Papi's Dance

We used to say that Papi went out to buy milk and never came back. Later, I’d learn that a lot of households en el barrio had a similar story. Don Mario went out to buy cigarettes, don Julio beer, don Carlos bread, and in the end, there were just a bunch of papis who had decided to leave, never to be seen again. Well, at first, it’d been different with Papi, or at least that’s what Mami wanted to believe. While all those other men had left because they were buenos para nada, Papi had left because he wanted to build a better future for all of us. Before that, he had this business with tío Chato, selling refurbished computers in a mall in the south of Bogotá. And although business wasn’t that bad, it was clear that he was far from making the money we needed to salir de pobres. Still, Papi was very proud of the fact that he was ingeniero de sistemas, the first one in his family to go to college. At home, it was Mami and Papi, Junior and me — the accident and the one they actually tried for, that’s what everyone called us. Everybody around us would talk very nonchalantly about how Junior had ruined Mami’s life. After getting pregnant, Mami had been forced to drop out of med school. Even though she’d tried to go back a couple of times, three to be exact, it’d never worked out. Junior had almost ruined Papi’s life as well. He was this close to dropping out of college, too, to go work in construction with Abuelo, but both of their families were clear in that at least one of them had to graduate from college. And so, the obvious choice was for Papi to graduate while Mami stayed at home with Junior. This arrangement made her so miserable, that she had an IUD inserted the second Junior was born, and that because the doctor told her he wouldn’t tie the tubes of an eighteen-year-old. I guess that was a good thing, since because of that, years later, when they felt ready for another child, I could be born.

Mami would always play music when she cleaned the house on the weekends. She’d say it made it into less of a chore and more of a joyful activity — if scrubbing toilets and mopping floors can ever be called that. And at some point, through her playlist, Eddy Herrera would start playing. It was then that Papi would come to meet Mami in wherever room she was in, and she would then stop whatever she was doing just to dance with him. Como cuando eramos pelados, Mami would say, and she’d repeat it until her last breath. That memory, maybe, was what made first Eddy Herrera then music altogether, the first thing to go when Papi left. It didn’t feel right, she’d say, to be dancing in the living room while Papi was struggling in a different country. It was tío Chato’s idea, like most of the things Papi did, for them to go try their luck en los mayamis. When they approved their visas, Mami knew that there was no way she could stop him from going. It wouldn’t be fair. After all, what were the odds that a patiarrastrado like Papi, without a cent to his name, would receive the token that would allow him to find a better life? And so, he left one Saturday morning, and Eddy Herrera would not be heard in our house again for a very, very long time.

With Papi left Junior, too, but not his body, just his soul. He begged Papi to take him with him. He was almost fourteen, there was certainly something that he could do over there, move furniture, work construction. But for Papi that was out of the question. He wouldn’t take his son as an unskilled worker. Instead, he promised that he’d find a job and then save some money for a nice house and some plane tickets for us to join him. And when we’d meet him there, all we would ever have to worry about would be going to school and getting good grades.

At first, everything seemed to be going well. Papi would call every Friday afternoon and some Saturdays, too. We would wait by the phone, hanging up immediately if someone else called — the phone line had to be available for whenever Papi decided it was time to talk to us. It was like that for two months, then the third month, he started calling every other Friday, no Saturday calls anymore. There was always too much work, too many things to do. He’d find an excuse until five months in when he stopped calling altogether. In the beginning, Mami was worried. He was working too much, probably to forget the fact that there was no one waiting for him at home. Maybe I should tell him to come back, she’d told us a couple of times, ya veremos como nos las arreglamos. At the same time, Papi kept sending money, en dólares, which allowed her to take fewer shifts at the hair salon and try, for the fourth time, to go back to med school. When I was about seven, Mami switched me to a private bilingual school. Papi had told her to, that way I could start learning English. It was his way of letting us know that he was still planning on taking us with him.

I transferred without a problem, but by that time it was too late for Junior. Not because of his age — he was a couple of weeks shy of fifteen — but because anger had already started boiling in him, and he had managed to get so many referrals in so little time at our old school, that they didn’t accept his transfer request. I thought he’d be devastated but he didn’t care, school was now the least of his concerns, much like joining Papi in the States. Mami would always say that the last straw was when Papi didn’t call him for his birthday. He later on apologized, saying that he had to take a double shift at the warehouse, even sending Junior new Jordans in the mail to make up for it. But everyone knew that he had just forgotten, according to Junior because he’d never loved him, according to Mami because, at the time, he was already with la otra.

