THE FIRST DATE

Esperanza and Joey leave her great-grandmother on their way to ‘The Big Date’

We stop off first at Jack In The Box, for some tacos before the movie. It makes me feel proud to pay for it. I ask her about the pictures on the wall. She tells me the guy in the Navy uniform was her father, he left them when she was like four or five years old, and she doesn’t remember much about him. She had another sister, an older one, who died of bronchitis when she was nine years old, that her mother worked two jobs, cleaning toilets by day, and offices at night. Her great grandmother was 102 years old, and had outlived two husbands. And she was thirteen when she was, Miss Teen Puerto Rico, in San Juan, but nothing ever happened with it after that.  

I ask her why she doesn’t enter beauty pageants anymore, that she could definitely be Miss America. She smirks and says she doesn’t have time for that anymore, she’s got to make that money. And besides, only White girls ever get to be Miss America. By the time we finish eating, I feel more comfortable with her than I ever have before. I still don’t know what movie we’re going to see, though.

We get to the Liberty Theater, and there’s a double feature playing - Death Wish and Lipstick. Esperanza says she’s really looking forward to seeing Death Wish, and everybody’s been talking about it. Besides, she says she thinks Charles Bronson is so sexy. I go to get the tickets, while Esperanza stands off a little to the side.

“Can I see your ID?” asks the skeletal old black lady, at the ticket booth.

“Whadaya mean - ID?  Why do I need -”

“These movies are rated R, you got to be at least seventeen to get in here, unless you’re accompanied by a guardian.”

“Accompanied by a guardian?!  This is ridiculous. (I lower my voice) Of course I’m seventeen, I’m a senior at Roselle High.”

Well, I still got to see some ID.”

Panic starts to set in. I pull myself closer to her face, and lower my voice to a whisper.

“Please lady, gimme a break here; I’m on my first date with this girl - I -”

“I’m sorry, but it’s my job.”

“What’s the problem, honey?” Esperanza interrupts.

I - I forgot my ID,” I cut in, before the lady has a chance to say anything.

A slight scowl crosses Esperanza’s face. I immediately feel my johnson retract deep inside my tighty-whiteys.

We do get in, and I get the popcorn, trying to revive some vestige of my compromised manhood. But the embarrassment I just suffered there, feels like a mortal wound. As we sit at our seats during the coming attractions, I can’t even make myself look at her. She peeks at me with a sympathetic smile.  

“Don’t worry about it, papi.”

My johnson expands just a little bit, a tiny portion of relief spreading over me. About five or ten minutes into the movie, there’s this pretty brutal scene where these junkies break into Bronson’s NYC apartment, rape his daughter, and kill his wife. I look at Esperanza, who’s motionless - and emotionless - then mumbles something in Spanish under her breath.

Suddenly, a wave of intense fear, then nausea, breaks over me. Scenes of the rape I witnessed last year, of Butch Finnegan in the high school bathroom, race vengefully and unexpectedly through my psyche. Fuck! I can’t believe this! I’ve buried those thoughts way out of my consciousness for the past year, and now, suddenly, I’m replaying them?! Or rather, they’re being replayed for me. Against my will, with all the same stomach-numbing feelings and reactions accompanying them. I’m silently battling with myself to remain conscious; holding down what I’m sure is going to be a torrent of vomit.

I just want to reach out and put my arm around Esperanza, I want – need - somebody to hold me, but I can’t do it. Every time I just about build up the courage, the inclination to make the move, Bronson shoots another thug! Esperanza would be lurching forward, nearly spilling the popcorn to the floor, shouting:

“Yeah, get him! Get that motherfucker, papi!”

The second movie, Lipstick, is starring this supermodel, Margaux Hemingway, in her first featured role as - what else? A model that gets raped by her little sister’s music teacher. And then as the movie ends, she winds up blowing away the guy’s guts all over the parking lot with a shotgun! Just as he now attempts to rape the little sister.  

