“Gum,” I say.
“What’d you do, roll around in it?” she asks, yawning.
I pull her off the bed and away from furious Lola. “Get some coffee in you and take a shower.”
“Well, you stink too,” she says.
“Thanks, I love you too.”
Stalker: Part Dos
It’s Saturday and we’re going shopping for clothes: Mrs. Vargas, Camilla, and me. I haven’t seen him in days. I haven’t drowned in days. And I haven’t had any dreams about him in days. Whoever he is, I hope he’s gone.
I inform Camilla of his absence, while we scan the sales rack.
“So, why do you look so sad?” she asks, sizing up a tube top against her chest.
“Your mom is never going to let you buy that,” I say, and take it from her, putting it back on the rack. “And I don’t look sad. Do I?”
Camilla shrugs. “Maybe it’s the hair. What’d your mom say?”
“Well, first she gasped, and then she said, ‘It’ll grow out, don’t worry,’ as if someone had attacked me with a pair of scissors while I slept.”
“It does look like that.”
“Shut up.”
Camilla and I separate, each to our own tastes in fashion. We smile and wave at each other from across the store. Mrs. Vargas finds her daughter and frowns at every tube and crop top she’s shown. Camilla rolls her eyes, says something in Spanish, and then storms off. I continue browsing. I feel fine, great, until I don’t—the sensation, the pressure, the darkness has returned. I’m drowning, adrift, and then I rise, above the water, and breathe in the fresh air. I find Camilla, my anchor, but I don’t tell her what happened. I don’t want her to worry.
We continue shopping and I’m done before she is. I check out and Mrs. Vargas hands me the keys to her car, so I can secure my bags. The humidity is stifling and I’m glad I’m wearing shorts. I’m almost to Mrs. Vargas’s car when I’m pulled under again, drowning. It’s so intense that I drop the bags and fall on the hard cement, scraping my knees bloody. I raise my head, trying to get above the surface.
He’s here. What is he doing to me? Haven’t I suffered enough?
I hear a car, speeding away. I can breathe again. The waters have receded. I take my time to the car, placing the bags inside. I’m hesitant to return to the store, to let Camilla see my distress. I breathe, in and out, calming my racing heart. I’m on dry land again.
I reenter the store to find Mrs. Vargas and Camilla arguing, in Spanish.
It’s music to my ears.
Baby Steps
Camilla decides we’re going to eat lunch at Libertad.
“Hopefully, Alejandro will be there,” she says to me, winking,
I roll my eyes.
Libertad is busy, as it always is. Vibrant music is playing. Cuban and American flags adorn the outside. Patrons switch back and forth between Spanish and English.
Cigar smoke fills the inside, so Mrs. Vargas insists that we eat at an outside table.
“Alejandro,” Camilla yells, as she waves.
I turn to see him approach, smiling at me.
I cut my eyes at Camilla.
She waves a hand at me. “Can you take our order?” she asks him.
“Of course,” he says, but talking to me. “Hey, Daria, how are you?”
“Good,” I say, in a soft voice, suddenly shy.
Camilla puts her arm around my shoulders. “She’s great, isn’t that right, Daria?”
“Yeah,” I say in an unenthusiastic tone.
Camilla smiles, and says to Alejandro, “Do you have a girlfriend?”
He blushes. “Uh, no,” he says.
“Great,” says Camilla. “Daria is single too.”
“Camilla,” says Mrs. Vargas in a stern tone, “you and your friend can talk later. He’s on the clock.”
Camilla rolls her eyes and opens her menu. She tells Alejandro her order and snaps her menu close. “Happy, mama?” she asks.
“Delighted,” Mrs. Vargas says in a dull tone, and then orders.
“Daria?” says Alejandro, waiting, pen over pad. He’s smiling.
I scan the menu and order a simple sandwich, water, nothing special.
He takes the menu from me and our hands brush. He feels nice. I secure my hands in my lap. He promises to come back with our drinks, and then departs.
I pinch Camilla’s arm.
