Cubanita (7 page)

“So what's going on with you guys?” Susy asks me at lunch two days later.

She avoids my eyes, examining her sandwich instead.

“What do you mean?” The make-out session with Coach, duh.

“What do you mean
what do I mean
? You and Andrew. Are you guys going out? Or was that a one-shot deal you were starting the other day?”

One-shot deal? No, that's you, sister. “Why are you asking like that? What are you, mad? Look, I can't help it if he likes me.” Okay, I just flipped my palm up, like my mother does.

It's quiet as she thinks about this. “Yes, but you never said you were interested in him.”

“I know I didn't, because I wasn't. But then I got to know him, and now I like him.” My volume gets a bit loud, and a
couple people look over from the other table.

“Shh.” Susy leans in, glancing up at my face. “Look, just take it easy with him. He's a lot older than you are.”

“And?” She's never cared this much about me before, but now she gets all sisterly? “He's twenty-three, not fifty.”

“Doesn't matter. His agenda is different than yours.”

“And how do you know what his agenda is?” I ask, looking her straight in the eye. “Or mine for that matter? What if my agenda includes seeing Andrew as much as I please?”

She leans back again, getting comfortable in her chair. “Oh, that's right. You did say, ‘No, I'm not going to meet anyone this summer, I want a clean slate, I'm leaving for Michigan,' blah, blah, blah.”

“So? I didn't expect to meet someone new. It just happened.”

“Well, I'm just looking out for you. I remember Iggy saying his roommate was always drunk. He was probably talking about Andrew,” she says, letting it sink in for a moment before taking a sip of her Coke.

Nice! So now she's trying to make him an alcoholic so I won't go out with him? She's that desperate? Or does she think there's no one to look out for me, since my sister's not around and everything?

“Thanks, but I don't need another mom. I already have the mother of all mothers, plus Carmen.” This is really starting to piss me off. It's not like she wrote her name on his forehead with a Sharpie or anything.

“Suit yourself.” She stands and scoops up her brown bag,
plastic bag, and soda can. She dumps them into the garbage, then leaves the teachers' lounge.

Like I need this from her. I thought Susy was beyond jealousy, with that careless attitude of hers, but I guess not. Interesting, the defense mechanisms people will put up sometimes. I honestly didn't think she liked him that badly. Well, sorry, girlfriend, that's life. Deal with it.

 

I have five minutes before picking up the kids from the cafeteria, so I go by the main house. Between Susy's intrusion and Andrew's tongue the other day, I forgot to check out the art contest she mentioned. Better take a look. I'll need all the extra bucks I can get before leaving for college.

On the bulletin board I spot the bright blue paper. Well, what do you know? The contest is for Cuba Expo, and the deadline is July 29. Today's the 8th. Wouldn't that be something? Actually going to the stupid thing this year for a contest, not at my mom's insistence? The first prize is only $100, though, which sucks. And guess what? My painting isn't about anything Cuban. So there goes that.

 

On my way home it starts again. The stupid rain. One day, fine, two days, okay. Now it's rained, like, four days in a row, and I can't see a damned thing in front of me. Then you have the people driving out from the city, who don't remember to turn on their lights when going down Tamiami Trail. And then they wonder why oncoming cars don't see them when they pass. My windshield wipers are
already swishing on high.

What do I do about Susy? Nothing, I guess. She'll have to get over it. What about Andrew? I really like him, but I hope I'm not falling for him.
That
would only make things worse. What have I gotten into? It's like I've fallen into a trap, but the trap is a wonderful green land with lots of bubbling brooks, mango trees, and sunflowers. Okay, scratch the sunflowers. They make me sneeze.

I get to 147th Avenue with no problems. Except, the driver of an eighteen-wheeler next to me is either blind or extremely high, because suddenly he moves right into my lane, practically scraping my sideview mirror.

