Angel’s Seventh Birthday

Angel’s Seventh Birthday

At 8:00 a.m. on Saturday, March 22, 1975, Angel’s seventh birthday, Tyrone arrived with Monica at the Moore Street apartment to pick up both Angel and Eddy for a promised birthday outing into Manhattan and their planned boat excursion on the famous Circle Line.

Both boys had been talking about the trip all week and were already dressed and waiting excitedly when Tyrone and Monica walked through the door. Julia had insisted the boys wear their winter coats and take umbrellas because the forecast called for possible light showers and temperatures no warmer than fifty degrees.

When they left the apartment that morning, it was overcast with a slight fog, but their enthusiasm wasn’t dampened as they walked the familiar short distance to the Montrose Avenue Double L subway stop. There, they boarded a Manhattan-bound train that carried them through the tunnel under the East River and eventually to Union Square. There they transferred to an uptown N train and continued on to their final stop at Times Square–42nd Street.

Emerging from the station at 42nd Street, they crossed Seventh Avenue and began the long walk several blocks west from Times Square toward the Hudson River, where the Circle Line boats were docked at Pier 83.

As they walked, Tyrone told the boys not to pay too much attention to the various sleazy shops and occasional scary-looking people they saw on 42nd Street between Seventh and Eighth Avenues.

“This isn’t the best part of the city,” he told them, as he tried instead to draw their attention to some of the fabulous architectural features of the grand old theaters along the street.

“A long time ago, this was a much better area, and some really famous people performed in those old theaters,” he said.

When they arrived at Pier 83, they saw signs pointing them toward the Circle Line and the big, beautiful boats docked there.

“We’ll be on the water before you know it,” Tyrone exclaimed, without hiding his own excitement.

Monica laughed. “And today we all get to be kids, having fun on an adventure together!”

Before they entered the ticketing area, Tyrone stopped at a little souvenir stand near the pier and bought skipper caps for the boys to wear.

“You guys get to be ship captains today too,” he said as he playfully put the hats on their heads.

And the boys were elated to wear them!

A short time later, they were on the upper outside deck, seated on one of the long benches of the Circle Line boat. Then the engines somewhere below began to rumble, the boat shook, a very loud whistle sounded, and the big vessel began to move away from the pier and out into the Hudson River. Eddy clapped with excitement.

The captain’s voice sounded over a loudspeaker as he announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome aboard the Circle Line. We hope you enjoy your journey around the great Island of Manhattan with us today. It might be a bit windy and cold, and possibly a little drizzly out on the decks this morning, so please stay warm and dry. And please feel free to roam around all the public areas of the vessel, especially our heated cabins on both the lower and upper decks. The snack bar is also open for your convenience.

“Our approximate travel time today around Manhattan is about two and a half hours. Our dedicated guides, who are here with me in the wheelhouse, will be narrating the tour for you as we pass significant landmarks. Please enjoy your cruise with us today, and please always think safety first, especially when walking on wet decks, taking pictures, or leaning over the railing while taking in the sights. Bon voyage!”

As the boat began sailing south down the river, they immediately saw the enormity of the city to their left, with all of its very tall buildings. The towering skyline contrasted greatly with the crowded clusters of smaller buildings on the Jersey side of the river to their right.

As they sailed along, Tyrone told them, “Right now, New York is on what’s called the ‘port side’ of the boat, and New Jersey is on the ‘starboard side.’ The front of the boat is called the ‘bow,’ and the back is called the ‘stern.’ If you’re moving toward the bow, you’re going ‘forward,’ and if you’re moving toward the stern, you’re going ‘aft.’ And anything behind the boat is ‘astern.’”

Then he pointed toward Manhattan.

“Look over on the port side and you can see the Empire State Building right over there. Isn’t it a beautiful sight to see?”

A bit farther down the river, they passed the twin towers of the new World Trade Center close by on the port side, and Jersey City on the starboard side. Then they sailed past New York’s Battery Park and out into the wider waters of New York Harbor.

