet, listening to the jamming beat that moves me to go outdoors and see Diego. He’s witty and an all-around great guy. I like him better than any of Soli’s other boy toys.

  I stick my plate in the fridge and kiss Viva’s cheek. “You won’t get mad, will you?”

  “No mijita. You go and has some fun.” I follow Soli outdoors. Viva holds on to Neruda so she doesn’t chase us.

  I run out with arms spread wide. “Diego!”

  He climbs out of the car. I throw my arms around him for a hug.

  “Hey little bird. What choo up to?”

  “Just chillin’.” I smile and use his lingo.

  He rakes back his pitch-black, spiky hair. “Come kick it wit us.” He’s wearing a tight black T-shirt that shows a six-pack and super muscular shoulders and arms.

  Before I can say a word, Soli insists with the speed of a reckless car, “Shylypop, you’re coming with us, and that’s that!” She pushes me into the car. “To Cha-Cha’s!”

  ***

  Soli drives like a red ant on speed, zooming down the expressway, swerving from lane to lane as we pop around like popcorn in our seats.

  She squeezes into a tiny parking space and darts out of the car. Diego, looking psyched, bolts after her. I spring out as if someone’s put a torpedo up my butt. We dash down the Miami Beach boardwalk like rock stars followed by millions of roaring fans.

  Everywhere we look we see people skating, bicycling, or just walking. There are plenty of muscular pretty gay boys in sleeveless white shirts, cut-off jeans and work boots, and lots of butch and feminine girls walking and talking.

  A storm is creeping our way. I feel it coming. It’s getting gusty. The clouds are changing from puffy whites to sheets of dark gray and it starts to drizzle.

  We
hurry to avoid getting wet and wait under a tarp for the rain to stop. I see Tazer under a canvas umbrella watching a row of Afro-Cuban women dancers and drummers on a stage. He dashes to us when he spots me. He’s wearing a dark green shiny basketball shirt tucked inside a pair of loose-fitting almond-colored pants and brown leather boots. On his neck hangs a crystal-beaded necklace. He looks like a debonair prince.

  We spread hugs.

  “You look goigious, Shai.” He sounds happy as a conga beat.

  “You too, Tazeroni Macaroni.” He looks as masculine as Diego.

  Soli slaps him a low five. “Beauteous dye job.”

  “Yeah, this genius haircutter restreaked it for me today. I wanted more colors. She’s astounding.” Tazer adjusts his small, square, purple glasses. The rain has stopped but the night is windy and our hair is flying all over the place. The ocean waves are crashing against the boardwalk and we’re getting sprayed. It’s a perfectly romantic night, and if I can jumpstart my heart for Tazer, everything will be perfect.

  Soli insists with a mighty swing of her hand, “Let’s go!”

  We sit at a small table in a cozy corner under a large luminous umbrella, near the crashing waves. It’s beautiful out here, but I miss Marlena’s face. Why must she still be stuck in my heart? Why do I need to remember her now, before a meal? I take a deep breath and exhale.

  Probably because of the times her parents took us to restaurants before they moved back to Puerto Rico. Her thin, tall dad dressed in his usual camel-colored suede jacket and black tie. Her curvy, large mom usually wore tight dresses, showing cleavage. Marlena liked a special dish when they could afford it: lobster with butter and a side salad topped with pineapple chunks, cerrano ham, shredded cheese, pine nuts and croutons. She dredged everything in blue cheese dressing. While we ate, Marlena and I played with each other’s feet under the table. If we tapped each other once, it meant, “I’d rather be eating you, instead,” twice spelled, “Can’t wait to be with you when we get the hell out of here!”

  I push the thoughts way out of my head. She’s not worth even one minute of my time.

  The conversation whirls around from Tazer and I meeting at the beach, to my quitting school and working full-time, to how Soli met Diego at Books & Books and the following day she cut his hair. Soli tells Tazer, “He’s a motorcycle mechanic, poet extraordinaire, and part-time DJ. Look at him.” Her right eyebrow arches, and her pupils dilate. “He’s the most delicious guy in the world.”

  His smile gleams. “I’m Goddesses’ gift to girls. What can I say?”

  Soli’s right. He’s handsome, fun-loving and multitalented.

  She presses her lips against his mouth and takes a bite out of his cushiony lips. “We took one look at each other and it was love at first bite.” Soli’s stomach rumbles and Tazer chuckles. What Tazer doesn’t realize is that Soli’s belly can’t go long without a guy. She’s starving for Diego, practically doubled over with hunger, dying to eat him up like Kentucky Fried Chicken; finger lickin’ good and all that other crap.

  Everyone’s talking a mile a minute about this and that when our waitress walks to our table. Our eyes meet and I lower my gaze to the floor. My heart is doing a strange thing inside my chest, like a rumba.

  “Hey guys, I’m Gisela.” She leans forward and her loose silky white blouse dances around her dark, clove-colored skin. “All meals come with wild rice or whole wheat Cuban bread. What will you be having today?”

  I want to say, “You, please,” but I can’t get the words out of me. My tongue might be trembling. I bet she’s noticing. How embarrassing.

  Soli points to number nine on the menu. “I’ll take the Homo Erectus Hummus with lots of Cuban bread and a Messy Mango shake.” She slides her finger up to number one. “He’ll have the Faggy Frijoles with rice and a Big Banana shake.” Soli takes control. Diego’s definitely not a machaso. “For dessert, I’ll have the Tortillera Turrones and he’ll have the Dripping Dyko Donuts.”