“God damn!” I swerve off the road to avoid getting crushed. My truck drops off the soft shoulder and into a shallow ditch, just barely missing one of those concrete barricades. The stupid truck continues on like nothing happened!

“
¡Me cago en tu madre! ¡Hijo de puta!”

Fabulous, this is just the best day ever. This is exactly why I always pester Mom for my own cell phone—in case of emergencies. But no, she said, I would only use it to talk to friends at inappropriate times, like school, or work, or God forbid, in an actual emergency! Now I'll have to wait here for the rain to stop so I can walk to Publix on 137th Avenue to use the phone.

“This sucks!” I don't think there's any damage, but still, my hands are shaking and my stomach hurts. Now Mami will find out what happened and get on my case even more. As it is, she's about to beg me to stay at the end of the summer, I
just know it. And there's no way I'm staying in Miami.

You know the best part about this city? The way the traffic whooshes by, ignoring the truck sitting here in the rain, in a ditch, with its hazards on.
Oh, would you look at that, a driver in need of assistance. I sure hope someone comes to help her soon. Bye-bye!
And there they go. Thanks a lot, people!

Oh wait, someone's here. I see the lights bounce up behind me, and the car makes its way over the bumpy ground. In the rearview mirror I see it's a white 4Runner. Ha, Andrew. Now why does that not surprise me?

A bright orange–sheathed body gets out of the car and jogs over to my passenger side. I click the door open.

He gets in, pulling back the hood of his Hurricanes poncho, water droplets sliding and soaking into the seats. “Need help, ma'am?”

Great rescue! Way better than AAA.

“Hey!” Yes, I know…clever reply.

“Good thing there's only one road out of camp.”

“Yeah, and another good thing that you left after I did, or you wouldn't have seen me. Can you believe what happened?” I recount the story of the rain, the eighteen-wheeler, and how happy I am to have plummeted into a shallow area and not off any one of Miami's dozens of bridges.

“Wow, what an idiot. He was probably drunk off his ass.”

“No kidding. How the hell am I going to get out of here?”

“You'll need a tow truck,” he says, looking back at his car. “I have my phone. Be right back.”

He runs out to retrieve his cell. I feel so stupid, a damsel in distress. As I'm waiting for him to come back, I see another party has arrived. Florida Highway Patrol, blue lights circling silently. Great. Girl gets run off the road, sits in a ditch like a dork, while men save her helpless butt.

She gets out. A woman officer. Why did I assume it would be a guy? She knocks on Andrew's window, he lowers it, and I see them talking. He points, he smiles. She looks around, she smiles. A moment later Andrew is running back this way.

He rushes in and slams the door. “Okay, I called a tow truck. She's gonna wait with us until they get here. See? You'll be okay, missy.”

“I can't believe this crap. Thanks, Coach.”

“No problem,
señorita
.” He wipes rain off his face and leans in to give me a kiss. His skin smells like grass, sun, and rain all mixed together. Intoxicating. I hope the tow truck takes its time. I could stay here all day with Andrew.

 

By 6:30, the sky has cleared, like the rain never happened, and my father's car sits in the driveway. Mami isn't back yet from wherever, which is really weird. Good. I'd hate for her to worry about me any more than she already does, especially with Andrew following me home. Dad opens the door before I can even use my keys.

“
¿Ey? ¿Y qué?
”

“Hey, Dad. Did you get my message?”

“I haven't checked.
¿Por qué?
”

“Because I kinda had an accident, but I'm fine.” I kiss his
cheek and drop my stuff on the sofa. Andrew follows me in and shakes Dad's hand.

My dad barely notices the exchange, worry all over his face. “An accident?
¿Hija, qué pasó?
”

“Nothing, an eighteen-wheeler drove me off the road, and I couldn't get out of a ditch. Andrew found me. A tow truck pulled me out. Just a scratch on the Chevy.”

Dad listens, glancing at Andrew appreciatively.

I sit on the sofa. “Where's Mom?”