Mami got the news from Chato’s wife, Maricarmen, who had gotten a visa to surprise her husband but had turned out to be the surprisee. By then, Mami was already on her second denied visa application, but Papi didn’t know it. Maricarmen, she, was lucky. Since she had been working at a bank for over five years now, the application was approved easily. But anyway, what Maricarmen had seen once in Miami would devastate her and take Mami with her. Not only did tío Chato have a new wife, but they also had a baby. The new woman had opened the door to his apartment, in lingerie and with a child clinging to her oversized breast, just to find the wife her husband had back in his country staring back at her. Well, wife was a way of saying it, because they had never officially gotten married. Tio Chato had wanted, in the beginning, but Maricarmen had turned him down time after time, she was okay living like that, free. Right before tío Chato was due to leave, Mami told Maricarmen to get married, they had been together for fifteen years already, it was the right thing to do. Maricarmen then said that she didn’t want to, but that if she must, then it would be in Miami, por todo lo alto. She told Mami that she knew Chato loved her and that that was everything she needed. Nothing prepared her for the surprise of her life.

“Yo te dije,” Mami told her that day over the phone. “You go about not getting married and freedom and this and that. And what can be better than to have your man with you? Where is your freedom now, eh? Pobrecita going around sin marido, porque la otra, that one, she was smart mija, not only did she get married, she also gave him a child. You make your own luck, Carmen.”

“You’re all highty mighty aren’t you?” Maricarmen was so loud that I could hear her, sitting next to Mami, hugging her to soften the blow that she’d gotten when the call wasn’t from Papi. “You think that Jorge is just yours and yours only, don’t you?”

“Pues sí,” Mami replied, putting her hand on a fist over her hip, proud as she’d ever been. “Yo te lo dije, Carmen.”

“So, you don’t wonder why he doesn’t call you anymore?”

“He’s busy working, Carmen. It’s not easy. He has three mouths to feed here now that I’m studying full-time. And he’s paying for the kids’ private school, too.”

“Ay por favor, no seas pendeja!” I’ll remember that sentence forever as the moment that something broke inside Mami. With time, it’d make sense: she knew it already, she just didn’t want to believe it.

Maricarmen continued, “You think he’s here doing what? A man for so long without a woman? Por favor! I saw him, Elena, I saw him with another woman, very cozy. He lives in the apartment next to Chato, descarados! Dios los hace y ellos se juntan!”

Misery likes company, and at that time, company was all Maricarmen wanted. She’d later tell Mami that she had made the whole thing up, that she didn’t know what she was talking about. In her own words, she wanted to cause her some momentary pain, at least for what little time it’d take for Mami to clear things up with Papi and know that her friend was lying. Maricarmen believed, just like Mami wanted to, that Papi was just working hard to bring us with him. Turns out her lie was true, except for the part where Papi was living right next to tío Chato. Instead, he had gotten a little house in Kendall, in a barrio that wasn’t very good, but not that bad either. The new woman’s name was Yesenia, she was Boricua. Papi said, when he finally called, that he had done it for the greater good. That way he could become an American citizen and bring us with him even faster.

“When were you planning on telling me?” Mami asked him.

“I’m telling you now, Ele,” he said, and all I could see were Mami’s tears streaming down her cheeks. “Te amo, mujer, créeme. This is just the fastest way, the best way, too. Don’t worry, I’ll still pay for everything, take care of everything. The school of the kids, your school…don’t you worry.”

That was a Saturday, and on Monday, Mami received divorce papers that Papi had filed over at the Consulate. Maricarmen had, unknowingly too, prevented the blow that would’ve been if Mami had just received those papers while she was still in the dark. She signed them immediately then propped open a botella de wiski, and drank it all in a matter of hours, as the tears poured down her cheeks like waterfalls. She went to sleep and the next day, there she was, radiant making breakfast. We never talked about that night. Ever. There was no going back, not anymore, and I was impressed by her strength, the way she put herself back together, the way she was able to just keep going. Once the divorce was final, she considered telling him to take his money and shove it, but Abuelita convinced her otherwise.

“You already left everything for him way too many times. Your dream of becoming a doctor, of doing something with your life. All for what? To have him sell computers at a tienda de chucherías. To then leave you with two kids and find himself a new wife. Let him pay you back, mijita. It’s the least he can do, don’t you think?”

Abuelita was right, and even if I was young then I understood it, too. Mami didn’t make any effort to conceal what was going on or to spare us any pain. She told us Papi had found someone else and would probably build a whole new family with her. That we were the old ones, expendable, but that we would dust ourselves up and keep moving forward. That she loved us, and that that was enough. That we would be fine.

