I.
Polished toenails of all colors stuck out from open-toed high-heeled sandals. They shuffled back and forth to the beat of the music following its rhythmic swing, sometimes moving faster as the music sped up. In the darkness of the dance floor even the heavy thighs in tight spandex pants were acceptable.

The toes said it all. Painted toes were part of being a lady and they had to match the fingernails plus coordinate with the outfit—be it spandex pants or mini-dress. I danced with a Dominican guy near one of the speakers, but I eyed the Columbian guy every time we twirled and faced the bar. I couldn’t say no to the Dominican, then the night would be over. No other guy would ask me to dance and that also meant the Columbian.

Not dancing would make for a long night. My cousin, Madeline, sang with the group. I wasn’t leaving until the show was over and they were packed—three or four in the morning. The ride through the dark highways and narrow mountain roads was long.

When the shows were on the other side of the island, we wouldn’t get home until after the sun was halfway to set.
I'd always been Madi’s partner in crime. Part of the payback was going to her shows to support her and give her company on the long, sleepy rides home.

The Dominican’s skin was dark and slick with sweat. He moved really well but he was a few inches shorter than I, so whenever he tried to twirl me my arm would catch on the top of my head. It’s not easy being a six-foot tall Puerto Rican female when the majority of the men are under 5’8” and being called Amazona doesn’t help either. The men thought of it as a term of endearment. Trust me, not a good way to earn points.

The song was finally over. The Dominican guy walked me over to my table and said thank you in a low voice. I nodded and said, “de nada”. Luckily, no one asked me to dance the next song. I was able to get a breather. There was a good breeze entering the large windows. The coquis sounded faintly in the break of the music. The winter wind rustled the palms and trees.

At this club I was known as La Americana, tor having grown up in Brooklyn and speaking Spanish with a slight accent and adding you knows in every other sentence.

Hanging out with the band also gave a certain amount of popularity. As soon as the band took their break they’d sit in the surrounding tables where I was. Basically, I became table tender when they were on stage.

It was a small band: Two female singers, Madi and Isabel, a Guirachero, Luis—he played the instrument that looks and sounds like someone scratching a cheese grater with a hair pick, the male singer and pianist Rail. The piano played the rest of the instruments through pre-programmed diskettes. But no one had to know that and for a while no one did. Then there was an influx of small cover bands with the same gimmick and the truth was out. They still got plenty of gigs anyway—the piano couldn’t sing, wear a mini-skirt and bustier tops.

I liked this club better than a lot of their other places. The stage was enormous and divided in half. While one band took a break the other band on the other half sang.

There was never the need to be bothering with tapes and DJing, which was usually done by me for a twenty-dollar salary. I’d rather do without the twenty dollars and not have to listen to people place requests.

The dance floor was huge and dark. There were plenty of places to sit if you arrived early enough and the corner, we were in was secluded enough so that I didn’t feel watched, yet open enough so that guys could notice me and ask me to dance. I never bought a drink, they seemed to appear magically beside me on our table “por la casa”, on the house. Madi teased me that the owner had a thing for me. But he was chubby and short with a mustache and round cheeks. Everything I was not attracted to. “You'll get to eat all the pinchos you want if you go out with him,” Madi smiled.

“I don’t eat pork,” I said half smiling. “You should date him. He’ll never cancel your contract.” Madi was on break. The other band was now singing. This was a one-man band that sang mainly oldies and Salsa.

She twirled one of her long reddish curls (care of Clairol number 108). “Hmm…"she said like she was thinking about it. I elbowed her and we giggled like two thirteen-year-olds. “So, what’s with the Columbian? He’s been watching you all night,” she said. Her voice was a purr that I was accustomed to, but it drove men notes and strange women to rage.

“Watching and asking are not the same thing,” I sighed. It was high school all over again. Hard to believe that was four years ago. This was a moment where the time from then didn’t seem so far removed.

“He’s got to be gay.”

