Down to the Bone (10 page)

“Look what I found while digging.” I stick my hand in my pocket and bring out a smooth turquoise-colored stone. It’s got thin black streaks around it. I’m saving it for Pedri. I love to give natural things like rocks, leaves and hand-picked dried flowers. They mean something special, and you can save them forever.

He scrutinizes it as he rubs his fingers over its smooth surface. “The markings are so artistic, as if someone drew them. I love it. Thanks.”

Oops. He thinks I’m giving it to him. That’s okay. I’ll find another one for my little brother.

Tazer’s thick dark eyebrows and sparkling eyes are stunning. His skin is smooth as a mango peel. It’s too bad he dyes his hair with chemicals. Maybe I can get him to change his mind about growing back his natural color.

“You look striking in boots.” His smile radiates.

“And you look handsome in pants.”

He lets out a smooth, boyish laugh.

“Hey, where’s your dad?” Angel needed to show him the backyard design I drew with Marco’s help last week, when I didn’t realize we were at Tazer’s house. Marco points to the trees and plants from a book, and I draw them in. It’s a piece of guava.

My favorite part of my job, though, is to be allowed to sketch in some elements of surprise, unexpected moss paths, wild bushes or anything I’m moved to draw, really. My strength lies in being able to see an empty lot and know how to make it beautiful simply by following my gut feelings. I need to keep proving to Marco I no longer need photos of trees to know how to design.

When I was little, I was always engrossed in playing a computer game my father gave me for my birthday. As soon as he realized I was in love with painting jungles and forests, he got it for me. I’d place a kid (myself) in a forest. I sketched myself surrounded by toucans, wild animals and all sorts of colorful plants from my imagination. I befriended the tigers and rode the elephants. In the end, it became one big animated story I shared with my family. My mom said it was the only thing that kept me still for hours when my father was away in New Jersey, working.

“My dad, well . . .” Tazer stares at his long fingers, “I practically live alone with our maid, Sulima. My father’s a workaholic. He’s only here when he’s got an appointment. He’s juggling two girlfriends and he’s always flying them places.”

I’m always surprised at how unpredictable people’s experiences can be compared to what they look like. I’d have never thought someone so joyous would have a dad who doesn’t care. You’d think folks with parents who neglect them would be in a corner, weeping all day long. I guess anyone could say the same thing about me, now that I belong to that special tribe of “orphans” with parents.

I’m glad he feels comfortable telling me intimate things. I guess he can see I’m a trustworthy person.

“Now that my father’s rich, on weekends he flies them all over the place—one at a time, that is—especially to the Caribbean. If he didn’t send me pics of him on my cell, I might not know what he looks like. Luckily, he texts and calls me once or twice a day.”

His words remain floating in midair. He tries to smile, but I can see right through him. I
to
tally get it. I wish my mom would start sending me pictures of her and Pedri.

I can’t relate to a noncaring dad, even if I barely ever saw him. He was the greatest father who’s ever lived. I yearned daily for the moment to see him arrive from New Jersey and carry me in his arms. My father read me comics when I was sick and took good care of me when my mother wasn’t around. He loved me more than life itself. But now he’s gone, and all I have are pictures and memories.

Tazer’s father should wake up and realize that in one second, everything can end, and he’s wasting his time by not embracing his only son. I ask him a lot of questions because I’d like to get to know him better.

I learn that in middle grade, he was a star soccer player at his school’s co-ed soccer team and won many trophies. His greatest dream was to one day be on the U.S. Men’s National Soccer Team.

“In high school, they only had co-ed and exclusively girls or boys’ teams. I was only allowed to play on the girls’ team, which I refused.” He made a fuss and became an activist, fighting for kids like him to be allowed on the boys’ team to no avail. “I almost moved to New York to join the New York Boys’ Soccer Team, where a genderqueer friend played,” he said. At school, he became a bit of a rebel and made many friends. To this day, he says he’s friends with his elementary school “buds.” Back then he couldn’t face moving away to New York and leaving them behind.

Tazer is so charming. I could see him being extremely popular.

We move farther away from the crew and stand under another Gumbo Limbo tree full of oval-shaped dark green leaves.

