Take the Lead

by Johnny Diaz

  I lean my head against my right hand as I look at the framed photo of Papi and me that sits on top of the TV set. He is a proud, hardworking, and stubborn Latino. I don’t want to rob him of his independence, but he won’t be able to work full time forever. His body is dropping hints that it’s weakening, despite the increases in his medication.

  “But what else can he do? He’s been exterminating since I was born,” I say, recalling Papi’s standard uniform: black work pants, a beige short-sleeved button-down shirt, and a matching baseball cap that reads “Galan Exterminating.” I smile at the image.

  “That’s what I need your help with. Try to think of something. Maybe he can work the door at Costco or BJ’s where he checks the receipts, or he can provide the samples to customers? I can always get him a job at my Walgreens, but I don’t think he would want to work where I am. He thinks I annoy him, being his big hermana.”

  “You guys would drive each other crazy, Aunt Cary. I don’t think he’d want to take orders from you, even if you were paying him.” We laugh at the thought.

  “Well, I’ll put on my thinking cap and we’ll figure this out. I’ll also bring it up with Papi.”

  “Better you than me. I nag him enough as it is,” she says.

  “Oh really, why is that? It’s not like you’re a busybody,” I say sarcastically.

  “Hey, someone has to watch him while you educate the future writers and journalists of America. Anyway, I will let you get back to your Star Trek or whatever you were watching, Gabriel. I love you!” she says.

  “Love you too, Aunt Cary!” I gently place the phone back in its cradle and sip some of the Peach Snapple I have leftover from earlier.

  I unmute the TV back to my NBC series. As I watch the court proceedings, my mind wanders and begins to think of various jobs that Papi could do that would bring him some income but won’t be so labor-intensive. I recall all the times when I was younger and I ventured out to the beach hotels and apartment buildings with Papi to help him exterminate. He would squat down, climb kitchen counters, and lie down on bathroom floors to spray under sinks. At the end of the day, his shirt reeked of chemicals and sweat. He’d remove his baseball cap and his curly, short hair would be flattened. He never complained, but I knew he was tired because he’d immediately pass out in bed with Mami by 11 p.m. After the divorce, he started falling asleep at 10 p.m. on his recliner in his Miami Lakes apartment. Whenever I visited from college or Boston, I would have to tiptoe into the living room, cover him in a white blanket, and then turn off the TV and lights.

  Although I resent him for what he did to my mother, I still admire Papi for all his hard work. I’m about the same age he was when I was born, yet I can’t imagine coming home after a long day of work and summoning enough energy to take care of a baby. It’s hard enough just taking care of myself and getting through the day at times. Papi worked all day while Mom took care of the house and me. I wonder if he ever feels as I do, waking up and ending the day in an empty apartment. Does he hear the same deafening silence as I toss the keys into a bowl in the kitchen, the lonely echo of my shoes as I walk into the living room and bedroom? At least he has his on-and-off again lover, Gloria, to keep him company. I have—or had—Craig.

  I need to confront and resolve things with Craig instead of letting the situation linger. I remember I read somewhere that if you have a mess in your home, you clean it up immediately. You don’t allow trash to sit in the corner of your kitchen for too long because it will stink. Once I hear from Craig, I’ll handle the situation once and for all and move on.

  My focus returns to Law & Order. Just as the episode ends, I pass out on the sofa.

  Just before midnight, my cell phone vibrates on my end table in the living room and wakes me up. I rub my eyes and stretch my arms out like a cat on the floor. I pick up the phone, and the screen displays Craig’s name. It’s a text message from him.

  I’m back in Boston. Have classes tomorrow. See you in school and later tomorrow night. Missed you!

  The text message disgusts me. Who does he think he is? I immediately delete it as I force myself to get up and trudge to my bedroom. On the way, I delete all my other old text messages from Craig. I wish I could delete him from my life. I slip under my covers and set my alarm for my early morning class. As I begin to fall asleep again, I wonder what I am going to do when I see Craig tomorrow. Chances are that he will stop by my office or at the end of one of my classes. He knows my schedule by heart.