“Just because he hasn’t asked me to dance?”

“He’s threatened by your femininity.”

“Thanks Freud.”

“I’m serious.” She leaned back in her chair and called to Luis. “Hey, Luis!” He stopped in the middle of his conversation with some guys and turned to us.

“Si, mis amores,” he said. Women always came first to him. Even if was just us who he saw every day.

“Are you threatened by Sara’s femininity?” She asked. The question sounded lame.

“Of course! But given an opportunity with you, mujersota, I would take it, he said, directing himself to me. The men he was with laughed. There was only one thing on Luis’ mind ever—and it wasn’t music.

“See,” Madi said.

“What’s this all about,” Luis asked.

My face turned instantly hot. Luis knew everybody. “Some guy she likes keeps on staring at her but doesn’t ask her to dance,” she said.

“Who is the faggot?” Luis asked.

“Ah-ah, I’m not telling,” Madi said.

“Who is it?” Luis asked me. I shook my head. “Is it the Columbian.”

“Very perceptive,” Madi said.

“I’m telling you, I’m psychic.” He turned back to his friends with the secret out.

Luis had this thing about him having some sort of psychic powers, we had conversations on it many times, but it was more like he had a mouth like Niagara Falls—he spilled everything and would never stop.

I tried to ignore but knew that it wouldn’t help. This was going to be the topic of conversation for the rest of the night. I didn’t  appreciate people meddling into the guys that I liked unless I specifically asked for help, and this time I didn’t want it. I liked the Columbian, but all I wanted to do was dance with him. I wasn’t prepared for any kind of relationship. I was heading back to the states any time soon and the last thing I needed was a relationship to hold me back.

It was a miracle that I was even in Puerto Rico. I’d always said that I’d never go live there, but after mama’s death there was no place for me to stay in New York City. I had to leave school and head back to the insignificant town where my mother grew up. But now, finally I had convinced the University to grant me enough financial aid and scholarships that I could live in a dorm.

When mama was around, we lived well. It was only mom and I in the | apartment; Dad disappeared ages ago. We lived in a building that she was able to buy, and she worked as a supervisor in the same clothing factory that she’d been working for since she was fourteen. The Jewish owners paid her well since she was the only one able to communicate with the immigrant workers they hired. She drove it into my head that her only advantage was that she knew both languages. If it hadn’t been for that, she said, she’d be just like the other piece workers making four dollars an hour.

I made it into college with rather good scholarships, but they only paid for tuition. So, when mom died, I had no place to go. The house was foreclosed and the debts that mom accumulated to get me through school were paid off by the small amount of money that was left in the bank. There was nothing left for me. Mom died leaving negative dollars.

“Where do you want to eat after the show?” Madi asked.

I shrugged then said, “anything but B-K.” We’d eaten from Burger King for the last three weeks. It was the only place that was open at 4 a.m. when the shows were over. Chicken nuggets at five in the morning played tricks to my stomach. The past week I’d woken up with indigestion and the occasional runs.

The Columbian didn’t ask me to dance that night. The Dominican did a few more times and there were some other new guys I hadn’t seen before. There was no joy in it any longer. But there was nothing else to do. What was I to do? Stay at home and watch the late night dubbed movies from the eighties. I still couldn’t get used to watching movies that I had seen in English done in a Venezulan Spanish. Harrison Ford lost some of his charm speaking Spanish in a voice that was far from his.

They put a tape on the portable radio as they packed for the night. It was chilly now in December. I forgot to bring my sweater, so I sat hugging myself. Luis sat next to me. “Need someone to warm you up?” He asked.

“No,” I said. It was fun for a while. Staying out late on weekends and working part time during the week to pay for my small expenses. I lived with my grandparents and they refused to take any money from me, so I quietly paid the phone bill every month. That was all I could afford.

