by Johnny Diaz
As I slip on my navy-blue corduroys and my brown long-sleeved thermal, I wonder where we’re going tonight. Adam wouldn’t say over the phone, adding that it was a surprise. He did say to dress for the cold weather because we were going to be outdoors. He also asked for my shoe size. Hmm. I wonder if he thinks it’s true that one’s shoe size has a direct correlation with penis size. Either way, I should be okay. I hope! He should be here any minute now to pick me up.
As I step into my black winter boots by the front closet, the intercom’s buzzer goes off. “Hi, Gabriel, it’s Adam. I’m downstairs,” he says into the box.
I press the “Talk” button and say, “I’ll be right down in a second.”
Before I leave, I quickly spritz on some more cologne around my crotch area—hey, it can’t hurt—and say good-bye to the large poster of the original Star Trek crew in my hallway. “Wish me luck, Captain Kirk!”
I grab my ski cap and jacket before bounding downstairs to the front of the building.
The moment I see Adam, a warm tingling sensation overwhelms me, and my breath catches in my throat. My cheeks redden. Adam is standing there holding a big bouquet of pink and white carnations. His grin widens into a big sincere smile. “For you, hombre guapo!” he says, handing me the flowers. He then gives me a strong embrace followed by a soft kiss.
I take the bouquet and inhale its sweet fragrance. The scent of fresh flowers. I could smell these all night.
“Thank you, Adam. That’s very sweet.” I step back and my eyes drink him in. I want to etch this vision into my memory. I want to remember this moment and all the brief memories I’ve shared with Adam. Tonight, he wears a bulky light-blue jacket, a brown scarf, comfortable blue jeans, and brown winter boots. His blue eyes glisten under the building’s lights. His lips are red, probably from his strawberry-flavored lip balm, which I am now savoring on my own lips. I stand mesmerized at the sight. More so, I’m more moved by the flowery gesture and the fact that he has a special night planned for us. It also doesn’t hurt that he offered to pick me up. I haven’t met a lot of guys who own cars in Boston. Most people walk or take the subway to get to school or work.
“You ready, guapo?” he says, his gaze lingering for a long moment.
“I don’t know. You haven’t told me what we’re doing. I don’t know if we’re staying in Boston, jumping out of a plane, or hunting for deer—who knows! And what do your plans have to do with my shoe size, or were you just being nosy?”
Adam laughs and wraps his arm around my shoulder as we walk to his rugged old black Jeep Wrangler, which is parked outside my building. “It’s a surprise. I thought we could get some exercise and do another kind of dancing. It’ll be fun. I promise,” he says with sincerity as he opens the passenger door for me.
“As long as we’re not doing Zumba, the Macarena, or square dancing, I’m up for anything,” I say, cradling the bouquet of flowers and sniffing them again in the passenger seat. I smile at the gift as Adam darts around the Jeep and climbs into the driver’s seat.
And with that, we go to—well, I don’t know.
Twenty-five minutes later, Adam pulls into a parking space alongside the Boston Common. It’s a chilly night, about thirty-five degrees, and the air is crisp.
“We’re here!” he announces with laughing eyes.
“Um, the Common?”
“Yep, we’re going to the Frog Pond,” he says, pointing to the rear of the park.
“To watch little kids skate?” I say.
“No, silly. We’re going to ice-skate. I brought a pair of skates in your size. I thought it would be fun to skate in the middle of downtown Boston in one of the oldest parts of the city. It’s something different to do than going to a gay bar or club. If you don’t know how to skate, I can teach you, but I have a feeling you can skate as well as you dance.”
“Nah! I’m a Cuban from Fort Lauderdale. We’re not designed to skate. Swim, yes. Build cool rafts from old Chevy and Ford car parts, yes. Skate, no,” I tease.
“Oh, you’re not happy about this. I screwed up, didn’t I?” he says, a slight frown forming.