Staying outside for the view, they all shivered in the cold wind as the boat approached the Statue of Liberty. Flocks of seagulls hovered above and, as if in an orchestra, cried, “ha-ha-ha-ha . . . yeow,” seeming to follow the boat as if on cue. Tyrone, Monica, Angel and Eddy clung to the ship’s railing as the sights and sounds of the harbor passed before them and they neared the Statue.

The vessel came to a near stop close to the shore of Liberty Island, and the tour guide gave an interesting history of the Statue, Ellis Island and that part of New York Harbor.

“Many older New Yorkers, and those of us who like history, recall that the island where the Statue is located used to be called Bedloe’s Island, but about twenty years ago it was renamed Liberty Island by the federal government. Her official name is ‘Liberty Enlightening the World,’ and she was a gift of the people of France to the United States. The Statue was dedicated on October 28, 1886, and today is simply known to many as ‘Lady Liberty.’ The tablet she holds in her left hand is inscribed with the date July 4, 1776, and the broken shackles at her feet, not easy to see from where we are on the boat, symbolize freedom from oppression and recall the abolition of slavery.”

After their brief pass by the Statue and nearby Ellis Island, the boat turned and headed back toward Lower Manhattan and on to the mouth of the East River.

As the Circle Line passed near Battery Park again, entered the East River, and progressed toward the magnificent Brooklyn Bridge, the tour guide offered another interesting point of fact.

“The East River is actually not technically a river at all. Geographically, it’s a tidal strait connecting New York Harbor with Long Island Sound. Unlike a true river, it has no freshwater source flowing from somewhere inland toward the sea. Instead, the water here is moved largely by the tides, and the currents can actually flow in different directions at different times of the day. The East River separates Manhattan and the Bronx on one side from Brooklyn and Queens, which are geographically part of Long Island, on the other.”

“Interesting,” Tyrone said to Monica. “I had no idea the East River is not actually a river! You learn something new every day!”

Then they passed under the Brooklyn Bridge, and as it appeared directly above the boat, they all tilted their heads as far back as they could and marveled at the intricacy of the massive structure above them. The sounds of cars buzzing back and forth across the bridge filled the air.

“Wow,” said Monica, as they completed their journey beneath that most famous of New York landmarks.

Then they passed the old Brooklyn Navy Yard on the starboard side, and the guide delivered some interesting facts about its history as well.

Angel said to Tyrone, “We live in Brooklyn! The Brooklyn Bridge, the Brooklyn Navy Yard . . . and Brooklyn is part of Long Island too. Hooray for Brooklyn!”

“Yes, Captain,” Tyrone responded. “Hip, hip, hooray for good old Brooklyn, the best borough in the great City of New York!”

As the boat continued its journey up the East River, the guide pointed out the Manhattan Bridge, the Williamsburg Bridge, Greenpoint, a few important buildings visible on the Manhattan side, and then Queens on the starboard side and the famous United Nations Headquarters on the port side.

They passed Roosevelt Island, formerly known as “Welfare Island,” and then continued toward the massive Queensboro Bridge.

“Some people like to call this the 59th Street Bridge because of where it lands on the Manhattan side,” the guide remarked with a chuckle, “but those of us from Queens know better!”

Then the boat passed beneath the enormous steel framework of the Queensboro Bridge.

Traveling farther north, the boat entered the seemingly narrow Harlem River.

“Guess what, ladies and gentlemen,” the guide announced. “The Harlem River isn’t really a river either. Just like its sister, the East River, the Harlem is a tidal strait. It connects the East River we just left with the Hudson River, which we’ll enter about eight miles from here. And because these waters are affected by the tides, the currents here can flow in either direction.”

Then the boat passed Yankee Stadium, and shortly thereafter they came upon the grand and magnificent Roman-style arched crossing above them known as High Bridge.

