La Familiar
Camila may be in a new city, but some things remain the same.
Camila was greeted at Lake Eola by an unusual brisk breeze. She knew she was going for a run in a cold front, but she did not expect a wind chill of 35 Fahrenheit to accompany her. Nevertheless it stung her cheeks sweetly, seeing her off as she began her 2 mile run around the lake. The fountain at the center of the still waters kept its lights on as the run broke the horizon.
Her running playlist typically was a mix of reggaeton, rock, and top 40. But ever since she returned to Orlando from San Juan, she listened to Latin Lofi. This allowed her mind to linger on memories of her time home. The beach trips where her primas peppered her about America in between flirting with a cute boy that crossed their way. Playing dominoes with her abuelo as he asked her about her new job at the bank. Cafecito with her tias digging into her love life (she was talking to two guys, but both ghosted her while she was home). She finished her run in 20 minutes, giving her enough time to return home and clean up before her visit with her neighbor.
Nena’s husband passed shortly before Camila moved into the building. Although she is Cuban, it wasn’t surprising that they found similarities between their two countries. After all, they were dos alas de un mismo pajaro.1
“Buenos dias, Nena!” Camila greeted as she crossed the threshold. She removed her sandals and took in the bold, smooth aroma of Bustelo.
Nena looked over her glasses from the kitchen bar. She was whisking the sugar in a small, stainless steel pitcher. Camila could hear the coffee settling inside the cafetera, the steam from the percolation gently disappearing. Nena’s smile took her back to San Juan.
“How was your run?” She asked.
“It was so cold this morning, I could see my breath!”
Nena shivered in solidarity.
“And you had on un suéter?”
“Of course!”
It was partly true, only once she hit her stride she stripped down to her sports bra. She knew better than to share that detail with Nena.
Camila took her seat on the far right side of the kitchen bar. Nena finished crafting her crema, and poured her coffee in two espresso cups decorated with a Cuban flag. She offered one to her neighbor, leaning over the counter.
“How did you sleep last night?” Camila asked.
“Much better. That new mattress is doing wonders for my back.”
“Gracias a Dios!” She rejoiced.
“Pablo visited me in my dream, too.”
“Ah, si? What was he up to this time?”
“It was a memory this time: the day he proposed to me. We were taking the train back to Cienfuegos from Santiago. We were visiting my sister and her new baby boy. Ay, he was so precious. His eyes were bigger than his face, and his skin as smooth as dulce de leche. He got that from our family.” Nena said with a wink.
“Pablo had his arm around me, nodding along as I gushed over my nephew. Then he started asking me questions about children: how many did I want to have, which city is the best city to raise them, etc. But I did not want to get my hopes up.”
“So what did you do?”
“I looked him right in the eye and said ‘Pablo, if you’re trying to propose to me you better have gotten my father’s blessing first.’ And that shut him up right then and there.”
Camila let out a soft gasp.
“He was going to propose before speaking to your father?”
Camila, personally, did not subscribe to the practice. But she was well aware of how important these traditions are for her neighbor.
“In real life, it took Pablo a week to get my father’s approval and blessing before he formally proposed. But in that dream, my father suddenly appeared beside me and approved of the engagement.”
“What happened next?”
“That’s when I woke up. It’s been one of my sweeter dreams lately.”
They welcomed the silent reflection with a sip of their cafecito.
“Cuentame, how are things going with that young man?”
Camila veiled her disappointment with laughter.
“Well, I haven’t heard from Dan in a week.”
“No me digas…Have you tried calling him?”
“Yes, and he didn’t answer. When someone stops texting or talking, this is what we call ‘ghosting.’ That is exactly what Dan is doing to me.”
“And how do you know that he is ignoring you?”
“My coworker looked up his social media, and he is actively posting in his accounts.”
Nena stringed curses against him in Spanish.
“Que barbaridad. I tell you, these young men are cowards. A true man will make his intentions crystal clear. He is not worth taking up a single space of your mind, mija.
With a tisk, Nena poured more coffee for the two of them. Camila rested her temple on her fist.
“Aside from the pendejos, how do you like Orlando? It’s been six months since you moved here.” Nena asked.
“Time flies when you’re somewhere new…” Camila said with a playful smile.
“I see you going out on the weekends, and you have friends over. That’s a good sign, in my opinion.”
“Yes, they are good people.” She agreed.
“And you’re going to church? You know we don’t live far from the cathedral.”
Camila squirmed in her seat.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been…” She confessed. What’s more she could not admit to Nena that she had no desire to go.
“You know better than to skip church! We are going to confession later today, y mañana a Misa.”
“Pero Nena-”
“And if you have plans, you will reschedule. Oiste?”
“Si, Nena.”
She’ll have to call her friends to push back their Sunday brunch plans. Nevertheless, she finished her second cafecito knowing that her new home had a steady foundation.
Thank you to
and his Flash Fiction Friday (From January 31st) for inspiring today’s writing exercise! This story was inspired by two of his prompts, “write about moving to a new place” and “it stung sweetly.”I’ve had Bad Bunny’s “DtMF” album on loop for over a month now, and this story is inspired by several of his songs from the album.
I was also playing around with bilingual dialogue that both is natural to bilingual speakers while also accessible to any reader. I decided to leave a footnote for one specific phrase, since it’s a specific reference to the Cuba/PR relationship.
“Two wings of the same bird.”