“Too bad you didn’t get to play on the boys’ team, but I’m glad you stayed or I’d have never met you.” I feel my ears turning red and look away from him. I’m saying what I feel and hope that Marlena won’t be upset. I can’t help but want to tell him something nice since he opened up to me. I can always let Marco know I was speaking business with Tazer. I bite my thumbnail. “Do you ever miss not having a mom?” I lean my back against the cool-feeling copper-red bark, stuff the
croquetica
in my mouth, and wash it down with a sip of delicious pineapple juice.

“Not really. I don’t miss what I don’t know and have never had. But I still long for my family in Cuba.” His smile reassures me. “What’s terrific is that I have no one on my back telling me what to do. I’ve got a lot of different types of friends, and I’m always out and about. Like tonight. I’m staying over at Teal’s apartment. She’s twenty-four, her body is filled with tattoos, and she’s filmed a documentary on Cuban lesbian exiles. Teal’s having a viewing party for select friends. They’re all older than me. Some are even my dad’s age.”

I lift my eyebrows in disbelief.

“We’re critiquing the film for her to help her make it better. When they leave, she and I will be up all night editing the piece. I’m sure my father would disapprove. But hey, if he started getting into my business now I’d just move away. I love him tons, but it’s too late to have him meddle in my life.”

He changes the topic. “How’s it going with your boyfriend?”

The more we talk, the more I like him. He’s smart, rugged, yet tender all at once. He’s got a softness about him and a strong sensual voice that matches his tall, slender and lean muscular body. He’s generous and sensitive in a sweet boyish way. I can tell he’s a fun, deep, smart and good person with a great heart. Something strong within me wants to be his friend. I wonder how I can work it out so all parties involved are happy and tongues won’t start wagging.

I cover the glare of the sun leaking through the branches with the palm of my hand. “Great,” I say. “I love him to death.” I’m talking about Marlena, of course!

“Grand. I didn’t tell you when we met at the beach, but I’d just been dumped after a silly argument about food. I refused to eat pizza. She wouldn’t bend. Dori climbed into her car and screeched away. That night, I went to her place and there she was with a husky baseball player guy.” He scrapes pieces of peeling bark from the tree with the stone I “gave” him. “The guy came to the front door and shook my hand when she introduced me as her ex.”

“Woah. That must have burned.”

“It stung. Especially when she started telling him personal things like, ‘Tazer’s a girl underneath it all.’”

I wish I could tell him he looks like a hot sexy guy, and he’ll soon find someone worthy of him, but I don’t dare. He might think I’m making a move on him.

Tazer puts a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s forget about me and my woes. Are things okay with your mom?”

I’m caught off guard. “Well . . . uhh . . . well . . . let me put it to you this way . . .” I jump in and tell him about a “dyke’s” texts to me, without mentioning her name. I explain the way I was treated afterward and how my mother threw me out of the house. It just pours out of me. But I lie. “The lesbian wrote in explicit detail what she’d do to me under the covers if I dated her, but I’m not into that.” I go on and on.

His eyes widen. “Hell. The teacher read it to the class?”

“Yeah. It was horrifying.” I look away from him then smack into his eyes. I don’t want him to know about Marlena and me. I’m almost sure this information will be safe with him, but I doubt Marlena will allow it. I don’t blame her. I mean, Marco knows the guy and his dad now.

“I wish you’d told me at the beach your mom had just kicked you out.” He looks at me with a sparkly puppy-dog face, the type Neruda puts on when I pet her belly.

I look down at my working boots. “It wasn’t the right time. I was dealing with too much.”

“I get it.” He bites the skin off his thumb. “We have a lot in common. We can do what we like with our lives without parents hounding us. We’re free to be ourselves without needing to follow rules. That can only be a great thing.”

“I don’t know, Tazer. I’d rather have my mom and brother back.”

“Freedom comes with a price. I guess you can get lonely without a family who cares,” he admits. “On the other hand, you’ll make decisions on your own. You’ll mature quickly and have a thrilling life while you’re at it. Oh, and the best part is that we never need to come home if we don’t want to.” His smile makes his eyes glow.

“I still have a curfew. I’m living with my best friend and her mom. She’s easy but there are rules.”