As they approached, the guide said, “The bridge above us, known as High Bridge, is part of the Old Croton Aqueduct and was completed in 1848. It was built to supply Manhattan with fresh water and is actually the oldest surviving bridge in the city. There was once a pedestrian walkway across the bridge, but it was never used for vehicle traffic. Today, and for about the past four years, the bridge has been fenced off, and no one is allowed to cross it. Maybe someday they’ll open it again to the public. I guess time will tell.”

Not long after, the boat exited the Harlem River and entered the mighty Hudson River once again, this time just north of the George Washington Bridge, an incredibly high and massive suspension bridge with huge cables hanging gracefully from tall towers on each side. The bridge featured a double-decked roadway and connected Washington Heights in Manhattan with Fort Lee, New Jersey. The sight of the enormous bridge rising so high above the river’s surface was absolutely fantastic.

Angel asked Tyrone, “How did they build that bridge so high in the sky?”

“Right?” he answered. “It’s unbelievable, but what a sight to behold, no?”

Then Tyrone pointed toward the Manhattan shore.

“Angel, Eddy, look over there on the left, under the bridge. Do you see the little red lighthouse? Do you remember all the times your Drina read you that book The Little Red Lighthouse and the Great Gray Bridge when you would visit our house? She read it to me too when I was a kid. That’s the lighthouse from the book. Isn’t that cool!”

“Really? That’s the real lighthouse and the bridge too?” Angel excitedly responded. “Wow!”

During the last twenty minutes or so down the Hudson, a gentle rain started to fall upon the boat, and they all retreated inside to the dryness and warmth of the boat’s upper cabin. Tyrone bought everyone hot chocolate from the snack bar, along with some extra-large soft pretzels for the boys to snack on, and they sat together watching as the boat passed the last of the sights along the river and then docked again where it had departed two and a half hours earlier at Pier 83.

For the boys, and for Tyrone and Monica too, the trip had been the adventure of a lifetime!

As the boat docked and they readied themselves to disembark, Tyrone put his arm around Angel and joyfully proclaimed, “Happy birthday, Angel!” And Angel smiled from ear to ear.

They traveled back to Brooklyn and exited the Montrose Avenue train station as planned at about 1:30 p.m. On the sidewalk just outside the station, Tyrone told everyone to wait for a minute because he had to make a quick phone call. He told them he wanted to let his folks know that he’d be home in a couple of hours, after he took the boys home and then took Monica home. He made the brief call in a phone booth right there at the top of the steps leading into the station. And then they were quickly on their way.

A little while later, they made their way up the stairs to the Moore Street apartment. As soon as they opened the door, a loud chorus of voices shouted, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

In the apartment waiting for them were Julia, Drina and Pop, Sylvia and her new boyfriend Charles, Mr. and Mrs. Gutiérrez, Gladys and most of her brothers and sisters, Rafy from downstairs, Gertrude from the candy store, Julia’s friend Sonia, and even Alberto, Doña María’s son, who had come from New Jersey for the surprise birthday party.

On the kitchen table there was a chocolate cake, Angel’s favorite, and upon it were seven already lit candles. Everyone immediately began singing “Happy Birthday,” and after that, “Feliz Cumpleaños.” Angel blew out the candles, and everyone clapped for joy!

Then, after a meal of hot dogs, baked beans, Drina’s special mac and cheese, potato chips, and coleslaw, and once everyone had finished their pieces of birthday cake, Angel opened a bunch of birthday gifts they had brought for him that day.

His favorite gift that afternoon was a sweatshirt given to him by Tyrone and Monica. It was a deep navy blue and had the word “Brooklyn” emblazoned across its chest. He put it on immediately and afterward hugged Tyrone tightly for a long minute.

“Thank you, Uncle Ty,” he joyfully cried. “This has been the best day ever! I love you!”

On the evening of Angel’s birthday, Julia and the kids ate leftover hot dogs and party foods for dinner.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart, mi hijo, my Angel,” she said as she kissed him goodnight. “Sleep with the angels!”

Soon thereafter, the boys were sound asleep in their bed. Amanda rested quietly in her crib.