The lights go up and everybody in the theater cheers victoriously. After four hours of rape and revenge, though, I feel drained and emotionally spent.  Usually, violence doesn’t really affect me…why am I reacting this way?  What am I - a punk? A pussy?  A twinge of shame shadows over me as we walk silently to her car, and now driving quietly too. With only occasional peeks at each other, and quick (nervous on my part) smiles to break the spell. The gnawing sense that I have failed her in some way hounds me still, making me doubt that there has ever really been any chemistry at all. We cross over into Roselle, down First Avenue, heading to my house. Damn! I didn’t even get to kiss her tonight…and now I’m never going to see her again.

GRANNY

Joey has an interesting exchange with Esperanza’s ancient grandmother while he waits for her to get redy for ‘The Big Date!’

“Abuelita - Esperanza bends down to speak louder into her ear - tenemos un huesped.”

There is a stirring, as the old woman starts to slowly look up from the TV set.

“Te presento el Joey,” she says, pronouncing her syllables very carefully, as she points to me. The old woman cranes her neck to look up, and suddenly, her eyes lock on me, followed by a kind of tremor that shakes her body.

“Jorge…Jorge”

“No, no abuelita – Joey. No es Jorge - el se llama Joey.”

I peek over at Esperanza questioningly.

“She thinks you’re her son. She’s old, you know.” 

I nod sympathetically.

“Joey, tienes hambre?” She creaks.

“No abuelita, el no habla Español… es Italiano.”

“Italiano?”

“Si, no habla Español, solo Ingles.”

“She don’t speak no English, papi. She watches her grandmother for a minute.

  “Mira, listen, I’m going to change, and wash up and shit, OK?  You could sit here and watch TV, or something. I’ll be out in like fifteen minutes, OK?”

Her bedroom door shuts closed, and now it’s just granny and me, who continues to be fixated on me, like she’s in some kind of fog.

I smile nervously as I peer around the room, scanning for anything that I can rest my eyes upon. There’s pictures on the wall of Esperanza when she’s maybe 13 or 14 years old, with a couple of other girls in a beauty contest.  She’s wearing a banner that reads, Miss Teen Puerto Rico, holding a bouquet of flowers, and crying.

God, she was always beautiful.

There’s other photos, too, fading black and whites, probably from the 50s. A good-looking guy in a Navy uniform. Right below that, there’s a beautiful woman who bears an amazing resemblance to Esperanza, only from another era.

“Jorge, tienes hambre?” I’m awakened from my spell by granny, who’s now smiling at me. I have no idea of what the hell she just said, but I nod my head yes enthusiastically, anyway.

“Ven, ven.”

With a mighty effort, she slowly, carefully raises herself up from the chair, using the equally gnarled wooden cane, resting on it for support. Finally, she’s just about half erect, all four-foot-seven of her, and commences to plod deliberately to the similarly cramped kitchen. I’m torn between being terrified that she might fall apart, and observing her in a sort of detached way. Almost like she was kind of a science experiment. With a wave of her hand, she motions for me to follow, and sit down at the kitchen table.

“Sientase, sientase, Jorge.”

She hobbles over to this monstrous iron pot on the stove, and lifts the top. The mysterious aroma of Puerto Rican food hurries out. Scooping out some of it, and shakily placing it on a plate, she sets down before me a mound of yellow rice and, as far as I can tell, some sort of boiled chicken gizzards.

I just smile and silently pray to myself that Esperanza will be out soon to rescue me.

“Come, Come,” she urges me to eat, and then begins to tell me a story of some kind.

I, of course, am pretending to understand her Spanish, nodding my head the whole time, as she goes on and on. In between, I’m picking around the rice, attempting to avoid the alleged chicken gizzards, which are totally grossing me out now.  

Granny appears to be searching her memory. She’s spinning this story, suddenly alive, and becoming very animated…then cackling uproariously, as she bangs her cane on the floor.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ho-ho-ho!!” I’m laughing along, slapping my knee. We’re having a grand old time, granny and me.

