Quebradita
[A Stream of Consciousness Essay.]
27 de Julio
Today we’re going to write to music. I never do that, so we’ll see if that changes everything. Like always, I’m going to try to write this whole thing without stopping. (Don’t know who I’m informing of this. Nobody is reading.)
I’ve been writing about wandering around by myself and feeling completely dejected and uncool, so the following story might seem surprising. I know that it will definitely make all the moping I’ve been doing seem a little ungrateful. But then again, that’s why I’m writing, to catch moods like that. That and to have a place just to feel. To be fucking human and be honest about it. To not pretend to be perfect like we’re all trying to trick each other into believing nowadays. But when I’m sad to talk about how I’m sad, and when I’m elated, tell the world about that too.
Thinking about writing this essay, last night I considered creating an entirely new account so that I could be anonymous, that way I could talk about whatever it is that I want to. But then I realized how counterintuitive that would be. I’m writing because I like freedom and I want freedom. To be myself. To be brave. And the minute I start to talk more about all the topics that interest me (drugs, sex, and existentialism) I think I need to hide behind anon? It’s crazy, I know. But then I started to think about all of my favorite authors and the crazy amount of details they reveal about their lives, to a whole lot of praise. I’m not looking for praise, but I think I’m being a quite conservative, and to protect who? I don’t know. I want to be a little braver and say the things I want to say with confidence. I’m a good person and the biggest thing I have to lose by writing what I want to write is by missing out on clients. But good riddance, I wouldn’t want to work this them anyway, and I know that there are plenty of people who would work with me for being myself. And I know that the braver I am in being myself, the more of that I’m going to attract.
Speaking of attracting, that’s what this story is about. It’s what all of my fucking stories are about.
I was sick, I’d called work and told them not to ask me in today. I knew that the mess in my house was blocking me from receiving some serious shit in my life. And I was tired. So I decided to do a deep cleaning, watch a little Casa de Papel, and go to bed early.
I’d done all that and was getting ready to turn in when my uncle came in showed me the email he wrote my Aunt and parents about how I wiped out on my new longboard while on the phone with my dad about the new longboard I bought. He called it Holy Gio- and unfortunate story of factual impossibilities.
He practically ran out of the house when he found out I was sick, but with a little distance between us outside, he did show me how to turn on my board.
The party I decided I wasn’t going to all day, had just gotten started. It was about 12:30. I was up. I got dressed and went.
My buddy Raffi was there and he was so stoked to see me, and I needed that so bad. His house was full Mexicans, he was the only non-latino that lived there. All of their friends were there too. Bachata and Salsa were playing. And this new bouncy noise of music called Quebrada. One of the girls there showed me how to dance it, it was fun. She had the classic millennial Mexican American look. Short hair, flower tattoos starting at her collarbones and rolling down her arms. A white frilly tight shirt cut low and a long bright orange dress.
The Lamb was there, too. Her name will make sense later. I’d met her the Friday before at Salsa night. Half Puerto Rican, half Dominican, all black, almond-shaped eyes, tiny little body. Great eye contact. Her friend, pretty short, pretty fat black girl was with her too and immediately started hitting on me. Sloppy drunk, but very nice.
Someone had Mota outside and so I took a break from the party go outside with them. I shocked the world by speaking as good of Spanish as I did and I had some long conversations with the guys out there about this or that. I got through the usual jargon pretty quickly about where I’m from and why I speak Spanish despite being so fucking white.
I felt like myself, especially after the mota. I loved the way that house felt, and the fact that I could look everyone in the eyes. I was on day one of that Tim Ferris Eye Gazing challenge and I made my entire day into a staring competition. Often times I won but not always. It made me realize how very difficult it is to make eye contact with people, how hard it is for us to stare in each other’s eyes and make some kind of connection with each other. I love that the book starts with that. I think I get where he’s going with this.
Almost everybody looked away after a few seconds of it, which is what made the Lamb so interesting. She wouldn’t look away, and I wouldn’t look away so there would be seemingly hour-long intervals of us just staring at each other. They were probably no longer than 30 seconds, though.
The other night when I danced with her she was stiff. Now she was calm and would let me lead her. Maybe I was still and didn’t realize it. I certainly liked myself a whole lot more that night.
I went out front to go talk some more Spanish with whoever I could. The Lambs friend was on the other side of the porch yelling “Who wants to see my pierced nipples!?” and letting these strangers do titty shots off of her. I was wondering where the Lamb had gotten off to so I went to go looking for her.
I found her sitting on this dude’s lap in the back porch and thought to myself “Damn.”
Shortly after, the girl who taught me the Quebrada was saying to the birthday boy “Ok let you take a shot off my tits but just because it’s your birthday!” I thought about the only girl I took home in Cordoba, who told me “I’m only doing this because we’re in Spain!”
It was a weird spectacle. Her sitting on his lap, and just a little off, a whole bunch of horny dudes watching her receive the titty shot, coercing some of her friends to do the same, and me just watching the whole thing, fascinated from an anthropological standpoint, until I lock eyes with the Lamb.
“Have you seen my friend?”
“No, do you want to look for her with me?”
“Sure.”
“Well, can’t find her. Want to dance?”
“OK.”
“So you’re Dominican, right?”
“Yeah. And Puerto Rican.”
“Have you ever read any Junot Diaz?”
“No. Why?”
“He’s my favorite. I’ve got so many books of his. Do you want to see?”
“OK.”
“Alright let’s go.”
“Oh, we’re leaving-leaving.”
“Yeah, sorry my cars a little messy. That’s not very gentlemanly of me.”
“Haha, that’s Ok.”
“Oh my god, do you see the moon?”
“Yeah, I love it when it’s a crecent like that.”
“Can I pull over and look at it?”
“Yeah, I’d love that.”
“Great let's get out.”
At this paint, I’m sitting on the hood and she’s sitting on me and we’re talking about the moon and feminine energy and I’m kissing her neck and soon after, her lips.
“Maybe we should move this to a place that isn’t roadside?”
“Yeah, I think your right.”
I take her home and I have pulled a card from my Animal deck. She pulls the lamb. After that, we play the game where you look at each other in the eye and try to speak at the same time. Soon after that we’re naked and a little while after that we’re snuggling and I’m trying not to fall asleep.
“You said you’d take me home…” Damn. I did. And I don’t like going back on my word. So I took her to the Denny's all her friends were at and I ordered some food and had a great ass time. Spoke a lot of Spanish and that was fun. The dude she was with was there. He looked utterly depressed to see us come in together.
“Where you been?” One of the girls asked.
“Oh, he was just showing me all of his books.”
The dude didn’t even eat his food. He gave it to his friend and opted to sit outside while we ate. I felt so bad. He was what I wanted to write this essay about initially. How many times have I been that guy? Less than a day before I was in his headspace.
So what changed?
I cleaned my house, that’s what. I think I made room for all that receiving.
After breakfast, we parted ways and I walked on the beach until Sunrise.