  School is not the proper place to have the conversation that I need to have with him. I created this mess, and now I have to clean it up.

  I temporarily will away the thoughts. I just want to sleep and forget about the other night at the bar—and Craig.

  Chapter 22

  THE day flies by uneventfully, class after class. Students with questions about their stories and papers. Discussions of current events and news, as well as the lack of Latino authors in Boston, at least until Tommy Perez publishes his first novel. I am secretly jealous that he is doing that. I can never say that my job is boring even though I recycle the same syllabus year after year. But the students are really the subjects of the class. I find them more interesting at times than the stories we discuss. Their probing questions and enthusiasm for journalism and writing inspire me to come to class every day. I owe it to them to make the class as engaging and fun as possible.

  At the end of my last class of the day, a beginners’ creative writing course, I scoop up my messenger bag from under the classroom podium. I wipe away my notes on the white board. I’m done for the afternoon.

  I sling my bag around my torso and begin to walk back to my office. I maneuver around the throngs of students lingering in the hallway and chatting about their holidays with their families, the latest pop-singing diva’s bad behavior, and their upcoming weekend plans. Some students wave or nod to me. I offer a small smile and keep walking.

  As soon as I arrive at my office, I spot Craig smiling and leaning against my door. His eyes light up when he sees me.

  I don’t return the expression.

  “Hi, Professor Galan!” he says.

  I grin tightly. “Hey, what are you doing here?” I say gruffly.

  Craig’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. He doesn’t know that I know about what he did the other night. About the lies. The disappointment.

  I jiggle my key into the lock and open the office door. The whole time, I can feel Craig’s eyes studying me.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, locking his eyes onto mine, but I look away. His dreamy expression won’t work on me anymore. It doesn’t matter how much he looks like James Franco. I’m now immune to it.

  “Um, no, I’m not, and I can’t talk to you right now, especially not here.” I plop my bag on my chair, toss my keys on my desk, and settle in front of my computer.

  Craig closes the door behind him. “Gabriel, what’s wrong? You seem upset.”

  I glance up at him and squint. My mouth forms a big letter O. I imagine my eyes shooting a spray of needles at him, but I keep it cool. “Craig, listen. I can’t talk to you here. In fact, I don’t want to talk to you right now. At all! I need you to go… now!”

  “But… but… what’s going on?” he stammers, approaching me. “Did something happen while I was away?”

  I roll my eyes and shake my head side to side in disbelief. “Did something happen while I was away?” I can’t believe him. Was I blind this whole time?

  “Yes, something did happen, and this is not the appropriate place to talk. Craig, you gotta go,” I repeat, raising my voice.

  Craig backs up and holds up his hands as if to deflect whatever I am about to throw at him. “I can see you had a bad day, so I’ll leave you alone, but we’re going to need to talk at some point. When you calm down, call me, okay, baby?” he says, trying to win me over with his puppy-dog eyes.

  “Yeah, sure. Okay!” I blurt out, exhaling loudly.

  Confusion swimming in his eyes, Craig finally leaves. I
get up, shut the door behind him, and lock it. I lean back in my chair. I prop my feet up on my desk and rest my hands on my stomach. How am I going to defuse this situation? How do I extract myself from this relationship without damaging my career? What if Craig tells someone about our affair? What if he reports me to the administration?

  I rub my fingers against my forehead and try to think of the best way to have a civil conversation with him. I don’t want to set him off, not that I believe that he’s violent or psychotic. But you never know what people might do. I’m sure my mom never thought that her first love would have cheated on her, but look at what happened to them.

  As soon as I get home, I toss my messenger bag on my small wooden kitchen table and empty my pockets. It’s an unusual fifty-degree December day. It’s only 4 p.m., and there’s still some sunlight left, although it’s quickly fading. It won’t be long before the sky fades into a grayish gloomy blanket.

  To release some tension, I decide to go for a run. I change out of my professorial attire and slip into navy-blue sweatpants and matching sweatshirt. I put on my baseball cap and twirl my scarf around my neck like a strand of pasta around a fork. I pop in my white headphones and clench my iPod with my right hand.

