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“Stitches, the marks from the stitches.” Her hand squeezes mine. “That must’ve been scary.”
I lift my shoulder. “I no scared. My father was more scared because there was a lot of blood.”
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen.” Her eyes widen.
“Did your father let you stop working after you fell?”
My head shakes. “No,muñeca. I have to always work to help the family. My father told me if I can walk then I be okay.”
As the oldest of five kids, it was my responsibility to work with my father to help the family. When I turned thirteen, I offered to stop going to school so I can work with my father all year round, but my father wouldn’t allow it. He told me working to help the family was important, but I had to go to school to make sure I had the education to make something of myself. Something else he told me is, “Cuba took everything from us, I won’t take your childhood away too. Words I never forget.” Although I wasn’t a great student, I’m glad my father allowed me to finish school and be a kid.
After dinner we share a tiramisu, and both have an espresso before driving across the causeway to the Brickell area. The show is at the Flamingo Theater Bar inside the Four Ambassadors residential complex. When these buildings were erected in the 1960’s it was a posh hotel, which is why the theater is located inside the lobby area. Over time it was converted to high-end apartments because the buildings are along the Miami South Channel, the body of water connected to Biscayne Bay.
When we arrive inside the lobby, Rubi and Alain are sitting on the sofas waiting for us. Alain says hello to Sol then turns to me. “?¿Qué vuelta mi hermano?” he asks while embracing me in a hug. As Alain is telling me about this new project he’s working on, I glance over at Sol and she’s engrossed in conversation with Rubi.
My friends embraced Sol and I’m extremely happy they did. When I told her I wanted to introduce her to them she was worried and anxious she wouldn’t fit in or they wouldn’t like her. I’ve noticed she’s critical of herself, and always quick to apologize or not say what’s on her mind. I’m not quite sure why Sol’s that way. She’s smart, kind, and friendly, not to mention gorgeous. You’d think she would be more confident in herself than she is.
Our tickets are scanned and Sol’s grasping onto my hand, our fingers interlocked, as we enter the theater. The Flamingo Theater Bar is a large room, crimson and beige walls with traditional wall paneling. The small stage at the front has a merlot-colored curtain as a backdrop and throughout the room there are small round tables with chairs. The back wall has bookshelves filled with random books and two framed pictures, one of a jester and another of a man’s portrait wearing glasses with a prop nose, like the kind people wear for Halloween.
The room is more than half full and our table is near the front, second row off to the left. The show is scheduled to start in ten minutes so we made it with plenty of time. When we arrive at the table, Rubi and Sol excuse themselves to go to the bathroom.
“How’s it going withla jeva?” Alain asks.
We’re interrupted by a waiter who takes our drink order. I order a white wine for Sol, and a water for me. Alain orders himself a gin and tonic and a beer for Rubi.
“She’s incredible and I want to be with her every minute of every day, but she doesn’t know that yet.” I shift in my seat so I can get a glimpse of Rubi and Sol when they return from the restrooms.
“Why not?”
“Something is holding her back. It’s like she wants to move forward but she’s always hesitant. I want to make sure she feels comfortable. I no want to push her away.”
“Bueno, I like her, a lot. Rubi told me she spoke to her the few times you’ve been to my house and she really likes her too. If it’s up to Rubi, you’ll marry her.”
“If it’s up to me, I would too, bro.”
Alain leans in, places his left arm across the table. “Wow, already? I haven’t seen you like this since we lived in Cuba.”
“I know. For the first time in a long time, I feel alive.”
Carlos Varela takes the stage not long after Rubi and Sol return from the restroom. I lean back in my chair and drape my arm over Sol’s shoulders, bringing her closer to me. When Varela begins singing some of the songs I’ve played for Sol, she sings along and my chest swells.
“You liked the show?” I ask her while we’re driving across the McArthur Causeway, Star Island illuminated to our left, and the Miami Beach high-rises lighting up the night sky.
“Very much. He sounded incredible and I liked the theater because it was small. It felt like an intimate show.” She turns in her seat toward me.
“It was my first time at that theater. I liked it too.” We continue to drive in silence with the radio playing, Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love” streaming through the speakers.
“You want to spend the night at my place?” she asks, while at the light on Alton Road.
“What kind of a question is that?”
“Um, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she responds, turning her head away from me.
“Muñeca, of course I want to sleep over.” I reach across the console and begin drawing circles on her thigh.
Her head turns and a smile stretches across her face, lighting up her eyes.