I longed to get back to the states. Lately everything had been getting to me. Even the stupidest remarks didn’t bother me at first; Barco grande ande o no ande! But now even the simple, Oyé, mira! Made my blood boil.

“You know, the Columbian was talking about you,” he said.

I didn’t dare ask.

“He thinks you’re pretty but that you’re too tall.”

“For him,” I said. “Most men around here seem to be afraid of hitting five foot SIX.”

“I’m tall!” He was barely five-eight.

“Compared to who? Puerto Ricans, Mexicans, Columbians?”

“You have a height complex.”

“Only now that I’m in Puerto Rico.” When living in Brooklyn I stood above everyone else, but it wasn’t an issue. There were plenty of other women who were as tall if not taller. Only m Puerto Rico did the jibaros that never stepped off the island make it an issue. You would think they never saw anyone who was over five-ten.

“You seem to have something against Puerto Ricans.”

“No, just the ignorant ones.” I had enough. I went to Madi’s car, got in the passenger’s seat and turned the radio on to one of the few rock stations. Hootie and the Blowfish—bliss.

I watched as they packed the equipment. The dance floor was brightly lit and the cracks in the cement floor were now apparent. The tin roof became apparent, its wooden beams were painted the same red as the tables and benches that lined the sides of the dance floor. The parking lot emptied out behind me. When it rained it became muddy and it holes were dangerous for the women in high heels. Luckily, we were able to park right next to the restaurant and not have to worry about the mud.

I dozed but quickly woke up when Madi got in the car. “I guess it’s Burger King,” she said as she turned on the ignition. She changed the station to a Salsa music station and began to sing to loudly. The last thing I wanted was Burger King, but she was driving. That’s how my life had been going lately—it was always someone else doing the driving.

II.
Even with my windows shut I could hear the washing machine and smell the detergent. It was almost two. My room’s windows faced the carport. There was no car, but that’s where grandma had her washing machine and where she hung her clothes to dry. There was also a set of wicker chairs where my aunts took their afternoon coffee break. Two had already arrived.

Grandpa divided his farmland among his children, so all my aunts and uncles lived within sneezing distance of each other. Whenever someone sneezed someone else heard it and hollered God bless you back. There was no such thing as a private argument, or conversation for that matter. Tia Magga and Tia Manuela were talking about my cousin Gabrielle’s new girlfriend, he was Tia Alicia’s son and always the starting topic of conversation.

“She’s so skinny she looks like she has aids,” Tia Magga said.

“I don’t think she has aids, but she seems like she must have some disease,” Tia Manuela said.

Neither of them knew what I did. That his girlfriend worked over sixty hours a week at a factory during the night shift to make enough money to support her brother and sister since their mother and father were both disabled and living on a tiny amount of social security. Gabrielle is Madi’s brother and she knew her future sister-and-law very well. They were good friends in high school. I could have hollered the truth out my window, but then they would have probably found some other detail of her life to scrutinize. They would find sharp edges on a beach ball. When I wasn’t around, they talked about Madi and I. It was a fact. Just like when one of them left they would talk about that person. So, everyone wanted to be the last to leave, not only to not be talked about, but to hear the new gossip about everyone else.

Sleep still covered my body but I wasn’t going to get any rest with my aunts gathering like hens at feeding time. I went through my morning routine of showering, brushing my teeth and getting coffee. Then got dressed and headed to Madi’s house. She lived about thirty yards away, up a slight incline on the road.

As soon as I stepped out of the house through the kitchen and into the carport Tia Magga asked me where I was going. She was the youngest and the only one that I didn’t feel I needed to respect. “Why?” I asked, while adding, "should you give un carajo?" in my head.

She shrugged and sipped her coffee with a sly smile. I rolled my eyes and left.

My sandals flopped as I walked up the incline. I stopped at the mailboxes and looked in our box—nothing. Then I checked Madi’s. Her sister’s food stamps had arrived along with some other letters. I took them with me and continued the few more feet to her house.