And Julia poured herself a glass of special apple juice, reclined on the couch, and for a long time, sipping her juice little by little, contemplated life.

The Rosa/Marcos Sequence

ONE HUNDRED AND ELEVEN

It Might Be Easier if I Just Show You the Way

During his high school years, unlike many of his classmates, Angel showed little interest in becoming seriously involved in dating. There had been a couple of girls who interested him, but he was often too shy or timid to approach them with the confidence other boys seemed to possess.

Moreover, Johnny's repeated mistreatment had left Angel deeply confused about himself and uncertain about how to develop comfortable relationships with girls.

Once, near the end of his freshman year at Eastern District High School, Angel mentioned to Johnny that a female classmate had told him she thought he was cute and needed a girlfriend.

He asked Johnny what would be the best way to let her know he might be interested in her.

Johnny laughed ferociously at the question.

“Really, faggots like you don’t actually want to be with women. Don’t pretend to be a man you can never be, you little cocksucker. We both know who you really are. Don’t kid yourself and don’t play games with people, you stupid fuckin’ homo. Let me put it to you simple. When that girl finds out you’re gay, she’s gonna forget about all that ‘being cute’ crap and stuff. What a fuckin’ joke! Why you even askin’ me that shit?”

Johnny's words, along with the many similar insults he regularly directed at Angel, wounded him deeply. Combined with the sexual abuse he and Eddy had been forced to endure in silence, these verbal attacks left Angel with deep scars of self-doubt, shame, and insecurity.

He wasn't sure who or what he was.

The resulting inner turmoil continued throughout his high school years and tormented him long after Johnny had died. And these painful struggles were only compounded by the many other forms of familial and social dysfunction that seemed to dominate so much of his life.

However, in the autumn of 1987, a young woman entered Angel's life, and almost immediately, his encounter with her began to change something profound about the way he thought of himself. From nearly the first moment they met, he believed her to be a sweet, innocent, and caring person. And the unexpected ease with which they interacted opened his mind to possibilities he had never seriously considered before.

Even more than that, Angel felt a physical attraction to her that was different from, and far more exciting than, anything he had ever experienced with any other young woman. He loved the way it made him feel, and it stirred within him a powerful desire to get to know her better.

Angel met her on Halloween, Saturday, October 31, 1987, at the Moore Street Market.

That day, the market sponsored a special event called “Dulces, no Trucos, en La Marqueta,” which had been advertised throughout the neighborhood for several weeks. Vendors were encouraged to decorate their stalls with Halloween themes and distribute candies and treats to neighborhood children, who were invited to come through the market with their families.

It wasn't an entirely altruistic undertaking on the part of management. They believed the celebration would be a good marketing strategy, attracting families to the market and perhaps generating additional business for its vendors.

And the event was very successful.

Angel had been hired for extra hours of maintenance work that day to help keep the market tidy as the crowds of children and their families made their way through.

Saturday was usually a busy day at the market, but the Halloween celebration attracted hundreds of additional visitors, many of them small children dressed in costumes of every imaginable kind.

Angel spotted a little boy dressed as a pirate, and the sight immediately brought back a memory from twelve years earlier, when he himself had worn a similar costume as a seven-year-old second grader.

Shiver me timbers! he thought.

He could almost hear his mother's voice calling out those same words on that Halloween so long ago. The memory brought a smile to his face, but then he recalled the sadness that had brought that very same day to such an unhappy conclusion.

He quickly returned to the task of sweeping candy wrappers and other trash from the market’s floor.

A young woman dressed in ordinary clothing but wearing an oversized witch’s hat approached him. Angel assumed she was about his age.

“Excuse me, sir, can you tell me where the restrooms are?” she asked in a voice that sounded both urgent and sweet.

“It might be easier if I just show you the way, because it’s not so easy to explain with all the food stalls and extra decorations they have around here today. Follow me, ma’am.”

He led her right to the door of the women’s restroom, then pointed and announced, “Here it is. Have a great day.”

He turned and began to return to his sweeping.