She slaps my arm. “What? He’s a great guy.”
“Yes, he is, but I’m not ready.”
“Camilla, leave her alone,” says Mrs. Vargas. “It’s too hot to play matchmaker.”
We eat our meals in silence, each fuming at the other. Alejandro pops by, every once in a while, to check in on us—or rather me. I find myself speechless around him, making odd gestures. When the meal is finally over, the bill paid, and the tip on the table, I’m ready to run. As we’re walking across the parking lot, I hear someone calling my name.
I turn to see Alejandro, running towards me.
“Hey, Daria,” he says, when he’s caught me, alone.
“Hey,” I return, almost inaudible. I find my voice. “Did we not leave enough of a tip?”
He shakes his head. “No, no, I was just wondering if—if you’d like to go out—sometime?”
“Yes,” I say immediately, surprising myself, and then say, “No,” watching his face change from a smile into a frown within seconds. “I’m still on probation. I have a curfew. We couldn’t go out at night.”
He looks relieved and smiles. “That’s okay. We could do something in the daytime.”
“Yeah, we could, but I don’t know if my parents would allow me to go on a date,” I say, suddenly realizing that my parents and I haven’t discussed boys.
They freaked when they found out I wasn’t a virgin. They made me get tested for everything. It was horrifying.
“Well, how about a new friend? Or a reacquainted friend, considering we’ve known each other ever since we were kids. They wouldn’t object to that, would they?”
I bite my lip, and then release it, saying, “I guess not.”
“Can I have your cell number?”
“You’ll have to call my house.” I feel so embarrassed. “I don’t have my cell phone back yet.”
He smiles. “That’s okay. I’m not afraid of landlines.”
I laugh. “Okay, I’d—I’d like that—I mean, for you to call me—on a landline.”
I feel my face blushing as I write my number on his notepad. I hand it back to him and this time, I can tell he purposely brushes his fingers against mine.
He tucks the notepad away, securing it. “Great.” He’s grinning. “I’ll give you a call.”
“Great,” I say, and then abruptly turn to leave, walking fast away.
I’m not ready. What have I done?
Landline
I’m lying on my bed, reminiscing over the day’s events, when the phone rings. I rush downstairs and answer it. It’s Camilla.
“Has Alejandro called?”
“No, and I don’t think he will.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know.” Because I secretly hope he doesn’t.
“You think you know everything, Daria, but you don’t.”
“All right, what?”
“Alejandro has had it bad for you, ever since the ninth grade!”
“How do you know?”
“Tony called me, said that he met with Alejandro, who was talking non-stop about you, so excited to have your phone number.”
“Oh, wow, um…”
“Yeah, wow! You could’ve been with Alejandro this whole time! You would’ve never hooked up with Frankie. You would’ve never—“
“Yeah, yeah, I get it: sunshine and roses. Well, ifs and buts, Camilla. Alejandro was shy, barely able to say two words to me, and Frankie…well, Frankie showed interest. He may have been messed up, Camilla, but I think, deep down, he cared for me.”
Camilla sighs. “Well, I guess you got to go
through the bad to get to the good.”
“You sound like my therapist.”
“Well, in that case, you owe me a hundred dollars for this session.”
“Can I do installments?”
“Talk to my secretary.”
It’s late at night, and I’m listening to my iPod, when my mom enters my room.
“The phone’s for you,” she says.
I roll my eyes. “Is it Camilla again?”
“No, someone named Alejandro.”
My mouth drops open, briefly, and then I recover. “Oh, he’s a friend.”
She’s furrowing her brow, deciding how to respond. Finally, she says, “Okay, well, don’t keep him waiting.”
I make it down the stairs, slow and steady, staying my urge to run and flee. I enter the kitchen and pick up the handset.
“Hey,” I say. It isn’t the best conversation starter, but it’s all I can muster, nervous.
“Hey, what’s up?” he says.
I can hear his smile.
“Nothing much—just chillin’. What about you?”
“Yeah, chillin’,” he returns.