  Tazer hands Gisela the menu. “Number thirteen. The Lower Lips Lentils with rice and a side each of Pounding Plantains, and Trans Tamales. To drink I’d like a Mandarina Fizz and for dessert the Genderqueer Gelatin.”

  I stare at my menu and don’t dare look up into Gisela’s sparkling, large, droopy eyes lingering on me. “Number seven. The Flaming Fembo Frijoles with Mariquitas, and a small Prissy Sissy Mamey shake, please.” I look up into her dark eyes. “Thank you.” She’s so delicious. Just having her near is making me hungry.

  Gisela tosses her unruly, curly-wild, mahogany mane to the side and scrutinizes me in one long swoop. “The Fembos are my favorite too.” My eyes dart fast around the restaurant and land back on hers. I smile, cross my hands over my chest, uncross them, and cross them again. I am such a dork!

  Sometimes, when Soli thinks I like a girl, or I know she’s into a guy, we play a game of inventing things about her or him.

  I’d say Gisela is a goddess from a secluded island in a mythical region of paradise who’s never found real love. There, girls feed each other grapes, swim in the ocean with dolphins, fish and cook on firepits under swaying coconut palms. They roam the island barefoot, happily, without a single problem. Gisela works some days at a restaurant to bring back that one girl she might fall in love with. The day she meets Shai, Gisela will train her in the ways of love. Gisela falls madly and passionately in love with Shai and promises to never even look at another girl. They live happily ever after in that other dimension having a torrid love affair that lasts forever.

  Tazer asks Gisela, “What’s going on around here? Why all the balloons and banners?”

  Gisela smiles and her pudgy nose scrunches up. “A lesbian film producer celebrated the opening of her movie here last night. Afterward, a group of us went next door to catch the documentary based on Miami Beach’s lesbian community. I love being part of the beach’s lesbian scene.”

  When I hear Gisela, she brings me hope that the chaos inside me will subside. I yearn to feel a girl’s lips against mine while soaking in the scent of her hair around me. I want to let go and move on, but how does one abandon years of beautiful memories? I’d like to be part of a bright world where I can make a difference, not one of hiding for all the wrong reasons. Gisela inspires me to lead the life I deserve.

  She resembles a disheveled poet, as if she just bolted out of bed, showered, slipped on the first thing she found, and didn’t fuss about her looks. Everything about her seems to gleam, including her two front slightly crooked teeth and clear braces.

  Someone from another table calls her. Gisela winks at us. “I’ll be right back with your food.” She bolts and leaves the sweet smell of apple pie floating around us. I want to sniff the air and keep her scent inside me, but Soli will make a commotion over it.

  A velvet cloud dances in my brain; I close my eyes and let this feeling flow.

  “I can tell you liked her,” Soli whispers loudly, and I’m slapped out of my dream state.

  “Do you?” Tazer asks in a deep whisper, right into my ear.

  Diego’s eyes widen. “You’re smokin’ hot for her.”

  “Cut it out, guys. She’ll hear you.” I gently kick Soli’s shin under the table. “I just think she’s interesting, that’s all.”

  I’d be so embarrassed if Gisela heard them going on like this, but in all honesty, I’m excited about meeting a lesbian. This is the first time since Marlena I’m attracted to a girl. But how could I possibly let her know I’m into her? I’m not sure how to do it with lesbians. It’s nerve-wracking because they’re so experienced with other girls. I just know it came easily for Marlena and me.

  Tazer gently punches my arm. “You’re too feminine for her. She needs a guy like me.” He makes a muscle that pops out of his arm. “I’ve been working hard at the gym. Like it?”

  Before I can answer, Soli leans over and grabs it. “Uyyy, almost bigger than Diego’s.”

  Tazer cracks his knuckles. “Gisela looks a bit like my friend Clarissa, except Claris
sa is thin and has short hair.” His eyes brighten. “I’ve been heavy into drama and scriptwriting at school. Clarissa wants to be a novelist. We just finished a satirical play.”

  We’re all ears.

  “Check it out. The best scene goes like this: The mom of the girl in our lesbian script finds her in bed with another girl. Right before her mother faints, the girl screams to her lover, ‘Act natural! Act natural!’”

  Everyone lets out a hearty laugh.

  Soli slaps Tazer’s shoulder. “You’re such a talented storyteller.” She twirls a few dreadlocks around her index finger. “I’m surrounded by homos. What’s this world coming to?” She points a finger at me. I step on her foot hard, under the table. I don’t want her to out me to Tazer until I’m ready to tell him why I had to lie. I need time to figure out a way that he won’t get pissed at me and walk away like my school friends did. “This one’s a homo . . .”

  “Sapien!” I shout and the girls from the next table look over at us. The hum of the soft background music becomes a roar. I clear my throat and smile as I shred my napkin into pieces then roll it into a ball. Soli gets the message and shuts her trap.

  I must tell Tazer the whole truth when we’re alone. I should have never, ever lied to him to protect Marlena, or my mom, two people who, in the end, don’t care about my feelings.

  The rain has stopped. Soli and Diego go outdoors a few minutes to look at the end of the drumming and dancing show. Tazer leans over the side of his chair and presses his lips against mine for a quick pop kiss. I’m trying not to act surprised.

  I separate my mouth after the sweet peck and sit staring at him tentatively, not knowing what’s just happened. “I like you,” he says.

  Soli and Diego come back indoors. I avert my eyes to see if Gisela saw the kiss. She’s nowhere in sight. Everyone starts talking and I sit in perfect silence.

  I never thought I’d be attracted to two people at once. I like the way Tazer’s lips felt on mine. It’s good to be interested in others again, even if nothing comes of it. It’s great to have people into me, something I never really experienced (except for Marlena, of course!).