“If things get too strict over there, you can move here. I’m serious. My dad will never, ever know. This is pretty much my own place.”

“Thanks.”

There’s a certainty in Tazer’s voice, a tone bordering on “everything in life is grand and will work out just fine” that’s energizing. I relish his self-assuredness and love his enthusiasm.

His smile broadens. “Now that we’re getting to be friends, I’m stoked you’re being honest and sharing with me.”

Yeah, I’m more honest than a pathological liar.

This sucks. What the hell am I doing? Here I am with a fantastic person I could talk to truthfully about my life and what do I do? Tell him lies to keep protecting my girlfriend and me. I probably shouldn’t have said anything at all.

A soft breeze comes our way. He pushes his long bangs away from his face. We stand, just feeling the gust on our faces.

“Breezes like these could make anyone a believer,” he says.

It’s true. On such a hot, muggy day this wind makes me feel like we’re floating on an ocean wave.

I sip the sweet drink and it goes down soft as rainfall. “A believer in what? In a god?” I don’t know exactly what he means.

He crosses his beautiful arms over his flat chest and leans his broad shoulders on the tree. “I’m certain I’m one with everything and everyone that exists and existed, and together, we make God.” I know many people who believe the same thing, but that’s not me.

We talk about our philosophies. I let him know that in fourth grade, I stopped believing in a god up there with a little wand after my buddy Ray died of a complication from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Multiple Chemical Sensitivities. I prayed so hard that year. I even went to church on Sundays. The day Ray passed, I started thinking about poverty, war, illnesses, rapists, pedophiles and how unjust the world was. That’s when I began critically reflecting on everything I’d been taught that suddenly made no sense. My parents and teachers didn’t know how to answer my questions. My dad kept saying, “God is a mystery and we don’t know why he chose to take Ray.” Our teachers said idiotic things like, “It was God’s will Ray died,” or “Everything happens for a reason,” a cliché I’ve learned to hate.

“If there’s a little girl right now being stabbed in the heart by a kidnapper, suffering as she bleeds to death
for a reason
, and a teen somewhere having the time of his life traveling the world after inheriting a billion dollars, then this is a truly insane world.”

“I agree,” he states.

“That’s why I can’t be part of things that are evil. No way could I be one with Hitler, murderers and criminals.”

“So what do
you
believe in?”

“In myself and in something I call Sacred Nature. Feeling one with nature soothes me. She feeds all of us. That’s why I must take care of her and keep her sacred. When I’m in nature, I feel connected, like I belong. It’s as if I know where I come from, and where I’m going.”

“Nice.” He cracks a big juicy smile.

I talk to him about how jails are filled with murderers and serial killers with faith in god. “If I were to create my own religion, it would be called True Environmentalism, you know, the type where people actually practice what they preach. There are plenty of my ex-school friends’ parents who called themselves Green yet spray their lawns and dogs with pesticides, wash clothes with chemicals instead of nontoxics, and use chemicals for everything.”

“I get you.”

“I also believe in love from my little brother, my best friend, her mom and Neruda. They’d never hurt me, or anyone else.”

I don’t think I’ll ever trust anyone again except for the four I mentioned. I no longer believe in people. They can turn on you from one second to the next. And nature . . . well, it’s always had its natural catastrophes before people polluted the earth, but now it’s letting us know it’s suffering greatly by expressing its pain with more severe hurricanes, earthquakes, tsunamis and tornadoes. It’s trying to save itself from the extreme pollution folks keep making that has everyone getting sick. I see it like this: if you’re allergic to smoke and someone locks you in a room full of cigarette, cigar and pipe smoke, you’d whirl around the room like an insane maniac, too, trying to find a window to leap out of.

I change the subject. “You don’t use pesticides here, right?”

“Nope. I’d never do that.”

I open up to him a little. “My dad died of kidney disease caused by pesticide poisoning a year after my little brother Pedri was born. He was a horse trainer, and he used to spray the horse corrals with that junk to keep bugs away. The doctor said pesticides seeped into his bloodstream and fried his kidneys.” In Cuba, my dad was an engineer and a pilot, but since he didn’t know a word of English, he ended up working at his hobby (he adored horses).