“So, uh, how was work today?” I ask, cringing at the question.
“Good, I made lots of tips. Of course, my day got better when you showed up.”
“Oh?” I say, not knowing what else to say.
“Yeah, uh, I think you’re great and it was just really nice to see you today.”
“Oh,” I say again, sounding like a broken record.
“Um, well, I was calling to see if you wanted to go bowling tomorrow afternoon?”
“Oh, well, I need to ask my parents first, okay? Can you hold?”
“Sure, Daria, I’ll wait for you.”
I peek out from the kitchen, and into the living room, to see my parents, pretending to watch TV. I inform them of Alejandro’s plans. They give me the okay, as long as I call them if I’m to go anywhere else—and the curfew still stands. I smile, thanking them. We’re making progress. If Alejandro called me months ago, my dad would’ve insisted on being a chaperone.
“It’s a go,” I say to Alejandro.
“Great,” he says, and I can hear his smile.
“But…I don’t know how to bowl,” I inform, embarrassed.
“It’s okay. I’ll teach you.” His tone deepens, the word “teach” becoming suggestive.
“Okay, well, I have to go. See you tomorrow.”
“Okay, Daria,” he says, sounding disappointed of my imminent departure. “Bye.”
“Bye,” I say, and hang up.
My heart’s beating normal again. I can breathe.
When I walk past my parents, heading towards the stairs, my dad says, “This Alejandro…”
“He’s a friend, that’s all,” I inform. “He works at Libertad,” I add, as if having a job will help improve Alejandro’s status in my dad’s eyes.
It does. “Oh, that’s good of him, working.”
“Yeah,” I agree, and head up the stairs, as fast as my feet will take me without tripping and falling.
I reach my room without injury and collapse on my bed, eagerly anticipating tomorrow, yet dreading the day.
Stalker: Part Tres
I decide to go running again. I didn’t since that day when he was there, but decided to take a chance—hell, I was already taking chances—going out with Alejandro. I shower after—which doesn’t help to wash away the memories of him and how he makes me feel. Water is mystical. It can help and it can hurt.
After breakfast, I organize my room, clean up here and there, and gather my school supplies. My backpack is packed and ready to go—if only I could be as ready. I dread seeing Frankie. I dread seeing Vicki. Camilla can only travel with me for so far—there’ll come a point when the path divides, she going her way, and me, mine. I push that sorrow out of my mind. Think happy thoughts.
Camilla calls. She already knows about my “date.” She wishes me luck, adding, “Don’t screw this up!” I curse at her in Spanish. She gasps, and then throws it back at me. We say “I love you,” and hang up. I don’t know what I’d do without her.
The doorbell rings. It’s time. My heart is about to burst from my chest. I make my way downstairs, hearing voices. My parents are talking to Alejandro. I stop and hide. My dad is doing most of the talking, asking (interrogating) Alejandro questions about his plans today: bowling and lunch. That’s it.
I enter the kitchen. Alejandro smiles at me, looking relieved. I get the “be back by your curfew” talk, and then we’re allowed to leave. My heart has yet to stop racing. I wonder if I’ll die before we get to the bowling alley.
When Alejandro turns away from Santa Maria Circle, he says, “I have something to tell you.” He seems nervous.
“Your name’s not really Alejandro Aznar? It’s Pablo Escobar and you’re running a drug cartel?” I tease.
He breaks at a red light, turns to me, and gasps. “How’d you know?”
I wave my hand. “I’m psychic.”
“What number am I thinking about?”
“Seven,” I say.
“Damn, you’re good.” The light turns green and he accelerates. “No, really, I wanted to tell you that I’ve had a crush on you for the longest time.”
“Oh? Since when?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Ninth grade,” he says.
“Oh, well, I guess you couldn’t say anything—with me—and Frankie.”
“Yeah, but now…”
“Now…”
We fall silent and I’m glad. I don’t know what else to say. Now—the word reverberates in my mind, bouncing madly: now, now, now, now.