Now I feel bad. He went out of his way to make this a romantic, memorable evening, and here I am raining on it like a dark cloud with my playful teasing. I try to clear this up. “It’s very sweet, Adam. I just don’t want to kill you, myself, or any innocent kids or squirrels that come into my path. It’s been a while since I skated. I’m a really, really bad skater. I have two left feet.”
Adam puts a reassuring hand on my left shoulder, which makes me feel all goose-bumpy. “We don’t have to do this. I wouldn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I just thought it was, well, romantic.”
“It is, and I’m up for the challenge and spending time with you. Let’s do this, but don’t say I didn’t warn you! I may end up in the emergency room at Massachusetts General Hospital. Good thing it’s nearby,” I say, pantomiming falling.
Before I know it, we’re lacing up our skates tightly by the edge of the Frog Pond, which is bathed in the bright white light from the city’s decorative street lamps. Behind the rink, along Beacon Street, sparkling holiday lights decorate the red-bricked brownstones common in every Boston neighborhood. The lights of downtown skyscrapers and hotels beckon in the distance and overlook the park like celestial steel guardians. In one skyscraper, two office lights flicker and make me think that they are winking at me in approval.
Tourists snap photos as little kids circle the rink, their laughter echoing in the park. Their parents watch like them, hawk-like, from chairs at the Lily Pad Café by the rink’s entrance. Some younger couples slowly skate hand in hand, lost in their own private moments. I watch an elderly couple also glide and smile secretly to themselves, and I am immediately reminded of my parents. I imagine them taking strolls along the infamous seawall in Cuba when they were younger and in love.
The older couple seems oblivious to the hockey-wannabe speed demons who whip and weave inside the rink as if they’re members of the Boston Bruins.
As everyone skates, holiday songs play overhead. This is a Boston holiday greeting card come to life, and Adam and I are the characters on the cover.
Adam enters the rink and immediately spins like a professional skater. He calls me over, the cold weather marking his breath with small puffs.
Like other cautious skaters, I carefully inch my way inside and grip the handrail that ribbons the rink.
“See, you’re doing great, Gabriel. There’s nothing to it,” he says, skating backwards. “You got this!”
I narrow my eyes at him. I pretend to stumble. Adam immediately scurries over toward me. He holds my left hand and patiently teaches me to glide with my left foot and then shift with my right repeatedly.
We slowly skate together. My legs wobble, and I clumsily move forward. I almost fall, but Adam quickly props me up. “See, you’re skating, Gabriel. You can do this.”
I laugh nervously. “Okay, so I think I’ve got the hang of this. Let me try skating alone. You and the elderly skaters will be safer this way.”
“Are you sure, Gabriel?” he says, his eyes full of concern as they bore into mine.
I am loving this. “Yeah. I have to learn somehow. But just watch me, okay, in case I—gulp!—fall,” I say.
With that, I decide to stop acting like such a novice. I confidently lunge forward and pick up speed. I cross my right leg over my left as I turn. I quickly loop around once and then start skating backwards. I dash between the hordes of little kids and the other couples. I pass the aspiring hockey players. I perform another loop and hide my smile whole time. When I approach Adam, I abruptly stop using the side of my skates, sending small shards of ice onto Adam’s skates.
“Is that how you pros do it?” I tease with a wink.
“You dork! You had me going all this time! You already knew how to skate.”
“Yeah, I grew up skating in Fort Lauderdale during the summers, if you can believe that. We had a youth center with a big skati
ng rink. I wanted to get back at you for making me dance in front of everyone in your class.”
Adam puts his hands on his waist and cocks his head to the right with a crooked, sweet smile. “You’re full of surprises, Professor!”
“So are you, Adam!”
“Since you can actually skate, let’s see what you’re made of!” Adam pulls away and takes the lead.
I bolt forward and carefully navigate between the other skaters. I quickly catch up to Adam and spank him on his butt before I pull ahead of him again. “Catch me if you can!” I dare him.
I accelerate, my blade scraping the ice with each step. Adam hits his inner fast-forward button and quickens his pace. When he’s on my tail, he grabs my waist and starts tickling me.
“Noo!” I belt out with a full-on belly laugh.