“Eh, she had a checkup in the afternoon.
Probablemente está sentada en tráfico. Ese Kendall está de madre.
” He looks at Andrew again, this time to clarify in English. “She's probably sitting in—”

“Kendall traffic,” Andrew interrupts. “I got it.”

Dad smiles. “Oh, that's good. Very good.” He kneads the back of my neck, a pat on the back for reeling in a good one. My dad has always appreciated my judgment of anything, even guys. So
not
typical of Cuban dads. One reason why I love him.

Andrew looks around. “Mind if I use your bathroom?”

I point toward the bedrooms. “Right around the corner, next to the giant picture of me in the cream puff dress.”

He walks off, and a moment later I hear him laughing down the hall.

My dad sinks onto the couch next to me, placing a hand on my knee. “
Isa, no le digas nada a tu mamá de lo que pasó.”

Don't tell my mom anything? “
¿Por qué?
”

“
Porque sí.
She worries enough about everything without
knowing that you're out there falling off roads. She's
estressed
for anything.” I love the way my dad says stressed. Otherwise, his English is pretty darn near perfect.

“So I sent her to see Dr. Hernández,” he adds.

Any little thing wrong with anyone, and my dad suggests a visit to Dr. Hernández, family friend and physician. “Why, do you think he'll be able to figure her out? It's more here”—I point to my head—“than anything. That'll take more than a tongue depressor down her throat,
tú no crees
?”

“
Chica, deja a tu pobre madre ya
.”

“Fine, I'll get off her case for a while. I'm only on it because she doesn't leave me alone. She treats me like a baby, Dad. Sometimes I wish Carmen were here to share in Mami's insanity.”

“Oh, and Robi called you,” he adds.

I roll my eyes. Robi again? Why can't he let me be? If I call him back, it'll do more harm than good.

Andrew reappears, rubbing his hands together. He touches my arm lightly. “All right, I guess I'll be going now.”

“'K.”

“
Hasta luego, mi hijo
,” Dad says.

“
Adiós, señor
.” Andrew nods. Most Cubans don't really say
adiós
, but “see you later.” Still, at least he tries.

We walk to the front door. “Thanks for rescuing me.”
Prince Andrew.

“Hey, no problem. Call me later?”

“Okay.”

Another kiss. A quick good-bye on the lips.
Call me later
?
Man, Andrew and I have been talking every day this week. Do I mind? Hell no. He makes me swoon, remember? That alone means something. There has to be something wrong with him. Nobody's that perfect.

I watch as he pulls out of my driveway, wet tires squeaking against the sidewalk. Then, in the rosy light of the waning sun, he takes off on his white horse. 4Runner, I mean.

Friday night, we ate in the Grove. It felt different to be on a date with someone who ordered two pints of Sam Adams. I wouldn't necessarily call Andrew a drunk, though. I can't believe Susy actually tried that one on me. Anyway. After tipping the belly dancer and splitting a skyscraping dessert, we strolled Cocowalk. He bought me the cutest bracelet with brown stones and beads.

When we got back to my house, nobody was home, so we kissed in his car for, like, half an hour. I had to force myself to say good night or I honestly don't know what would've happened. Believe me, it wasn't easy.

Last night, I didn't see him. He went fishing with Iggy's family again. He said he'd bring us dolphinfish today if they caught any, but it's already 2:00. Last Monday he called late. Therefore, I seriously doubt we'll see any fresh fish today.

Before accompanying Mami to Sedano's, I check my e-mail and find two new messages, one from Robi (how've you been please call me,
aargh!
) and one from Carmen. I spin the bracelet Andrew gave me over my wrist as I read the one from my sister:

 

From: C. Díaz-Sanders

To: Isabelita

Subject: Patience pays

 

Hi, baby girl. Dad says you've been losing it with Mami. Take it easy, sweetie. You know how she is…her bark is worse than her bite. Hang in there for another four weeks, and try to make your summer with her as pleasant as possible. You may feel exasperated now, but you'll miss her later, believe me. How are things with Andrew, is it? Be careful, sis. Send Stefan a kiss for me, okay?