“Hey, can you do me a favor?” she asked.

A bit startled, Angel turned back toward her and responded with some confusion, “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, but do you think you could hold on to my hat while I’m in the ladies’ room? I won’t be long, I promise. It’s just that I’m afraid I might drop it, or it might get wet or something . . . well, you know what I mean.”

“I guess so,” Angel responded cheerfully, almost laughing as he spoke.

He took the hat and stood beside the door for several moments. Then, when she didn't return as quickly as he had expected, he placed the hat on his own head and began sweeping the floor near the entrance to the restrooms.

“Hey, dude, that’s a cool hat!” a teenage boy shouted as he came out of the men’s room.

“Thanks, but it’s really not mine!” Angel declared with a tinge of embarrassment.

Soon afterward, the young woman emerged from the restroom, but Angel didn't notice her because he was busy emptying a dustpan full of debris into a large trash can nearby.

She quietly approached him from behind and suddenly shouted, “Boo!”

Briefly startled, Angel turned around, and when he saw her, he burst into laughter.

“You got me! Boo to you too . . . Ma’am!” he exclaimed.

He took the hat from his head and handed it to her.

As she took it from him, she said, “Hey, thanks for showing me the way to the bathroom and for holding the hat . . . sir!”

Then she added, “You know, you seem like a really nice guy, and I’m gonna be really honest. You’re kinda cute too!”

“Well . . . shiver me timbers! I never expected to hear some random witch tell me that today! And you’re not so bad-looking either, even with the hat!”

“My name is Rosalía Miranda, but everybody calls me Rosa,” she responded, extending her hand toward him.

Angel took her hand and shook it firmly, holding on just a little longer than usual.

Before letting go, he said, “My name is Angel Delacrus, but a lot of people around here call me Red. It’s a long story. But anyway, it’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s really nice to meet you, too,” she replied, adding, “I assume you work here, no?”

“Oh yes, I’ve been working here part-time since I graduated from high school last year.

“I’ve lived down the street from here just about my whole life. I live with my mom and my little sister. I had a brother, too, but sadly, he died almost a year ago. It’s hard to talk about it.”

“Wow, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Rosa responded softly.

“'Preciate that,” he said, then asked, “Do you come here often?”

“Well, no,” Rosa explained. “I actually live in the Bronx, but I usually stay with my Pop-pop, my dad’s father, on weekends here to help him with the cleaning and cooking. He really loves pernil asado con arroz con gandules, and I try to make it for him on Saturdays whenever I can. You know, it takes practically all day to get the pernil ready and just right.”

 “Oh, your Pop-pop lives alone?” Angel asked.

“Yes, now he does. My Mom-mom died two years ago. She used to make the pernil for him every Saturday, and even on other days, too, but since she’s been gone, he doesn’t get it nearly as often.

“Then somebody told me I could get the pernil here, but only on weekends. So I thought bringing him here today would, for once, get me off the hook for cooking, and he would get what he really likes, all at the same time!

“And actually, this is the first time I’ve ever brought my Pop-pop here. But I’m sure he’s been here before. After all, he’s lived in the neighborhood for a long time.”

Angel thought about what she'd explained, then said, “This was probably the busiest day ever to bring him to the market.”

“Yes, that's true,” Rosa responded. “But since I heard they were having a Halloween party here today, I thought he might enjoy seeing all the kids in their costumes. And I figured if I wore this silly hat, it might make him smile even a little more!”

“That’s really sweet,” Angel said, looking into Rosa’s eyes with a sudden and inexplicable sense of affection for her.

Then he added, “You know, I work here as a cleaner almost every evening after the market closes. But if you want, maybe sometime I can get here a little early, maybe on a Saturday, and I can probably get the ladies at one of the food stalls to give you a little extra pernil. They would do that for me.”

Rosa didn't hesitate.

“Oh yes, I'd love to meet you here sometime, even if it doesn't involve extra pernil!”

She looked into his eyes, smiled, and blushed a little.

