Authors: Rosie Perez
The apartment was huge, decorated in gold and brown tones,
and the plush, tacky, faux traditional Americana gold-and-maroon-colored sofa was covered in plastic. Birthday decorations covered every inch of the living room. I took in all of the presents that were stacked up on the mahogany living room coffee table; it seemed unreal. We would only get one present, possibly two, at the Home. I looked down into the small dining room. The table was cluttered with half-eaten plates and half-empty large platters of Puerto Rican delights. I started to put two and two together.
Here was my father, with a family all his own, who had a house in Puerto Rico and an apartment in Brooklyn, his son had all these gifts and shit, and he kept Carmen, another love child, and me stuck in a “home” with sadistic nuns. The iciness that I had felt for him before began to come back. I took a deep breath and tried to talk myself out of the dark mood that was creeping up inside of me.
A short, well-dressed, well-groomed, red-haired, fairly attractive woman walked in with a plate of hamburgers and French fries.
“
Jello
, Rosie. I’m Halo,
jor
father’s wife. And I so
’appy
to meet
jew
. I made
jew de ’amburgas
and
de Fren-fry
.” I looked at the plate of American food. I was so insulted. Why did she assume that I would want a damn hamburger and fries? Because I was in a damn home run by American nuns and priests who tried as hard as possible to wash away every ounce of ethnicity in me?
“No thank you, I’m not hungry,” I said as I rolled my eyes.
Halo looked like I had punctured a pin in her happy balloon. My father came in smiling from ear to ear and kissed me on the cheek.
“Hello, baby! I’m so happy you are here. You look beautiful! Welcome. This is your home. And this is my wife, Halo. And this is your sister, Carmen, and your brother, Tito—Hey! Tito! Carmen!
Vien’ aqui
!”
Tito was bucktoothed, sandy blond, and cute as hell. I couldn’t
stop staring—he looked so much like me! No one on my mother’s side looked like me. He smiled at me and then ran off. Carmen, who used to be Tina, was bubbling over with excitement.
“Hello! I’m your sister Carmen! You used to be my cousin, but now you’re my sister! Papi says you don’t know Spanish, so we’re not supposed to speak to you in Spanish. But I know Spanish!”
Uh, thanks for the clueless insult—annoying idiot. I rolled my eyes. Carmen looked up at our father.
“She doesn’t like me, Papi.” Carmen pouted as she stomped her foot.
“Sure she likes you! You’re her sister! Why don’t you take her outside to meet her cousins and all of your friends?”
“Okay! Come on, Rosie!”
“No thank you.”
Carmen ran to the back of the apartment, crying her bratty head off. Halo ran after her. I leaned in closer to Tia. I wanted to kick myself in the ass for being such an ass, but I couldn’t help it. Dad looked up at his sister with a reassuring smile. Man, this guy is so damn positive, it makes me sick. “Don’t worry, Minguita, everything’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow? Tia’s leaving me here? Oh, hell no! I looked up at her. “I’ll stay for one minute to eat, then I go,” she said. Tia stacked my plate with rice and beans and the crispy skin of the roasted pork. I ate, not uttering a single word. Tia seemed to be a little embarrassed by my behavior, but smiled it off.
It was time for bed. My father pointed me to a full-sized bed, and Carmen got into the twin pushed against the wall. Dad came over, smiled, and patted me on the head. He went over to Carmen, tucked her in, and kissed her good night, then left. My heart sank. I wanted a kiss too. I pulled the covers over my head to hide my thumb-sucking. The sheets smelled musty and old, even though they were clearly clean. It grossed me out. I poked my head out to suck in some fresh air.
“Rosie. You awake?”
I didn’t answer her. I wished she would just shut up and let me sleep.
“I always told my father that I always wanted a sister, and now I have one.”
Your father? He’s my father too, you spoiled brat.
“I can’t wait until you come to Puerto Rico. They speak Spanish there.”
Okay. I’m two seconds away from punching this girl in the face.
“Rosie? Rosie. You know that was my
abuela
’s bed you’re in.
Abuela
means ‘grandmother’ in Spanish.”
“I know what
abuela
means! I’m not an idiot!”
There was a silent pause after that. I hoped she’d shut up now.
“Rosie?”
“Jeez Louise! What?”
“I just wanted to tell you that my
abuela
died last week in that bed. She was dead there for a day before they took her to the cemetery. She had a big forehead like you too.”
Oh my goodness! I was so freaked out that I didn’t even have time to absorb the forehead insult!