 

Love you,

Carmen

 

Dad said that? Why? Since when does he need help from my sister in talking to me? Mom's the one who looks for confrontation, not the other way around. I can be patient with the endless talk of Fidel the Devil, but when she starts inviting Robi over at her own discretion? That's a different story.

“Isabelita!” Mami barks from the foyer.

“
¡Ya voy!
” I pull off the bracelet and tuck it into my night table drawer. What's the point in her seeing it? It would only
launch a discussion that's better left alone.

“
Vámonos
,” she says when I emerge from my room and find her with reddish eyes, purse slung over her shoulder, ready to go food shopping.

What is
that
all about? “
¿Mami, qué pasa?
” I look intently at her eyes.

“
Nada, hija, los lentes de mierda estos me tienen cansada. Es hora de cambiarlos
.”

Yeah, time to change the disposable contacts, my butt. I'll ask Dad later if he knows what's eating Mom. I swear, if this is all a plot to make me feel guilty and get me to stay home for college, I'll…I…I don't know what I'd do, honestly.

I sigh heavily so she'll know I'm not buying into her little act. Outside, we get into her car, and she notices something on the Chevy I'd hoped she wouldn't.

“
¿Y ese arañazo?
”

“What scratch?” I lean over her to see the thin wavy lines on the front right bumper of my truck. Great. Distract her. “I don't know! How'd that get there? I'll show Dad when we get back. Hurry, it's gonna rain.”

 

Sedano's supermarket is always a circus. Ringmaster…clowns…everything. First, there's a DJ for 95.7
F.M
.,
El Sol
out front, drawing people to an already overpacked store with his superspeedy
merengue
music. Then, as the automatic doors slide open, the old
cubanazos
sip
café cubano
at a counter to my right, served by a woman with hair orange enough to make Lucille Ball roll in her grave. To my left,
there's a line of men, practically drooling at my mom and me. No particular reason…we're female. And my absolute favorite—the ladies wearing workout shorts,
chancletas
, and giant rollers in their hair. What, if not for going out in public, are they doing their hair for? I mean, really. Did I mention all these people will buy lotto tickets before they leave the store?

Anyway, Mami decides to make
paella
. That way, if Andrew drops off some fish, she can use it in the dish. If not, it's still got the chicken, chorizo, and shrimp. In the middle of the produce section, there's a bin with both American and Cuban flags.

“Why do people here fly the Cuban flag?” I ask, tugging the fabric on one. Woops. I should've known better. Oh well, I already opened up the can of worms, guess I have to let them out now. “Isn't Cuba communist? So doesn't that make them communist, too?”

“
Mi vida
, it's not that simple. The Cuban flag means many things to many people, but mostly, it represents the people.”

“But the people in Cuba are communist.” Duh. And these plantains are way too ripe.

Mami bags them anyway for the
maduros
. “
Sí, pero
the people who display the flag here don't see communism, Isa. They see a place they once loved and still love.”

“Yeah, but that place is now communist.” I mean, helloooo?

She sighs, checking the firmness of a few tomatoes. “Isa, you don't understand. It's about honoring a memory of old Cuba. It's a need,
hija
…the power of need.”

“You're right, Mami,” I say, as I bag some fresh parsley. “I don't understand how people here can fly the Cuban flag, not the American flag, when America is the country that took them in. They wouldn't have anything without America, and yet, they wave the Cuban flag, a communist flag.”

My mother sighs her oh-young-one-you-have-much-to-learn sigh. “
Primero
, the Cuban communist flag is red and black, okay?”

I love how she says okay. “Okay,” I reply in her accent.

“Second, the Cubans here
do
fly the American flag. Just look at every other house on the street. But as for the Cuban flag…” She pauses to walk over and rip a couple more plastic baggies. “Let me ask you, Isa…”

See what I started? Me and my big, fat mouth.