“Well, let me get back to my Pop-pop. Angel, Red, Sir!”

“So glad to meet you, Rosa, wicked witch, Ma’am!”

Rosa returned to her grandfather and took a seat across from him. They remained there for another twenty minutes or so before getting up to leave.

As the old man stood, Rosa helped him take hold of his walker, and the two made their way through the crowded market toward the exit doors.

Angel watched quietly from a distance as they left the table and slowly made their way through the crowd, finally disappearing through the doors and onto the street outside.

I gotta see her again, he thought, as he turned his attention back to his broom and continued sweeping.

When Angel returned home later that evening, Julia and Amanda were sitting together at the kitchen table, eating grilled-cheese sandwiches fresh from the frying pan. Amanda had a cup of apple juice and seemed to be enjoying her meal as she held half a sandwich in her hand and took bite after bite.

Angel set a small orange plastic jack-o'-lantern filled with candy on the table and said, “This is for you, Amanda! Happy Halloween!”

Brother and sister smiled broadly and winked at each other.

“That’s so sweet of you, Angel,” Julia exclaimed, then asked him if he wanted a grilled-cheese sandwich too.

“Mom, and what kind of juice are you drinking?” he asked almost playfully.

“Okay, you got me, sweetheart. I’m having a little bit of special apple juice, but you know I’m trying to keep things better under control these days. Do you want a little bit too? It goes well with the grilled cheese.”

“Sure, why not? One grilled cheese and a little bit of special apple juice, ma’am!” Angel responded.

Julia rose from the table, took some cheese from the refrigerator and bread from the counter, then went to the stove to prepare another grilled-cheese sandwich.

Amanda left the table, took the jack-o'-lantern with her, and made her way into the living room, where she settled into her favorite spot on the couch.

She emptied the jack-o'-lantern onto the coffee table in front of her, then began rummaging through the candies, carefully arranging them according to their colors, shapes, and sizes.

Angel took a glass, sat down where Amanda had been sitting, and poured himself some whiskey. Then he took a hearty swig and proclaimed, “Oh yeah, this stuff is good. No more of that cheap Imperial in this house, right, Mom!”

As the bread began to sizzle in the frying pan, Julia asked, “Well, you sure seem to be in a cheerful mood this evening, mi hijo. Any particular reason?”

“I had a great time at the market today, Mom. You should have seen how crowded it was! It was so entertaining watching all those kids in their costumes and having so much fun with their folks. I saw this one little kid dressed up as a pirate, and it made me think of happy days right here at home in this kitchen from a long time ago.”

“Shiver me timbers! Remember that, Mommy?”

“Oh yes, I remember that so well,” she said. “And I also remember how proud Eddy was to be dressed up as a hobo that day.”

She paused for a moment, then added, “I remember telling him not to get any ideas about jumping on a train for a free ride, and we all laughed and laughed. I do treasure all those good memories, mi hijo, and I’m sure you do too.”

“Mom, it wasn’t all good, but now that I’m older, and so much has changed, I’m trying to think about the good more than the bad.”

With a spatula, Julia lifted the grilled-cheese sandwich from the frying pan, placed it on a plate, and set it on the table in front of Angel.

In a soft, affectionate voice, she said, “Buen provecho, hijo mío . . . buen provecho!”

Angel took a bite of the sandwich, swallowed, and then said, “Mom, you always did make the best grilled cheeses. I know that’s never gonna change!”

Julia sat down again at the table and took another sip from her glass. Angel devoured the rest of the sandwich.

“Do you want another one?” she asked.

“No thanks, Mom, but I do want to ask you about something, if it’s okay.”

At those words, Julia felt a sudden heaviness in her stomach.

She immediately recalled another painful conversation they had shared at that very table. Although it hadn't been very long since then, their lives had changed dramatically.

She wasn't ready for another bombshell.

“Of course, mi hijo, anything you want,” she responded apprehensively, feeling her stomach tighten even more.

Angel continued, “Mom, I’m gonna be honest. I don’t have any idea how women really think, but I’m sure you can help me understand a little.”