It was a typical sunny afternoon, but her house was in its usual cool shade. Tia Alicia had planted tall shrubs all along her house and a steep hill was also next to her house. It blocked the afternoon sun, and the shrubs blocked the morning sun.

I walked in. Madi sat at the table drinking coffee and eating a grilled cheese sandwich that she periodically dipped in the coffee to moisten. I placed the letters on the table and sat across from her. She watched TV. Her younger brothers had a Karate movie on—dubbed in Spanish of course.

The living room area wasn’t separated from the kitchen and dining area. All the houses were designed the same. Food was a part of living and so it should be a part of the living room.

Madi didn’t resemble the sexy creature that she did at night. Her hair was standing all over the place in a tall ponytail. Her lids were swollen and half closed. All the skin imperfections that had been covered by thick make-up were now visible. I admired her ability to make such a transformation.

“You want to go to Salinas today?” She asked between mouthfuls.

“For what?”

“Octopus sandwiches. I’ve been craving one for weeks. We can also check out this place that Luis mentioned may be looking for new acts.”

I didn’t have to look at my agenda to figure what my schedule was like, “sure”.

“We'll leave around five.”

“Don’t we have a show tonight?”

“It’s in Ponce so we can go straight from Salinas there.”

Five o’clock was only three hours away. How did my life get so occupied with nothing? Sunday shows ended much earlier, which was a relief for me since I had to work the next day at the town’s only prestigious restaurant. It was on a main road leading to a nearby town. Most people bought food there for take-out. Saturday’s and Sunday’s were the busy days for the dining in crowd. I got away with not working those days. But the pay back were the low tips.

“Doing anything else before we go?” I asked.

“No.” She sipped the last of her coffee. “I’m taking Lily over to the wholesale jeweler to buy some merchandise.” Lily, her sister, had a small business going. She sold cheap jewelry and accessories to her friends and family. She made some extra money to supplement her WIC, food stamps and government assistance. Her ex-husband was a beer drinking, former pretty boy that had been cheating on her since they day they married with one of their mutual friends from high school. She knew that even then.

“Want to come?” She asked.

I'd end up babysitting Lily’s son as they took two hours to select jewelry. Eddie was the perfect form of birth control. One hour with her son and anyone would realize | that they didn’t want kids. “No, I have some stuff to take care of,” I said.

She shrugged.

I stayed with her until her sister called for her to pick her up and I headed home. Grandpa was reading the paper as he lay in his hammock on the porch. “What time did you get in last night?” He asked before I could walk in.

“I don’t know,” I said. Which, I didn’t—somewhere between three and four-thirty but I didn’t tell him that.

He smirked. He was fairly tolerant of my behavior. I was the only one in the — family that went to a prestigious university though I couldn’t finish. “You know that Madi’s nothing but trouble. When she was in diapers she was flirting with boys.” I ignored grandpa’s comments about Madi. According to our family Madi had a different boyfriend every week and slept with all of them. There were rumors flying around that Madi wasn’t going to gigs on weekend. That, in fact, she was going to her boyfriends’ houses and that she used me as a cover. I wondered how stupid they thought I was.

I went inside to my room and shut the door. Lately the only place where I could find peace was in my room listening to my old tapes. I turned on the tape cassette and put on my headset. Grandpa was very picky about loud music. The only music he considered appropriate at high volumes were Trios. Every morning he got up at 5 am to go to the senior center and turned on his music with the old men crooning songs about how their women left them for their best friend. Country music is the same in every language.

My aunts were still outside talking. I could hear their ramble over my headset but couldn’t make out what they were saying. They weren’t talking about either Madi or I since I was in the room, but if they knew I had the headset on it would be different.

I flipped through the issue of Mademoiselle I got in the mail yesterday. Nothing was relevant to me: boyfriends, career, jobs and college. I needed to get a life, but one wasn’t approaching. How was I to find one stuck in the mountains of Puerto Rico?