  I dash down the two flights of stairs, where a small gust of cold air greets me. Standing in front of my building, I kick my legs up and down to warm up. Puffs of breath mark the cold space before me. I then jump up and down to pump up my energy. I glance at my watch and set my timer. I’m set to go.

  I play some Tim McGraw as I sprint along the choppy gray-bluish bay water. I’m one of a dozen runners in sight as cars zip by on the coastal boulevard. With each pounding step, I strive to stamp out my thoughts of Craig. I want to run away from the situation as fast as I sprint along the seawall toward Marina Bay.

  Mixed thoughts swirl in my head. Am I unlucky in love? Maybe Nick has the right game plan—stay single and just have fun. No commitments. No broken heart. No drama. Just spontaneous hot sex with random young guys. This seems to work for Nick. He never complains about being single. He enjoys his space and solitude. If it works for him, why not me? But I’m not like Nick, who is emotionally constipated. I’m a romantic at heart.

  Six minutes into the run, and I’ve already reached my mile mark, which is the entrance to Marina Bay. I run and run, my breath labored as I will away these conflicting thoughts. I think of my ideal guy: about my age, a professional, passionate about his craft, a good person at heart, attractive, someone who can make me laugh. I can overlook if he has different tastes in television and movies. Not everyone is a Star Trek fan.

  As I mentally tally the qualities I desire in an ideal partner, an image suddenly surfaces in my mind. It’s Adam, smiling and sharing pizza with me. I smile at the memory. Adam. Adam! Adam?

  The more I run along the outskirts of the marina, the more my thoughts drift to Adam. I barely know him, yet from the little that I’ve seen of him, I’ve been moved. My heart has also raced the times I’ve seen him. I can easily imagine taking Adam to Fort Lauderdale to meet Mom and Clara the cat. Another image surfaces—Adam talking to Papi about the benefits of exercise, particularly dancing, for people with Parkinson’s. More thoughts flood my mind. I temporarily forget the cooling weather as my adrenaline streams through my body. Sweat trickles down my face.

  A montage of images unfolds in my mind like a movie trailer. Adam and me cuddling in bed as we wake up on a Sunday morning and fight over the newspaper. Us running along the Charles River or here in Quincy. I imagine him beating me in a race (he’s in better shape, from what I can tell) and then pulling me into a big embrace that lifts me off my feet. I surrender my body to his as we dance in sync at a club, a party, or in the privacy of my home. I picture meeting his dog Louie and walking him in Cambridge as if he were my own. The thoughts are comforting and reassuring to me. Adam!

  As the sun dips like a dimming golden bulb in the horizon, I turn around and begin to head back to my condo before it gets too chilly. I slow down to catch my breath and walk with my hands resting on my hips. The flowing traffic whooshes by.

  I’m glad I took this run. It released some of the physical and emotional tension that has built up since Thursday night. The adrenaline courses through me like a feel-good elixir.

  With my condo two blocks away, I drag my feet and breathe in the cool air. I finally catch my breath; the warmth of my sweaty body continues to invigorate me. I glance skyward and see the belly of an American Airlines plane as it prepares to land at Logan International Airport.

  When I walk up to the entrance of my red-bricked building, the cause of my recent disappointment comes into full view. Craig sits on the front steps with his legs folded and his arms leaning forward. He smiles when he spots me. Whatever physical and psychological comfort I gained from my run quickly blows away with the bay breeze.

  Craig rises to greet me and approaches with his arms open for a hug, but I pull back.

  “What’s going on, Gabriel? Talk to me!” he says with a pleading look in his eyes.

  “That’s just it. I don’t want to talk to you or see you.”

  Craig steps back as if an invisible force has just shoved him. Confusion fills his face. “What did I do?”

  I furrow my eyebrows and let out a long sigh. “You know what you did! I saw you with Tony the other night, dancing the night away.”

  Craig looks stunned.