But what was hope for me was lost in Junior. At that time, he was already hanging out with the wrong crowd. Los gangueritos, like Mami used to call them. But nothing would prepare her to one day, during her rotation in the ER, see her firstborn wheeled in, dying of a drug overdose. She had no idea, until that very day, how serious it was, and how deep Junior was in. I had seen him high a couple of times at the park, and I knew he was doing far more than weed. Surprisingly enough, he wouldn’t hide it. Instead, he’d try to lure me in, ask me to join him. One time he’d even told me that he had run out of money and that if I loved him, then I should help him get more dope, while his friends looked at me like a lion would at a wounded antelope. I’d always known he didn’t like me, but that day I realized he hated me.

Mami buried her son, and then there were just the two of us. When she told Papi about Junior, he was devastated. I could hear him wail on the other end of the phone, mi niño, mi niño. He said he’d pay for the funeral, but when Mami asked him when he’d arrive in Bogotá to attend, he said he couldn’t come.

“Cosas de imigración, mijita,” he told me when I asked. “If I leave now, then everything will get more complicated. I’ll lose my spot in line for citizenship, and then that means I can’t bring you here.”

“Bring us there, then” I demanded, and there was silence.

I hung up right away because I understood everything at once. He wasn’t coming back, and I would never see him again.

“Nonsense,” Maricarmen had told Mami when she came to help plan Junior’s funeral. “Once he married that tramp he got a green card, and he can travel. Maldito mentiroso! Probably his new wife lo tiene de las pelotas.”

Mami didn’t say anything. I longed for the days when she would defend him, the days when in her voice there was still a chance, however small, that he’d come back. But at this point, Mami had already lost everything. This time, there wasn’t any pep talk or any acknowledgment that we were in this together, that we were going to get through this. I think that, to a certain extent, she knew we wouldn’t.

Mami got to walk the stage one cold day in November. It was raining outside, and even though she got soaking wet, I’d never seen her so happy. I think that was the first time she’d smiled since Junior’s death. She was wearing a black dress long to her knees, and she had gone to the hairdresser. Not the one where she used to work, though. There, she had been the butt of many jokes, the punch line. The stupid faithful wife who sent her husband to Miami actually hoping he’d send back for her. Pendeja, like Maricarmen had once told her.

Her white coat fit just right, showing that she was meant to be a doctor all along, and she walked with pride as we cheered her on. I had told Papi during our last call, against Mami’s wishes, that she was graduating, and the naive part of me still hoped that he would show up. I looked amongst the people in the auditorium, and it was then that I realized that I didn’t remember what he looked like anymore; by then, Papi had been gone for five years. He didn’t show up, but he did call to let Mami know that he was very proud of her for finally achieving her dream. He also told her that, since she had graduated, he’d reduce the amount of money that he was sending every month to cover only my tuition and half of my expenses. He let out, towards the end of the call, that his new wife was pregnant, and that he needed that money to support the new baby. Mami hung up without saying a word and just cried. Not much later we learned that this wouldn’t be Papi’s first child with Yesenia. The reason why he hadn’t come to Junior’s funeral, was because she was pregnant already and he didn’t want to leave her side. Apparently, I had a little brother, Junior. It was Yesenia’s idea and when Mami found out and protested to Papi, his answer, cold as ice, was that there wasn’t a Junior on her side anymore, so pretty much the name was up for grabs. Mami cried some more and refused to take any more of Papi’s calls after that. I did the same.

So, imagine my surprise when, months later, I came home one day and found her talking to him. Her eyes were puffy, but her voice was soft, and as soon as she saw me walk into the kitchen, she stopped what she was doing.

“It’s Papi,” she told me, as if she were talking to the little girl I’d stopped being a long time ago. “He called to say hi. We’re planning your trip. You’re going to Miami, mamita!”

A wave of mixed feelings that hit me right in the face. I was happy about the idea of traveling, of seeing Miami, and maybe also of seeing Papi again a little. But then, there was also this hate that had grown in me after everything he had done to us. The most important, though, and that I didn’t think about at the time was: why now?

“I don’t wanna go,” I said, as I pushed away the phone Mami was trying to put in my ear. “I don’t want anything to do with him. He’s not my father!”

I ran to my room, crying, confused, and slammed the door behind me. I cried myself to sleep and when I woke up it was dark outside, and Mami was right next to me, playing with my hair.

“What time is it?” I asked her, groggy. “Is it tomorrow already?”

“Hijita,” she told me, wrapping a strand of hair around her finger. “You broke Papi’s heart. What do you mean he’s not your dad? He’s still paying for your school.”

“What does that prove? He hasn’t been much of a father to me in the last few years. Actually, pretty much ever since I can remember.”