He hangs onto my waist, and we become a human choo-choo train. I can’t contain my laughter, which fills the rink. And then suddenly, I lose my balance and fall, dragging Adam down with me. The traffic of skaters flows around us.
“You okay, Gabriel?” he says helpfully but with a big smile.
“Yeah, I’ll live. Can you give me a hand?”
As Adam gets up and tries to pull me up with him, I leverage my weight and pull him back down. He falls on top of me. We break out in hysterical laughter.
Being with Adam is so effortless, natural, and fun. It’s a chilly night, but Adam’s presence makes it feel like spring in my heart.
After we get up on our feet, we continue skating laps around the frozen pond. Sometimes we glide hand in hand. Other times, he skates backwards in front of me and holds my hands to tow me forward. Every now and then, we exchange kisses, his warm lips soothing mine.
After an hour, we decide to warm up by taking a break at the café, where he buys us some hot cocoa. He won’t let me pay.
“Having fun, Gabriel?” he says, sitting down next to me in the café.
“This has been great, Adam. Thank you for bringing me out here. It’s a nice change of pace. It’s been a while since I’ve skated. On TV, I see people skate at Rockefeller Center in New York and wish I was there with someone special doing the same. It’s not fun to skate alone, so I usually don’t,” I say, cupping my drink which warms my hands.
“Well, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that, guapo. Whenever you want to skate, I’ll be your partner, if you let me,” he says, leaning in for another kiss.
I place my head on his shoulder, and he links his arm through mine as we watch the parade of skaters flow by. A light snow begins to sprinkle the city as if it were inside a snow globe.
After we finish our drinks, we skate for another half hour and work up an appetite. As we remove our skates by the bleachers, Adam tells me that part two of the date is about to begin.
“Is this another surprise?” I say.
“Yep. I want to take you to a special place to eat. It has really good food, and the chef is superb!”
“Is his name Chef Boyardee? What’s with the mystery? You can’t keep a former reporter in suspense. It’s like the ultimate gay tease, Adam.”
“I know, but you love it, don’t you?”
I nod my head with a little grin. I do like surprises, and my imagination has been running on overtime wondering what this special guy has in store for us.
With skates in hand, we walk through the park on the way back to the Jeep. We stroll along trees bedecked with holiday lights as if they were jewelry. The whole way, Adam holds my hand. I like this picture and the comfortable feeling that envelops me whenever I am around Adam.
As we walk near the bulky mounds of snow piled up along the sidewalks, I look up at the sky, which is sequined with bright stars. I wonder, Where did this guy come from? Has Cupid finally used his GPS and found the correct map to my heart? I look to my left and admire the man beside me, so full of life and heart. He is smart, compassionate, sweet, and centered. He also keeps me guessing with his spontaneity. He has gone out of his way to make this a great first date, which shows how much he cares about me. I hope it’s the first of many dates.
Fifteen minutes later, Adam pulls up to a small three-story clapboard building just outside Harvard Square in Cambridge. Down the street, a small pizza place scents the air with the succulent aroma of baked bread and pasta.
“We’re having pizza?” I ask as we climb out of the Jeep.
“Nope. We’re having dinner upstairs,” he says, pointing to the second floor.
“Is there a restaurant in this building? It looks pretty residential.”
“Yep, it’s called Chez Smith.”
Then it hits me. We’re at Adam’s apartment.
“I thought you could use a good home-cooked meal. I made us some pasta and chicken. A simple, nice dinner at home. I just need to reheat it.”
“Really? You cooked for me? Adam, that’s so, wow, sweet. I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. Just enjoy the food and company. But we have another dinner guest waiting inside,” he says as he opens the front door of the building.
We climb the creaky wooden stairs to the second floor.
“Another dinner guest?” I say, wondering who it could be.
“He’s been wanting to meet you, Gabriel. He’s heard a lot about you.”
I remember during our night at the pizza place after The Estate when Adam said that he lived alone and was single. Maybe he invited a neighbor for dinner, or perhaps a student from the dance class? There goes the rest of our romantic night.
