Oye What I'm Gonna Tell You. Cecilia Rodríguez Milanés
girls didn’t want to move but you’re still young and you would have adjusted quickly. New Jersey is all you know; it would have been an adventure pero,” he shook his head and massaged his neck, “it’s just not the right time.”
Right time? That made me keep up my guard so that at the end of every school year, I’d listen carefully to them talk about summer to catch wind of any plans on heading south but it never happened. Thank God, the saints and all the angels, amen. Thanksgiving dinner at my house was a production because a regular everyday dinner was rice, beans, and some kind of meat—picadillo, thin steaks, chicken and every once in a while we’d have fish because abuela liked fish. Neli was charged with setting the table and I made the salad. Papi always brought home a loaf of day-old Italian bread—that was mami’s dessert. Pretty simple meals. But Thanksgiving mami made a big American roasted turkey and also turkey fricasé because papi thought turkey was too dry. I asked her to make stuffing like I saw on TV but she didn’t know what it was so I showed her the box in the store and then we always had it. Gravy, two kinds of cranberry, American yams and Cuban boniato, store bought pumpkin and apple pies. Instead of our typical rice and beans, tía Julia always brought her famous moros y cristianos—black beans cooked with white rice. Tía had a running joke about how the whites, the cristianos, liked the Africans, the moors, a little too much and we’d all laugh. But not tonight. And that was the beginning of the end of our happy thanksgiving dinner.
There was a racket, like always because that’s how we are and any other day I wouldn’t have noticed but today it seemed like everyone was amplified and I thought I shoulda warned Vital, who, of course, arrived right on time and wearing a nice dress shirt and jacket; he looked better than the rest of us put together. I made sure I was near the door so I could be the one to get it when he rang the bell.
“Hi,” I said and looked back to see if anyone had followed me down the hall.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” he said and gave me a bunch of orange, burgundy and yellow flowers and had another bunch left. His dazzling smile steadied me as he crossed over the threshold into Casa de Locos.
“Everyone’s here.” I rubbed his arm and motioned for him to follow me. “Don’t worry, we talk loud but it’s fast so if you don’t understand, give me a sign.”
Vital lifted two fingers and I punched his shoulder and then we were inside the front room set up with the big table.
“Oye familia, this is my friend, Vital.” It was just a split second pause but long enough for me to know. He said hello but it was real low and I think only me and Neli, who was sitting at the end of the table, heard.
Mami walked over to him first. He handed her the other flowers, even bigger than my bunch, smiling that smile and she smiled back then lowered her head in a weird bow. “Oh, thank you.”
“Vital speaks French and Spanish,” I rushed in before anyone said anything else. I wanted them to know that he’d understand if they started talking shit.
“Ah, that’s good, qué bueno,” Mami’s eyebrows lifted.
Papi stood and reached out to shake Vital’s hand. “Hello, hello,” Papi’s big hand covered Vital’s, shaking hard.
“Buenas noches, señor,” Vital kept flashing the smile, papi kept shaking his hand. “Gracias por la invitación.”
Tía mumbled to tío something in Spanish about who invited him. Mami turned and gave her the don’t-go-there look.
“Please, please, come and sit down.” Papi steered him toward the other end of the table but Neli jumped up.
“Oh, no, come sit here next to me, I’m her sister, the younger, smarter one.”
I didn’t need any foolishness, especially not now. “Very funny, Neli, but he’s going to sit next to me. I saved him a seat between me and mom.”
“I don’t want these beautiful flowers to dry up. Excuse me.” Mami seemed in a hurry to get to the kitchen and I felt like going after her but my feet were stuck so I put my flowers on the back of the couch. “Go on then, go sit with your guest.” And she took the flowers to the kitchen.
I shot her a confused look as she passed me.
Vital was pulling a chair out for me and the rest of the family was looking so I forced one foot in front of the other and made it to my place.
Tío reached over to shake Vital’s hand, “Hello, I’m Joaquin,” he motioned to his left, “my wife Julia, her aunt,” and then motioned to his right, “my mother Lupe.” Both of them nodded and weakly lifted a hand. “Those little animals are our kids,” tío always called Brian, Quique and Carlitos his animalitos and they lived up to it. Then he stood to introduce his blameless princess, “Yalisa, and my nietecito, Junior.” He lifted his hands and the baby reached out his fat arms.
“Ay, qué divino,” Lupe said while tía cooed. I thought maybe the baby would keep them entertained with his gurgling and rapid-fire raspberries. Neli was already sitting and mami easing into her chair with papi at the head of the table.
Then Vital said, “What a beautiful baby! Where is the father?”
Neli stifled a laugh and I gasped. Tía turned toward tío and mumbled for him to walk the baby, just go. Yalisa bit her lip, the animalitos giggled and Lupe said, “Ay, Dios mío.”
“He’s gone, dead,” Tía’s angry frown confused Vital. I leaned over and whispered to the floor that he left my cousin.
“So, so sorry, lo siento,” he tried to fix it but it was too late.
It was the longest, most miserable, most god-awful night. Nobody cracked jokes like we usually did, making fun of papi’s fricasé and all the carbs and the lonely exquisite salad I made that nobody ever touched. We ate fast but without audibly savoring the meal; I missed papi’s ooohing and ahhing over every single thing. Nobody asked Vital anything about Haiti or his family or what he was studying, or if he liked the food. Nothing. He was the black elephant in the room and I was the big pile of elephant shit. We usually ignored the bickering little kids but tonight the adults took turns yelling at them. And every time Vital spoke in Spanish it made them all even more uncomfortable. So tía’s moros were passed around without comment and tío put Junior into the playpen but never returned to the table, not even when we said thanks to god for the food.
When it was time for dessert, Vital stood to help pick up the plates. “Por favor, quiero ayudar.”
“No, no, please. Don’t!” Mami was a little too insistent. I bit the inside of my cheek and brushed away a hot tear that popped out. Neli took the plates from the end of the table and I took the ones from the front. Even Yalisa stood and gathered up the forks and knives.
“You are a guest, you sit,” Papi said, pointing at Vital.
By now I was pretty sure everyone had figured Vital was more than my friend. By now his smile had lost like ninety percent of its wattage and I’m saying a prayer that we get out this without any more damage.
Brian, Quique and Carlitos were banging their now empty fists on the table and asking for pie, pie, pie. From out of nowhere, tío appeared and slapped two of them at a time in the back of the head causing them to ricochet and then again to get the other one, and the unlucky one twice. The youngest one started balling and tía reprimanded the kids and tío while Lupe tried to calm them all. Yalisa rolled her eyes and said, “Here we go.” This set tío off again and he laid into her.
“What are you complaining about?” Yalisa seemed genuinely surprised to see how annoyed he was then shocked when he lunged toward her and shook her shoulder. “Go take care of your son. He’s your responsibility.”
No one made a sound until mami came back from the kitchen with two pies. She surveyed the room, placed the pies in front of papi and asked how many wanted café and how many wanted coffee.
I’m responsible for the coffee so I got to work while mami violently packed the espresso down into the stainless steel basket