“It doesn’t matter, Cami, what matters is that he wants to be in your life now. He’s finally ready. He got you a bed, and he found a school. He says you’re gonna love it there.”

“Wait, what do you mean school?”

“Yes, Cami, I think it’s best for you to go live over there. Think about it. More opportunities, you’re gonna learn English and be able to go to a nice college… You’ll see the ocean! Papi told me he lives less than fifteen minutes away from the beach. You’re gonna get to meet new people and — ”

Questions started popping into my mind and I just blurted them out one after the other, “Are you coming, too, Mami?” “Is taking a plane scary? You have to be there to hold my hand through it.” “Why don’t you come with me? We can get our own place.”

“I can’t come now, mi vida,” she said, the back of her hand caressing my cheek.

“Why not, Mami? I don’t want to go without you.”

“Believe me, it’s for the best, you’ll be very happy. Would you trust me, mi vida?”

I was gone the following Sunday. In my luggage, a few clothes and the promise that Mami had made to come over for Christmas. Instead, upon arrival, I learned the truth. I should’ve known there was something up since Papi had been a citizen for some time, and it just didn’t make sense that only now he wanted me in his life. On the way to his place, he told me, as softly as he could, that Mami was dying, riddled with cancer. Right after she’d dropped me off at the airport, Abuelita had taken her to respite care. It was a matter of weeks, a couple of months at most. Mami wouldn’t be coming for Christmas, but not for lack of wanting. She’d be gone by then.

Yesenia stayed at her father’s for the first two weeks after I got there. What I thought at first was a gesture of protest and disdain turned out to be her way of asking for a truce. A truce that, quite frankly, she didn’t need to ask for. It wasn’t her fault — that much I’d managed to understand — that Papi had decided to bail on us. He could’ve still been involved in our lives if he’d wanted to. I couldn’t blame him for falling in love with someone else, but I could blame him for refusing to be a father to me and Junior. I blamed him, also, for the deep hate my brother had for me. If only Junior had known that Papi didn’t love me either.

When Yesenia came back, the first thing I noticed was how ordinary she was. Not in a bad way, but just ordinary. I’d always thought, and I’m pretty sure that Mami had, too, that Papi had left because he had found this smoking hot woman. Turns out, it wasn’t about looks, it almost never was. She was still beautiful though, and kind, too. My two little brothers followed her everywhere, Junior hiding behind her legs, and Gabriel stuck to her breast. Yesenia looked at me, trying to do homework in the kitchen bar, and smiled. Her smile warmed me up and I realize that, whether I wanted it or not, she was the closest to a mother that I had left.

“If you need help with that, let me know. I know how hard it can be.”

“You don’t know how hard it is,” I sniped back when she obviously was referring to the homework.

“No, no,” she quickly corrected, and I could see how embarrassed she was. “I meant those assignments. I moved here from San Juan when I was about your age. It was hard to get settled, especially in school. When I came here, I didn’t know a word of English. But we have you down on the waiting list for a bilingual school. We’re just waiting for the call. If not this year, then next year for sure.”

“You don’t have to do this, you know?” I told her even though I didn’t really know what I meant by this.

“It’s okay, Camila, I do it because I want to. You’re my husband’s daughter and my sons’ sister. It’s really the least I can do.”

“Why did you call your son Junior?” I said, blurting out the first thing that came to my mind. “Why after my brother died did you go and call your son that! Why!”

I realized tears were already running down my face, but I didn’t know how long it’d been since they’d started. I was a pressure cooker, like Mami used to say, I would keep everything in, let it build, and then, at the randomest of moments, just explode. This time, it was in the kitchen, in front of Papi’s new wife.

“Camila, I’m sorry. I didn’t do it to hurt you, or your mom. I just thought it’d be a nice way to remember your brother. I didn’t mean for my son to take his place, that wasn’t my intention, really. And I don’t think he could, even if I wanted.”

“My mom is dying of a broken heart,” I said, and I wanted to add that it was her fault, but I couldn’t, because it wouldn’t be fair, or true.

“I know. And believe me. I wish things had been different. But sometimes life just happens, and we have to do whatever we can with it. I love your dad, I swear, and I see you as someone special. I don’t want to take your mother’s place, but I do want to do as best I can to be your friend.”