“Why the hell did you tell me that for? Now I won’t be able to sleep!”
“I’m sorry. I was just telling you that she died there and—”
“For the love of Pete! Would you please shut up and leave me alone! My goodness, you’re so irritating!”
I knew I was a jerk, but come on, people! And she went for the forehead!!
The next morning I woke up to Carmen’s voice crying out from the kitchen, ratting me out to Halo and my father. Now I really couldn’t stand her. I slowly walked in. I felt embarrassed and awkward. Everyone went quiet. My father finally broke the silence. “Good morning, baby! Come sit next to me.” I sat next to him and didn’t utter a word.
Tia came by shortly afterwards, with my cousin Titi. I could hardly look anyone in the eye when I said good-bye. On the train ride back, I just kept thinking that I blew it and that I’d probably never see my father and his family again.
• • •
Later that summer, still at Tia’s, she told me that we were going on a plane to Puerto Rico, just the two of us, to see my father! Wow. Maybe I didn’t blow it after all! I burst out crying happy tears. She told me I had to swear not to tell anyone, especially the Home or my mother, that we were going. She would get in trouble, and I would never be able to go again.
Getting packed and ready to go was pure chaos. Tia was a mess. “Where’s my shoes?! Where’s
de
American Express?! Where’s my dress?! Where’s
dis
?! Where’s
dat
?!” We bolted out of the house and climbed into a gypsy cab. Tia was in a panic the entire ride to JFK (or was it La Guardia? I don’t remember which one we flew out of), screaming at the driver, “
Ay
, my goodness! We’re gonna miss
de
flight!”
The plane was packed with Puerto Ricans. I think I saw maybe four Americans (white Americans). Two were in first-class. Tia let me take the window seat. As we began to take off, Tia closed her eyes in prayer and crossed herself twice. “You have to pray for God to let us land safely without crashing and dying.”
“What? We’re gonna die?”
“
Ay
, please. Don’t be so dramatical, Rosie. Pray.” I bowed my head with her, crossed myself twice, and prayed my heart out.
When the plane landed, all of the Puerto Ricans, including Tia, began clapping in unison. I started to clap too. A white man sitting directly across from us was snide, rolling his eyes at our provincial gesture of gratitude for landing safely. His judgment felt just like the “outside” kids at “outside” school. Well, he wasn’t going to dis
Tia like that and get away with it, with his corny pink knitted pullover and white shorts. I leaned over Tia and gave him a nasty look.
“Excuse me, sir!”
Tia pushed me back.
“No, Rosie. Don’t be like that. It’s not right. Pay him no mind.”
Puerto Rico was so damn hot and humid. As soon as we got off the plane, my hair went
poof
. I looked like one big powder puff. We shared a broken-down cab with three adults and one other young girl, all Puerto Rican, and we were all squished up, sweating all over each other. The nonstop storytelling, jokes, and sing-alongs lasted the six hours it took us to get to my father’s town, Aguadilla. It was great fun that helped distract us from the scary-ass ride. It was before the freeways were built, and we had to cut up and through mountains and drive along the narrow streets along the sides of the cliffs in the dark of night. It was terrifying as hell, especially since the driver drove like a maniac.
The cabby left us off at the end of a driveway to a peach-colored single-story house. I heard this strange sound, like a million crickets singing out into the night air. “Those are crickets, Tia?”
“No, those are Coquís. They’re little frogs that sing in the night. ‘Co-key, co-key,’ you hear them saying that?”
My father came out in his boxer shorts, a white V-neck T-shirt, and house slippers. “Hello, baby!”
My heart was jumping so fast inside. How should I greet him now that it’d been made official, with that whole scenario back at the Home, that he was my father, and especially after how badly I had acted at his house? “Bendición,” I mumbled.
He grabbed me and gave me the biggest smothering, annoying hug ever. Okay, I loved it, but I didn’t express it. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.
Inside, everyone else was asleep. Dad made us coffee. (I know, weird to make us coffee at such a late hour, but that’s how they roll down in P.R.) I don’t remember much of how the single-level house
looked, except that it was small and there was a patio and a mango tree in the front. Dad brought my suitcase into Carmen’s room and told me that I was to stay there with Tia. Carmen was bunking up with Tito in his room. They each have their own room? Wow. They’re so lucky. Carmen’s room was filled with Barbie dolls, like about fifty of them! I’m not kidding. And she had a queen-sized bed. Wow! She had so much stuff in there. I felt jealous, but I told myself to knock it off.
“What’s wrong, Rosie?” asked Tia.