“If some random chick comes up to you, and you strike up a conversation, and then when it seems like you’ve got some kind of something happening, and she tells you she thinks you’re ‘cute,’ do you think she’s trying to tell you something?”

The tension in Julia’s stomach instantly disappeared. She felt not only relieved but even a little overjoyed that Angel had turned to her for such advice.

And then he added, “And if the chick is trying to tell you something, what would be the best way to let her know you might somehow be interested in her?”

Julia laughed with delight and joy. Smiling from ear to ear, she looked directly into Angel’s eyes and said,

“Mi hijo, I know you know it’s perfectly normal for boys and girls to want to get together and be friends, and sometimes even more than just friends.

“And I don’t think there’s just one way, or one particular feeling a guy and a girl will have when that happens.

“Just be yourself, and have a little confidence. If she thinks you’re cute and tells you that right out, then she must see something in you that she really likes. It’s really as simple as that.

“And if the feelings are mutual, you might eventually try to get to know each other a little better, and maybe discover the beautiful people you both are inside. But don’t rush into anything. That’s what I think.

“Angel, mi hijo, my sweetheart, I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to know that you feel you can ask me for advice like this. I guess that’s what moms should do, right? I love you.”

Angel closed his eyes for a moment, as though giving his mother's words some serious thought.

Then he said,

“Mom, I met this girl at the market today when I was at work, and it was like we both hit it off immediately. She was wearing this big black witch’s hat, like for a costume, and she asked me to hold it for her when she went into the restroom.

“I thought that was a little weird, but when she came back to get the hat, she was so funny and playful. She even shouted ‘Boo!’ at me and started laughing.

“Then she told me all about her grandfather, who she takes care of, and she seemed like such a good person.

“And when we were talking, I felt like I knew her already somehow. It was so strange. I never, ever felt that way talking to somebody I’d just met, especially a chick.”

Julia reached across the table, took Angel’s hand, and said, “What a sweet story! She sounds so lovely!”

Then she asked excitedly, “Did you tell her your name? Anything else? Please tell me you asked her for her name and telephone number!”

Angel frowned a little and said, “Oh no, I didn’t ask for her number. Should I have?”

“I told her my name is Angel, but a lot of people call me Red, and I told her I live right here on Moore Street. She told me her name is Rosalía, but everybody calls her Rosa, and that she lives in the Bronx but comes to Brooklyn every weekend to help out her grandpop. We sort of agreed that maybe we could meet again sometime at the market, but we didn’t get very specific about it.

“Mom, did I mess up with the whole number thing? Damn . . .”

“And you know what? I don’t even know where her grandpop actually lives, other than somewhere in the neighborhood. I didn’t ask. And I could have told her our address, but it never crossed my mind. Damn . . .”

Still holding Angel’s hand, Julia squeezed it a little tighter and said, “Mi hijo, I’ve got a pretty good feeling you’ll be seeing Rosa again someday soon. Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. From everything you’ve told me about her and what she said today, it sounds like she wants to see you again just as much as you want to see her.”

She smiled and added, “And I’ve got a very strong gut feeling this isn’t the last you’ve seen of Rosa! Don’t worry about it, hijo mío.”

“Thanks, Mom. Te quiero muchísimo,” Angel said before finishing off his glass of whiskey.

He then got up from the table, collected the dishes, and began washing them in the sink, along with the frying pan and everything else.

Julia filled her glass with a little more whiskey, then joined Amanda in the living room. She found that her daughter had lined up all the Halloween candies in neat little rows on the coffee table.

Amanda was sitting back on the couch, admiring her arrangement, with a huge smile on her face that seemed to say, I’m so happy!

Julia took a seat beside her and said, “Sweetheart, you are so creative, and I love it! But I love you even more! Happy Halloween, mi hija!”

Then, in one gulp, Julia finished the rest of her special apple juice and placed the empty glass on the small table beside the couch.