As Adam jiggles his key into the front lock, I hear scratching sounds coming from the other side of the door. When he opens it, the most adorable gray-haired miniature poodle leaps into Adam’s arms and licks him as if he’s ice cream.
“This is our other guest. Louie, meet Gabriel!”
I’m so clueless. Of course he was talking about his beloved dog. Adam places an excited Louie on his weathered hardwood floors. The dog immediately places his paws on my right knee and looks up at me with his wet, warm black eyes. He happily wags his tail. I squat down and hug Louie. His tongue licks my right cheek and ear, which tickles.
“I think he likes you. You passed the test, Professor.”
“What test?” I say as I rub Louie’s back and ears before scooping him into my arms like a big baby, the same way I do with Clara the cat.
“If Louie likes you, then you’ve earned membership into our small private club.”
As I hold Louie, I look up at Adam, and hope continues to bloom in my heart.
Chapter 28
“PAPI, it’ll be painless and fun. I promise!” I reassure my father.
“Ay, Gabriel, I am not sure this is a good idea,” he says in his Spanish-accented English.
“Trust me, you’ll be moving in ways that you haven’t in a long time.”
“Bueno, we’ll see about that.”
My father isn’t buying my sales pitch even though it’s my tenth one since I first learned about this class. He looks slightly terrified, or perhaps annoyed, as we walk through the glass doors of the Jewish Family Center in Cambridge. I brace him tightly by his frail right arm as he takes small steps forward. His right leg drags a little because it has grown weaker in the last seven months, so he leads with his left and shifts more of his weight there.
I continue my rah-rah words of encouragement, exude my positive attitude, and flash my big smile. I know that he’ll enjoy this if he just gives dance a chance. “Papi, listen to me. I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t think it would help you. I did my homework. Dancing will help you move better. Just trust me.”
“Ay, this is you and your mama’s way of getting back at me for not dancing at all those weddings and fiestas,” he says like a passive-aggressive annoyed child. “You are getting back at me for not buying you a new car when you were sixteen,” Papi continues. His forehead wrinkles.
“If you say so….” I raise my thick black eyebrows to underscore my sarcasm. “Besides, I loved my used light-blue Nissa
n hatchback with the missing muffler. Who wouldn’t?”
Papi sticks his tongue out at me. I twitch my nose at him. We exchange loving smirks.
At the front lobby of the center, Doris the receptionist greets us with a warm grin. She recognizes me from my previous visits. Today I am here as a student and dance partner.
“Welcome back. I see you brought a special visitor. My, my… he’s one handsome man,” Doris flirts, patting herself on the chest as if fanning invisible flames.
“Yeah, this is my dad, Guillermo Galan.”
They exchange smiles.
“Have fun, guys!” she says with a wave.
We leave Doris and gradually walk toward the elevator. I don’t want Papi to take the stairs. I wouldn’t want him to overexert himself by climbing the steep wooden steps. Sometimes, he gets vertigo and loses his balance, a symptom that he’s not proud of, but it’s a reality of Parkinson’s. He has his good days.
In the past few months, he’s had more bad days. Papi does his best not to show it. That’s my father, Mr. Independent Macho Man, but I love him regardless.
Just before the elevator doors slide shut, I catch sight of my mom scurrying into the lobby, her heels echoing with every rushed step. Looped around her right arm is a purse pregnant with napkins, crackers, a bottled water, and whatever else she can miraculously squeeze into a bag the size of a small dog. She catches her breath and uses her fingers to tuck her hair behind her ears. She notices that Papi is having second thoughts, which are etched all over his sun-wrinkled face. She scolds him like she used to when they were married.
“Now, Guillermo, you promised Gabriel you would take this class, so ya! Stop complaining to Gabriel, and don’t say you weren’t, because I know you better than anyone else, hombre. This was his idea. Let’s see what happens,” Mami says as we ride the elevator. She clenches my left arm, and I slide my arm through the crook of Papi’s right. The three of us stand together in solidarity like the family we once were.