“Nothing … Look at all these Barbies. It’s ridiculous,” I said as a lump reached my throat.
“Don’t be like that, Rosie. I know it’s hard, but you should never be mad at someone for having things. They are just things. It means nothing.”
I got in bed first. Tia was still in the bathroom. My father poked his head in, saying, “Good night, baby. I’ll see you in the morning.” “Good night, Daddy.” Whoa. That just slipped out. Simple. Natural. I looked over to him, standing at the door. “That makes me so happy to hear you call me Daddy, my baby.” I quickly rolled over on my side, giving him my back, and stuck my thumb in my mouth.
• • •
In the morning, I woke up to the sounds of La Playa Sextet playing on a hi-fi stereo record player. It was one of my father’s many favorite bands. My father, still in his boxers and T-shirt, was sitting at the head of the dining table eating a large slice of Italian bread and butter that he constantly dipped in his
café con leche
.
“Morning, baby. I saw this group in 1962. Oh, they were fantastic. Let me show you the album cover. You hungry? Halo, bring some breakfast for Rosie, please.”
As he went to get the album cover, Halo brought me a plate of fried eggs and French fries. No pancakes. I looked up at her and
smiled and felt very appreciative. She hugged me. The eggs were made perfectly: crispy, bubbly edges, with the yolk just slightly cooked underneath. I only ate the egg whites and fries. I always hated the yolk.
“Come over here, baby. Here’s the album cover. I saw this group in 1962. [Yes, he repeated himself—he did that constantly.] Wow. Man, could they jam! You like jazz? I love jazz. All the greats, I love them.”
He looked at me, waiting for a response. There was nothing. He put on Nat King Cole’s “Nature Boy.” My eyes widened as I recognized it immediately. I love him!
“That was recorded in 1948. I love Nat King Cole—very classy guy. You know a Jewish man wrote that song? Oh yes.”
Next was Benny Goodman.
“The King of Swing! He’s Jewish too. First man to let blacks play in a white band. He could play almost like a black man too, and his drummer, Gene Krupa—great drummer. Yeah. I love Benny. But Tony Bennett’s my favorite. You like him?”
I nodded yes. Actually, I loved him. And loved Benny too. I recognized him from the old movies. “Jimmy Stewart played him in this movie,” I peeped. Dad beamed!
Tia, my father, and I headed into town. As we walked down to the end of the road to catch the
gua-gua
, my father took my hand. I didn’t pull it away. My hand felt so little in his. Of course, my father knew everyone on the minibus, including the
gua-gua
driver. Dad held court, spewing his infamous corny-ass jokes.
I was in awe of Aguadilla, known as the
Jardin de la Atlantico
. It was a beautiful, tiny, quiet, sleepy, poor, beach bum, surfing town on the shores of the northwestern tip of Puerto Rico. The town was so tiny, with its one traffic light, that you could drive around it within five minutes. The town’s main square, named La Plaza de Rafael Hernandez—after Puerto Rico’s most famous composer—was surrounded by small pastel-colored shops that stood side by
side, with a chapel at the head of the square. Directly across the street was one of the beaches. It was beautiful! I ran to the water and stood at the edge of the shore, mesmerized. Tia tapped me on the shoulder.
“This town is where our people are from. Boricuas. You know Christopher Columbus, who discovered America, came here. Oh jes! He did!
Ay
, I hate sand. Let’s go.”
I looked around for Dad. He was standing just a few feet away, watching, waiting, desperately wanting to be a part of the bond that Tia and I had. I forced a smile his way. That was all he needed. He clapped his hands together, and with a little hop and a skip, he walked over to us. “How about I buy you a coconut soda? Would you like that?” Not the damn coconut soda again. “Yes, please.” Well, what else could I say to this guy?
We later went up to see my great-aunt, Amelia Serrano, who was my grandfather’s sister. Ismael’s father, my grandfather, passed away when my father was a young kid, and many have said that he never got over it and suffered even more when his mother passed when he was in his early twenties. So, my great-aunt Amelia, who also was a gifted piano player, therefore became the pillar of the Serrano clan. Everyone called Amelia, Tia Aya (pronounced
eye-ya
), and she was black as the night with starkly bluish-green eyes, skinny with a muscular wry build, and she held a command. She was so strong in her character, so strange-looking; I couldn’t stop staring. Her husband was extremely tall and dark-skinned, strong, silent, with a sweet demeanor. They had two sons and a daughter named Rosie! I felt like a part of the family, instantly.