Perfect Places (video)
I live my life by the Moon...
Written in Brooklyn: Storytelling Series by
June 21, 2024
Arlo Hotel
San Juan
The power has been out for hours. Majestic trees dance in the night and make us forget it’s been a hot day in La Isla Bonita. The sky is full of more stars than I can count and the brightest Moon my 4 year old self has ever seen. The eight families in our block took to the sidewalk and played games, shared drinks, yelled at us kids. They’ve all gone to sleep, except the 3 of us. My brother is 5 and he’s shooting hops. My dad is 23; his wheelchair is parked in the middle of the court listening to evangelical quiet storm radio. I’m out of their sight. Sitting at the top of the slide. The cold metal provides relief to the mosquito bites on my legs. I don’t want papi to know I’m sad. I remember my dad’s mom cackling after telling me, “she’s gone and never coming back,” when I asked if my mom’s invited to my birthday. I’m scared to cry. I contemplate my hands and make believe binoculars. I look up and see the Moon right above me. I wish I could jump so high I’d make it up there. Make it to the Moon. A tear is released and as it meets the dimple on my left check, I see a star fall from the sky. I make a wish. To grow up. To make it to the other side of the Moon.
Allentown
It’s not too hot, it’s not too cold. I can’t sleep. I’m a 14 yo with insomnia. So I put on a light jacket and crawl the window to sit on the roof at my mom’s house in Pennsylvania. My legs dangle over 3 stories, overlooking the Lehigh Valley and its river. I can’t stop thinking about my dad. I miss my brother. I’ve been living with my mom for a year and I’m more miserable than before. She’s senseless, aggressive, threatening, while demanding affection from me. I flinch when she’s near me. My skin crawls at her touch. I’m scared of her. Reality hurts so I live in my head. Making friends at school has been nearly impossible. I’m falling behind. I shouldn’t have come here. I should’ve never given her a chance. I shouldn’t have been born. I start to cry. Well, sob. Actually, shaking and gasping for air. I move closer to the window and just lay there, on my moms roof. My chest begging for release. My vision is blurry from tears. I try to create music out of the cars rever-berating on the nothingness of these early morning hours. Trying to ground myself in reality and not the haunted memories playing in my head. Trying to catch my breath. And then I see the Moon. I try to stare but the light blinds me. I rub my eyes and simply succumb to her light. I feel warm like I’m being hugged. The terrors in my mind dissipate. I found my rhythm again. I give thanks to the Moonand wish to grow up. To make it to the other side of the Moon.
New York City
I loosen my tie and unbutton my shirt a little. My 24 year old shoulder’s exhausted from the laptop bag filled with unorganized papers and over highlighted social work books. I’m walking in a deserted bronx street, to my apartment. With swag and hurry, my head held high but my heart beating out of my chest. My hips, my feet synchronized to the music on my headphones. I make it to my 1 bedroom with uneven floors. There’s only a desk with an office chair someone left behind and the bed I pawned my jewelry to buy. As it’s been happening since I moved in, no matter how great my day is, I become overwhelmed with loneliness, abandonment, grief. I lay on my bed, pacing myself for the impending release, but the trapped humidity suffocates me. I walk over to the kitchen and open the curtain. Her light bounces off my skin. I look at my hands as they open the window so I can have no in between us, between me and the Moon. I remember the binoculars. I shake my head denying my brain the memory. I let out a deep sigh and began talking to the Moon. I tell her I feel empty. I confess that I’m struggling to quiet the voice in my head telling me I’ll never be more than the son of a man in a wheelchair and a woman who is a felon. I take a deep breath and feel my body being filled by the same light I’m looking at. I wish to grow up. To make it to the other side of the Moon.
Barcelona
I’ve spent 3 years and every resource at my disposal in therapy, acupuncture, storytelling classes, weed, anything that’ll help recover from this plot heavy existence. I’m so desperate I even sign up for Kanye West's Sunday Service- Which I know seems insane, but at the state I was in. Yeezus seemed totally sane. It’s been hard. I’m healed and then my dad lies to me. I’m healed and then the man I love tells me he doesn’t have capacity for me. I just want to get away from my family, away from the english language, away from my life. So I book a solo trip to Spain. No plans, just vibes. I only researched how to get from the airport to my hotel. My first morning in Barcelona, I wake up feeling energized, determined, magnetic, probably, because I slept through the night without nightmares. I have breakfast and sit near a group of old ladies. I write in my journal about their laugh, their banter, their exquisite makeup. I tell a slim, tattooed, argentinian barber to get rid of the curls I’ve been growing for 15 months;. He asked me why and I didn’t hesitate in my response:
I’m ready to let go.
After my siesta, I walk busy streets feeling the wind caress my buzzed cut. Green colombian leather provide much needed warmth to this 34 yo social worker. I make it to a plaZa where I am to meet a fellow homosexual from an app for a beer. I’m trying to make friends. He’s my age and has the same name, but in catalan, double l-uis. He is also a social worker. On his forearm, there’s a Simba tattoo. On my wrist, Simba is inked. I shake my head in disbelief. I traveled to the other side of the world trying to get away and I meet a different version of myself? This moment is destined. He walks me to a bar and we hug goodbye. Maricón is crowded, but it has space to maneuver the strut to get a drink. To my favorite britney song, overprotected. The maricones belting along. The handsome bartender hands me a margarita and compliments my smile. I dance with the girls. I sing with the gays. I feel so alive. It’s 3 am and I’m walking empty streets, unafraid, happy, free. I look up at the sky and cry happy tears. I grew up. I made it to the other side of the Moon.
i’m ready for the book. are you?
I’m putting mine up too!