Finally, Esperanza emerges from her bedroom, in the process of putting one of her earrings in.

“What’s going on out here?” She asks, alarm tinging her voice.

Just when I think that she couldn’t possibly look any better - that nobody ever could - she takes it up another level. She’s wearing this black turtleneck mini dress, maybe its wool, I think? Black sheer stockings, and black stiletto velvet boots. Daaamn!

“Oh…uh – nothing! Just - uh - laughing with your grandmother, here.”

She smiles.

“She’s my great grandmother, honey.  You ready to go?”

I get up and thank granny, delighted to at last be escaping the prospect of the deadly chicken gizzards.

Esperanza pulls on her jacket, then bends down to talk to her great grandmother. They converse in Spanish for a minute. Esperanza gives her a kiss on the cheek, helps her back to her armchair - and we’re off.

EL BARRIO

Continuing on with the best day of my life, Esperanza takes me to her house in El Barrio - and there I begin my education.

As I ponder this fascination with blinking lights, long forgotten memories of growing up in Brooklyn arise hazily from the corners of my mind. Blistering July and August days, so humid there would literally be steam rising up from the black tar streets, hanging out on the front stoop, gasping for a drop of wind, or air. Then sure enough, Victor Menendez and his little brother Gee-Gee, who lived in the apartment next door, would break out the wrenches to open up the ‘Johnny pump’ out front. Instantly, there would be all of us, a bunch of happy kids, jumping around gratefully in the torrent of gushing water. The force of it almost knocking us over until, inevitably, the Fire Department would arrive to shut it down. Amidst, of course, groans and shouts from the crowd. The old Italians would always complain about the “spics”, but, hey, they were the ones sweating.
The memories comfort me in a way, and I relax into them, the anxiety of being a stranger in an alien world, slowly dissipating. Turning off onto a deserted side street, we pull up into the driveway of a muted purple two-story house, which, although it could use a paint job, isn’t half-bad. In fact, this neighborhood seems almost suburban, I muse, as we get out of the car and head over to the front door. Esperanza takes out this clump of keys from her pocketbook, and proceeds to open up a number of locks. We enter a darkened hallway, the strong smell of Mr. Clean stinging my nostrils and watering up my eyes. We hop up the stairs until we reach another door, where this time, she unlocks, like, fifteen different locks. The door creaks open to a dimly lit room, and I immediately jump back. I’m startled by this, like, life-size Crucifix dominating the wall directly in front of me, and an equally life-like Jesus staring down from it. Blood pouring from his puncture wounds! Holy shit, that looks too real! For a minute, I feel like I’m Pontius Pilate on Judgment Day. It’s so bizarre. Right below the cross is a kind of altar. An imposing figure of the Virgin Mary, rosary beads dangling from her outstretched hands, standing there. A row of prayer candle votives cast spooky shadows over the paintings and statues of various other saints. I gaze around the room tentatively. It’s cluttered with all types of religious paraphernalia. An involuntary shudder creeps over me.
“Abuelita?”
Esperanza calls out over the din of a Spanish soap opera, blasting from a TV somewhere in the darkness. I follow Esperanza blindly, as she picks her way through this obstacle course of relics crowding the room. Finally, she reaches a small black and white Zenith, which is definitely looking worse for the wear.
“Abuelita?” she repeats, as we come upon an oversized Gothic-type armchair, from who knows what time period. I do a double take, then a triple take. I am astonished to find this tiny, brown-skinned old lady…easily the most ancient looking person I have ever seen, settled into it. I mean, she could be Miss Jane Pittman’s grandmother. Her face looks like a baked potato that has been left in the refrigerator for a year. An oversized pair of magnifying glasses, grey shawl, faded print dress, and crusty old house slippers complete the ghastly outfit. I stare at her with a mix of horror and fascination. Mainly because I can’t tell if she is alive or not.

THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE

THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE

It's the day after I've brought Esperanza to my school to show her the mural I've painted of her in the artroom, and after a long kiss from her - I am filled with confidence!

So, today after school, I call Esperanza from The Fox Hole, brimming with confidence. There’s no interference from that annoying Philly this time, and the call flows free and easy. She tells me over and over again how much she loves the mural, and how she’s so touched by it! We’re going to the Liberty Theater in Elizabeth this Saturday, to see this new double feature, she says. She’s going to take care of everything. All I have to do is meet her at the shop.
Saturday arrives, and I realize I have to convince my father to let me go out tonight. Basically, I’m still grounded from the window breaking incident, and he knows I’m off from work today. So we’re out in the backyard raking up leaves, and talking about the Giants-Cowboys game coming up tomorrow. I come up with this story that a couple of the guys are all going to the ‘big dance’ at Girls Catholic tonight, (there really was a dance, too), and they wanted me to come. There was this girl that I really like that’s going to be there, and it’s so important that I go. I’m so thorough in my storytelling that not only does my father consent to let me go, but actually gives me five dollars - and tells me to have a good time!
Holy shit! I really am a master storyteller, I think to myself. But, I would never tell him about Esperanza, it wouldn’t be what he wants to hear.
I change into my gold outfit, and apply some Jheri-Curl into my hair to give it that wild, wet, curly look. Then I gaze at myself in the mirror.
I chuckle, remembering that Kyla had invited me to go to the movies at Park Theater tonight with that whole gang. Briefly, I fantasize about what it would be like, stepping in there with Esperanza. Man, I’d love to see the reactions on their faces. But I don’t think Esperanza would dig seeing Herbie the Love Bug, which is what is playing there.
When I arrive at the usual chaotic busyness that is the Tijeras de Oro, it’s nearly closing time. And Esperanza is finishing up with her last customer. She looks up at me smiling broadly, and I think I detect a different kind of expression this time, almost, like… I’ve graduated. Or something akin to that in her eyes. Sort of like I’ve moved up a notch, become more esteemed.
“Muy guapo, papi…you look cute.”
“Thanks Esperanza.” I beam back.
As she puts on her coat and we get ready to make our exit, one of the ladies yells out –
“Saltacuna!”
Now all the rest of the ladies are joining in with the same thing, whistling and giggling.
“Saltacuna! Saltacuna!”
Esperanza hides her face in her hands, cracking up, and sticks her tongue out at them through her fingers, as we leave.
“What does that mean - saltacuna?” I ask, as we step outside.
“Nothing papi, you don’t want to know,” she’s still laughing.
“C’mon - is it bad? Tell me, c’mon…it’s bad, right?” I persist.
“Ok, ok, calm down baby…it means…like, um, it means - robbing the cradle. Cradle robber.”
“Oh.”
“Satisfied now?” she asks, smiling.
We hop into her MG Midget, as the blustery night wind howls, and this time she keeps the top down. Cruising through some fairly decrepit Elizabeth real estate, we head towards ‘El Barrio’, Spanish for ‘the neighbourhood,’ where she lives. We whiz down a few more blocks, and now it’s like we’ve entered freakin’ Puerto Rico, man! The posters, the signs, and billboards are all in Spanish, one featuring a super sexy Puerto Rican girl in a super sexy bikini, drink in hand, touting the sexiness of, Ronrico Rum. My eyes fixed on that for a while, even though the sexiest girl in the world is sitting right next to me. I wonder why it’s like that? It doesn’t matter if you’re with a beauty queen, you’re still going to look at another chick, almost no matter what she looks like. Strange. The requisite pulsating lights adorn every awning of every bodega on the street, as well as the rear windshields, and license plates of the jacked up Puerto Rican mobiles speeding by, down the strip. Honking their horns to the tune of La Bamba, or whatever it was, and making kissing noises at Esperanza from the windows. I move closer to her now, as close as I could get