I hugged her because I didn’t know what else to do, but also because I was glad that she was back. Those two weeks that I had spent alone with Papi had been some of the most uncomfortable and weird I’d lived through in a long time. We didn’t know each other, and I had no intention to get to know him, so I spent most of the time in what was now my room. He’d knock and try to talk, but I just didn’t feel up to it, and to be honest, I think neither did he because he didn’t insist. Instead, he’d leave food outside my door, and I’d take it in, eat it, and put the tray back outside. He was always a good cook. His mother, who had died when he was fourteen, had taught him that the best way to make people happy was to make them a good meal. Unfortunately, it hadn’t worked for me. I was still miserable.

“What’s your favorite food?” Yesenia said, putting Gabriel down on the Pack ’n Play. “There’s a Colombian restaurant close by, I can take you if you want.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” I said, then looked into her eyes, she was really trying. “But I wouldn’t mind a burger.”

“Great!” She said, her eyes lighting up. “If you give me ten minutes, I’ll change Gaby’s diaper and we can get going. I’m going to take you to the best burger place ever, you’re going to love it, I’m sure!”

“Sounds good,” I said, trying my best to sound enthusiastic. “You know, maybe we can go check some school supplies afterward? I know I’m missing a couple of things.”

“Yeah, for sure, and clothes, too, if you want!”

It was a delicate dance, that first outing of ours. I could tell that Yesenia was doing her best not to say the wrong thing, maybe push the wrong button, and I appreciated that. We talked about frivolous things, like my favorite color, if I liked any sports. She told me that she had graduated top of her class and had gotten a scholarship to go study business out of state. Halfway into her junior year, her mom got really sick and she had to move back to take care of her until her passing. She had only a couple of credits left to complete her degree, and she was planning on going back to school in the next year or two. We avoided the obvious topic of how she’d met a married man with a family back in his home country and had decided that he was her Prince Charming. Not a conversation I wanted to have, at least not with her.

When we came home it was dark outside already, and Papi had made dinner. Yesenia handed him Gaby, who was cranky, and sat Junior in front of the TV while she followed me to my room and helped me put my new things away.

“This one is definitely a must,” she said, handing me my speaker. “If you want, you can connect it to the house system or you can just keep it for you, that’s fine, too.”

“I think I’ll leave it only for my room for now.”

“Sure, that works,” she said, enthusiastic. “Why don’t you go ahead and set it up while I put these clothes in your closet?”

I took the speaker out, it was beautiful. Yesenia had made sure to ask the person at the store for the one that worked the best, was water resistant, and with a wider range. She also helped me pick the best color and design: one with lips, like kisses, in different colors. It made a little sound when it connected to the phone that was waiting for me over the bed the first day I arrived.

“Come on,” Yesenia said. “Play some music. I wonder what teens listen to in Colombia.”

But I didn’t want to play the music that I’d normally listen to. A couple of weeks before Mami told me I was due to leave for Miami, surprisingly, she started playing music again. She insisted we create a playlist for both of us to listen to while we cleaned the house or traveled together in the car. We would sing, and we would laugh, and we would dance. Nothing else existed for us then, it was just the two of us against the world. I had no idea that this was her way of saying goodbye and making sure I had 8 hours and 43 minutes to remember her by.

“Dinner’s gonna get cold,” Papi walked into the room. “Gaby is down for the day, I think, so let’s just go and eat together.”

“We ate already,” Yesenia said. Then looking at me, “But it’s entirely up to you. If you’re hungry, we can go eat together or I can bring you the food here, however you feel better.”

“We can go eat all together,” I said, and I could see Papi’s eyes light up.

There was a faint smile, then absolute silence as one of Eddy Herrera’s songs started playing. Mami had insisted that we add to the playlist songs that reminded us of happy times. Papi and I looked at each other, and we both knew. He extended his hand, and we started dancing. I refused to shed a single tear, even though that was what I wanted to do the most in the world. I knew I’d never see Mami again, and this was all I had left to keep going.

“You’re a good dancer, Jorge,” Yesenia said after the song was over. There was a certain tone in her voice. Not mad, maybe just sad, or disappointed. “Why is it that you’ve never danced with me, not even at our wedding?”

“I don’t like to dance that much,” he said, his tone cold. “That’s all.”

He left and Yesenia looked at me as if asking me whether I knew what she had said that had upset him like that. I just shrugged. I couldn’t tell her; it wouldn’t be fair.

“Anyway,” she said, then smiled at me. “Time for dinner?”

“Sure. I’ll just finish something here real quick and I’ll be down in a second.”

“Do you want me to close the door?” She asked.

“If you don’t mind,” I replied.

I smiled back at her, wondering if she was questioning how good of an idea having me around would be. I wondered if she knew what I meant to Papi, I wondered if I knew, or if I meant anything at all. As she closed the door on her way out, I took my phone, disconnected it from the speaker, and tapped on Mami’s name.