Lulú and I became friends after my son Fernando left. I was a disaster. I stayed in bed, forgetting to eat, to bathe, to brush my hair. You know the rag that we use to mop the floors? Stained, with holes and loose threads? That was me when Lulú became my friend.
One day, I opened the door of the elevator and she was there. You know when someone shocks you like a ghost? My purse flew up and my lipstick, my change, my Kleenex, my wallet, my keys, my aspirins, my banana for when I got hungry, all the photos of my son that I carried for when I asked strangers if they had seen him—all of that fell to the floor.
Sorry! Sorry! I was saying, because I couldn’t gather my things, which is something not normal for a Capricorn. Capricorns are solid like a tree. But I was so lost without Fernando.
Do you need help? ?Un café? Lulú asked.
Imagine me, on the floor, looking up to Lulú with her big orange hair. I did want un café. I didn’t want to return to my empty apartment. The neighbors said Lulú thought she was better than other people because, like I told you, her son went to the fancy college and her daughter was a writer. But that day she was very nice to me. And because Lulú’s not organized like me, and I like to stay occupied, while she made the café I took the broom and swept her floor. Then I saw a photo of Adonis on Lulú’s wall, and I became a fountain.
Lulú gave me a box of Kleenex. She turned on the radio. She turned on the stove to make me dinner and told me that I can stay there as long as I needed, para desahogarme.
You never heard that word? You said you’re dominicana. You don’t understand Spanish? Oh, just a little. OK. Desahogar: to undrown, to cry until you don’t need to cry no more.
Anyway, when Fernando left, Lulú did something for me that not even my sister ángela would do. When ángela saw me cry, my sister said, You’re drowning in a glass of water.
I tell you, ángela is cold. But cold! Pfft! She has no feelings for me.
Not Lulú. She understood that I had to cry until I undrowned from the inside.
I see you’re taking notes. So many notes. It’s true, you can write a book about me, because what I’ve lived has a hundred chapters.
In truth, all this, being here, with you, talking so much, it has taken me by surprise. I don’t like to talk about my problems. People talk and talk and talk and I say nothing. Punto final.
Will you permit me to take a break?
Oh, I see, we have finished time.
Does your bathroom have a mirror?
NEW YORK STATE
Unemployment Insurance Benefits
Department of Labor
Before filing a claim you will need to create an account:
User Name: carabonita
Email: [email protected]
Password: Fernando1980@@
Welcome carabonita
Security questions to choose from:
What is your maternal grandmother’s maiden name?
Nobody remembers. We called her Mona because when she was still married with Abuelo, dique she fell in love with a Haitian who traveled to Paris to do the business and died on the plane or the train or in the car. The story is always different. This Haitian went crazy over Abuela’s smile. He gave money to some artista to paint her face on the side of the store in Hato Mayor. The mural is still there. You can’t see it well, but still. We called it la Mona Linda. Do you know the painting? Very famous. Look, if the Haitian hadn’t died, Abuelo would have chopped off his leg. Abuelo was not an easy man. But did I learn? No. I married Ricardo anyway.
What is your favorite TV show?
Sin senos no hay paraíso. Everybody loves that show.
What is your favorite vegetable or fruit?
Mamey, especially in a batido. But if someone cuts it for you, it’s better.
What was the name of your first pet?
Pet? I don’t know how Americans have animals inside the house. I don’t make opinions. I like La Vieja Caridad ’s dog, Fidel. But she lets the dog eat from the spoon! It’s not hygienic.
What is the first name of your childhood best friend?
My mother doesn’t believe in friends.
What was your childhood phone number including area code?
We had to go to the colmado to call people. I don’t remember the number.
Who was your first employer?
La abogada gave me a job to supposedly clean the house when I had twelve or thirteen years. Instead, she made me fix the husband’s nails and sacarle caspa. Some lawyer she was.
What is your spouse’s mother’s maiden name?
Call her La Virgen María. It’s a miracle Ricardo was even born.
What was the first concert you ever attended?
Ay, José Luis Perales. You know the song? Y cómo es él … En qué lugar se enamoró de ti …
What subject or class did you dislike the most in school?
I learn everything possible. You stay ignorant or you educate. Punto.
What was your favorite comic book/cartoon character as a child?
Books? Cartoons? Child? Ha! We were never children.
What band poster did you have on a wall when you were in high school?
It’s true that the Americans don’t have any idea of what life is for us.
SESSION THREE
Ay, sorry I am late. Please forgive me. Don’t think that late is something I do.
Yes, I am feeling fine. Until you said something, I forgot about the surgery. When did that happen? Three weeks ago?
The reason I’m late is because Lulú did not appear. You have to understand; I’m a Capricorn, and when a Capricorn gets in a routine, it takes an earthquake to move them. Every day, Lulú comes to my apartment to drink un café, because I make it better. So when Lulú didn’t appear today, I lost my understanding of the day.
For ten years, Lulú and I took the bus to the factory together. Every day. Then, when that was finished, we went to La Escuelita together, all the way in Harlem. And now, even if La Escuelita is finished, she still comes to my apartment every morning and we talk about our dreams. No, not the dreams we make for the future, but dreams from when we sleep and get information about our life. Sometimes we don’t know what is happening in us, but the dreams know. So we must listen. They can be like messages from something more big than us. Lulú needs my help to interpret the dreams so she can choose the numbers she plays on Sundays.
It doesn’t hurt to try, that’s her lotto motto. Ha!
She loses a few dollars every week, but she wins money too. Don’t worry. I already warned her that playing the numbers is a dangerous game when you don’t have a job.
Between us, my dreams are more interesting than Lulú’s. She dreams of the teeth falling out of the mouth. Very normal for people to dream that. I had a dream where my bed becomes a boat, then I am on the water and I see this man and he turned to me. It was Fernando. I tried to reach him, but the more close I got, the more far he went. I woke up with my shirt wet from sudor.
I know, I know, I’m not here to talk about Lulú. But I’m worried about Lulú. How can I think about jobs? This morning, Lulú didn’t appear—and she didn’t answer the phone. In fact, all weekend she was dique occupied. She didn’t say with what, but ever since we saw her son Adonis on Channel 15, Lulú has been avoiding me. I am worried because she has never done anything like this before.
Listen, it’s not easy to be a mother.
Everybody around the area uses Adonis like a good example when they talk to their children. His diplomas and certificates hang on the entrance in Lulú’s apartment. They’re framed, even the ones from elementary school. Best Reader! Perfect Attendance! Adonis came out blanquito, with good hair, and you can’t tell me that didn’t help his grades in school. And yet, I noticed from my window that when he was a boy, Lulú would hold the back of his neck, tight, like she was driving him. A mother knows when the pineapple is sour.