We arrive at Teddy’s, the only bowling alley in Old Spanish Town. Alejandro opens the car door for me.
“Thanks,” I say, bewildered.
He furrows his brow. “What?”
I shrug. “It’s just that I’ve never had a guy open a door for me, that’s all.”
“Yeah, not with Frankie, I bet—only thinking of himself,” he says, in a disgruntled tone.
He loved me, I think he did.
“Yeah,” I agree, refraining from voicing my thoughts.
“I’m a gentleman, Daria,” says Alejandro.
“I can see that,” I say, smiling.
He opens the door to the bowling alley for me too. The inside is crowded—a birthday party. We play on the other side, away from the celebrations.
“I didn’t realize you’re a size twelve,” I say, watching him put on his bowling shoes.
He looks up at me and smirks. “Didn’t know I’m that big, huh?”
I blush and look down, acting as if my shoes need adjustment. Soon, we’re ready to bowl. I pick a hot pink ball and Alejandro stands behind me, in training. He’s pressed against me, his arm against mine, his hand cupping mine, swinging to and fro, letting me feel the weight of the ball, the motion, the angle, until—I release on his command—strike!
I turn around in his arms, smiling. Alejandro presses me against him and kisses me, hard and fast. He releases me. I stare at him, open-mouthed.
“Sorry,” he apologizes, and backs away. “I’m sorry, Daria, I just…”
“It’s okay,” I say, finding my voice. “I just didn’t expect it, is all.”
He smiles. “Oh, well, then…”
He moves to take me again, but I deny him the pleasure—as I fall to my knees, weak and—under pressure. He’s here. I’m drowning. Water stings my eyes, fills my throat, drags me down to the darkness below—I’m gone.
I hear my name being called, faint, echoes through the water. Hands are pulling me up, up, up, and above the surface. I can breathe. I see Alejandro, staring at me: confused, concerned, horrified.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I just need to go outside I think—out in the sun.”
Alejandro leads me outside. I sit on a bench. He sits next to me. I soak in the sun, welcoming its warmth.
“Daria,” says Alejandro. “What just happened? Should we go to the
hospital, call your parents?”
“No!” I say, grasping his arm. “No,” I repeat, softer. “I’m fine, really. I was just…overwhelmed, I guess.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“No, it’s okay. It was…nice,” I say, smiling. “A bit rushed, but nice.”
He’s blushing. “Yeah, I just…went for it. If you give me the chance to try again, I’ll go slower.”
He leans in for his second chance, but I gently refuse him. “Another time—I’m still out of it.”
He nods. “Okay, Daria, no rush.”
We sit in silence. The drowning sensation has left me, but I feel him. I scan the parking lot and almost scream. I see him. He’s far away, staring at me. He’s wearing more clothes this time, and his aviators are gone. I don’t know how I know, but I just do: his eyes are blue—blue like the ocean I’ve been drowning in ever since his arrival. Who are you? I fly off my seat, ready to demand answers, but come to a halt, as he turns away, casually, as if he has no knowledge of my existence, and walks away.
Why are you making me feel this way? Do you even know what you’re doing to me? Do you even care?
Alejandro is beside me. “What is it, Daria?” His arm is around my waist, securing me to his side.
I lean into him. “Nothing, Alejandro, it’s nothing.” It’s no one.
Get Out of My Dreams
My mood brightens during lunch. We’re at Libertad. The vibrant Cajun music, the cigar smoke, and the genial atmosphere has cured me, for a little while.
“You ever smoked a cigar?” I ask him, when we’re leaving.
He turns onto the road, shaking his head. “Yeah, it wasn’t for me. You?” he inquires.
“No, and I don’t like cigarettes, either.”
“How did you tolerate Frankie, then? He’s like a walking ashtray.”
I shake my head. “Who knows?” I wave my hand. “Let’s not talk about him.” I take Alejandro’s free hand, stroking my thumb against his skin.
I don’t know what I’m doing. All I know is I want to forget—Frankie, Him, everything.
Swept Away Page 2