She proceeds to choose the ripest green peppers from the bunch. “If, God forbid, something happened in this country, where there was a takeover of the government—”

“That would never happen,” I interrupt.

“
Ah, sí?
How confident you are of that. I hope to God you're right,
mi hija
.”

Jeez, would you look at these lovely hurricane candles with the Virgin Mary and all the saints on them? Supermarkets all across America should carry them.

“Just imagine it. Government takeover…and you had to move to another country to keep your
derechos humanos
, your human rights—”

“I know what
derechos humanos
are.”

She stares at me.

Woops. “Sorry.”

“You don't really want to know about this, Isa,
así que olvídate
. Forget it.”

“No, sorry, Mom,” I say again, remembering my dad and sister's warnings to go easy on my mom. “Please continue.”

Her expression softens. “How would you feel seeing the American flag,
your
flag, after something like that happening? Would your feelings for it change? Or would you still love it? After all, it was not communist Americans who designed it, just as communist Cubans did not design
la de Cuba
.”

Easy. “It would probably still make me proud, but I wouldn't wave it around, knowing it now represents something different.”

She glances away, disappointed. We reach the deli counter, and she takes a number from the dispenser. She looks back at me, square in the eye. “I don't believe you,
hija
. You would wave it. And every time you saw it, you would think of America as you knew it, with its cities, and its
bitches
…”

“Beaches.”

“And the movie theaters, and
el barrio
where you grew up, and your friends,
y tu familia
, and the hamburgers you love, and the
Kee line
pie, and how you could say anything and nobody would put you in jail for it. No matter where you end up living, this will always be your home, even if another nation was so kind as to take you in.” She crosses her arms and turns to watch the numbers on the digital display.

I don't know. She's kind of right, but I still wouldn't fly the Cuban flag. It's communist! Then again, I've never known
Cuba any other way. But Mami has childhood memories there. Summers at the beach and all that. Maybe I do understand it a little, but still. “Whatever, Mami. I wasn't looking to argue with you.”

“But we're not arguing! This is good. You need to see what we see.”

“Who's
we
?”

“
Mi vida, los cubanos en el exilio
.”

“Mami, I'm not Cuban! I've never even seen Cuba with my own eyes!”

She faces me again and practically yells, but no one notices. Everyone here is practically yelling. It's the normal voice volume. “Isa! Yes, you are!
¡Tus padres son cubanos, tus abuelos son cubanos. Naciste aquí, pero nos tienes en tu sangre!
Open your eyes,
hija
! What are you so ashamed of?”

Next to me a lady is staring, waiting for my response. Her little girl clings to her leg as she sucks at a lollipop that stains her lips red.

I focus back on Mami's eyes. Rich, brown eyes, like looking into a mirror in the future. “Mami, I'm not ashamed of anything, okay? I love my family. I know we're not completely American, whatever that even means. I just wish sometimes you could be…a little less enthusiastic about Cuba. It makes me wonder if you wouldn't move there again once things are back to normal.”

She laughs softly, but it's not real. “Things will never go back to normal, Isa. And if they do, I won't be around to see it.”

The other lady smiles at me, at least it looks like a faint smile, and reaches up to the counter to receive her package. She walks off with her daughter skipping behind.

“
Sí, yo sé que
I'm enthusiastic,
pero
maybe if you loved your heritage as much as we do, I wouldn't have to try so hard.”

Oh. So that's why she does it? Because she thinks I'm not enthusiastic enough? Because she thinks I don't care? Well, hey, if that's all. Fine, a little enthusiasm, maestro.

I reach into yet another bin of Cuban flags, pull one out, and wave it high in circles and plaster a grin on my face. “
¡Viva Cuba libre!
” I announce to everyone within hearing range, and a few butchers from the meat department cheer.

Mami shields her eyes and shakes her head. “
Loca.
”