  “Is it coming back to you? You, Tony, The Estate, Thanksgiving night? Oh wait, weren’t you supposed to be in Virginia with your family? You can’t explain yourself out of this one, mi amor!”

  Craig’s eyes well up with tears. He frowns. His shoulders slump. His body language just confessed. He’s caught. “Gabriel, you’re the one I want to be with. Tony doesn’t mean anything to me. We just had fun that night. It’s not serious.”

  I look to my left in disbelief as if looking for a hidden camera, and I think, What the fuck? “I thought you were different, but you know what, Craig? You’re twenty-two. You’re young. You’re doing what you should be doing, and that’s having fun. But you did it at my expense. I don’t even blame you. I blame myself. I’m the older one with more experience. I should have never let this go as far as it did.” I fold my arms and rub the underside of my right arm. I look down, feeling ashamed for knowing better yet not doing anything about it early on.

  “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I ended up not going to Virginia after my flight was delayed. I knew you were going to Providence with Nick, and I didn’t want to interrupt that. I know how much family means to you, and Nick is like your brother. Tony had called me to hang out, and we decided to get some drinks and dance at Estate. And things got out of hand. We got carried away with the alcohol. It’s all my fault, Gabriel. I never intended to hurt you.”

  “But you did, and what’s done is done. You can’t undo this.”

  We stand in front of my building and stare at each other in a long, uncomfortable moment of silence. The gravity of the situation sinks in for Craig as well as for me. Although I’m sad and disappointed, I’m also somewhat relieved. I know what I want in a partner, and Craig doesn’t match those qualities right now. He needs some more life experience.

  I take a step back, tilt my head to the right, and study Craig some more. I realize he’s still a… boy. Not an anchorman. An anchorboy. I was probably just a hot fun story for him to explore and research. But after seeing how badly he feels, I know he did care about me in his own way.

  “Let’s just part ways. No bitterness, Craig. I’m not mad at you, okay?” I reassure him. I place my right hand on his shoulder and pat it. I try to act like the responsible mature adult that I should have been months ago.

  “But… I care about you. We can work this out,” he says with misty eyes.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t think you’re ready for a serious relationship. You have another semester left. You have future internships, and you’ll be a great anchorman somewhere in a big mark
et. You have so much ahead of you. This is your time to go and have fun. I’ve already done that. I’m looking for something more long-term and stable.”

  Craig leans in, and I offer him a friendly hug. His embrace feels good and yet so bad at the same time. I need to let go in more ways than one.

  “Trust me on this. This is for the best. Listen to your professor, will you? He knows what he’s talking about.”

  A small smile forms at the corner of his beautiful mouth. He rubs his right hand through his fuzzy brown crew cut as he turns away.

  “It’s going to be okay, Craig. I promise. Now if you don’t mind, I need to go upstairs and change. I’m a sweaty mess!” I say, using the back of my right sleeve to wipe the sweat off my forehead.

  Tears continue to roll down his face. “I guess I’ll see you at Jefferson,” he says, his body hunched over.

  “I’ll see you in school, Craig.”

  He walks away toward his car. I hold back my tears until I saunter into my building. As I walk up the stairs, I can’t breathe. A knot forms in my throat. Tears roll down my face as I climb the stairs.

  A sadness deepens within, but I am comforted by the fact that I did the right thing. I just have to remind myself of that. I know I will get over this. Time will help heal the hole in my heart. I need to find ways to stay busy for a while. I should use this time to revisit Adam’s Parkinson’s dance class. I could use him as a friend right about now. And, of course, there’s Nick. If he’s not a great distraction, I don’t know what is.

  Once back inside in my condo, I peel off my clothes, leaving a trail of them along the way to the bathroom. I turn on the hot water in the shower. Once the vapor rises, I step in. I let the rush of the water soothe my body. I luxuriate in the shower and pretend that the cascading water is washing away the hurt. I imagine that the beating water is replenishing my heart and my soul. I lean against the white-tiled bathroom wall. Some more tears pour out. I’ll be okay. I know I will.