 

ONE HUNDRED AND TWELVE

Longing

The next day, Angel went to the Moore Street Market a half-hour earlier than usual.

The market always closed on Sundays at five o’clock, but he wanted to get there by four thirty, just in case Rosa came looking for him before the market doors were closed and he was inside and busy mopping the floors.

Before leaving home, he took a shower, carefully shaved his face, and put on some cologne, something he rarely wore. He dressed in the best clothes he had: a pair of neatly pressed Levi's blue jeans, a silk-like red dress shirt Julia had given him on his last birthday, and his cleanest, nicest pair of sneakers.

He also wore the only piece of jewelry he owned, a gold chain given to him by Drina and Pop on his fifteenth birthday. It was the first time he had ever worn it.

“Well, don’t you look nice today, Angel,” Julia said as he kissed her goodbye.

“See you later, Mom,” he replied.

Rosa hadn't come by the time Angel had to lock the market doors from the inside and begin his cleaning tasks.

That evening, as he swept and mopped the aisles, he kept glancing toward the doors, hoping he might see her looking in through the windows from outside.

But to no avail.

Rosa never showed up.

The following weekend, he was sure he'd see her before the market closed on Saturday, but she didn't come then either. And she didn't come on Sunday.

As he left the market that Sunday evening and headed home, he felt a great sadness inside. He was terribly disappointed.

I guess I got that all wrong, he thought.

As nearly a month passed, Angel's hopes of ever seeing Rosa again gradually faded, but the heartache did not.

Damn, why didn't I just ask her for her number? he thought, seemingly a million times.

Then, on Saturday, November 28, just after Thanksgiving, Angel was walking down Moore Street from his apartment toward the market on his way to work when he saw her.

Rosa was standing near the entrance, looking anxiously up and down the street, and Angel had no doubt at all she was there waiting for him.

For a moment, Angel could hardly believe his eyes. He felt a sudden tightness in his chest, and then he began running toward her.

As he approached, Rosa saw him coming and started walking quickly in his direction.

“Hey you, Mr. Angel, Red, Sir!” she called out. “I’m so glad to finally see you again! I came by here three weeks ago, but it was on a Friday, and they told me you weren't working that day. I was so disappointed!

Rosa continued, “I should have asked you for your phone number the day we met. I've been kicking myself for not doing that ever since!

“And my Pop-pop has been sick and in and out of Woodhull Hospital for the past three weeks, so it's been really hard to get back over here at a time when I thought you might be working.”

Angel, speaking in a higher tone of voice than usual, declared, “Well, Miss Rosa, wicked witch, ma’am, you're not gonna believe this, but I've been thinking about you day and night ever since Halloween! And I've been kicking myself too for not getting your number that day.”

“Is your Pop-pop okay?” he asked.

“Well, he's a lot better now, and home again. I hope this time for good,” she answered. “He keeps telling me, ‘When you get old, everything starts to fall apart,’ and I keep reminding him he's as strong as a horse!

“So far this weekend, he's been eating like a horse too, and he's complaining about his usual gripes, so I think he's out of the woods!”

Angel looked directly into her eyes and asked, “Rosa, can I give you a hug?”

She didn't answer with words. Instead, she immediately threw her arms around Angel and hugged him so tightly he thought he might lose his breath.

And he embraced her in return with the same passion and strength.

“Rosa, I can’t even tell you how happy it makes me to see you. I wish I didn’t have to go to work right now, and I definitely don’t ever want to lose touch with you again. Are you free in a couple of hours? We can catch up with each other when I get off work, if you want.”

Then, with an almost pleading excitement, he added, “And Rosa, please, please tell me, what’s your number?”

They stepped into the market together for a moment, and Angel asked one of the ladies behind the first food stall if she had a pencil and some paper he could write on.

“Sure, honey, here you go,” she said, handing him a pencil and a small notepad across the counter.

The woman watched as Angel and Rosa tore pages from the notepad and took turns writing down their telephone numbers and addresses. Then they exchanged the pieces of paper.

Rosa said, “I wrote my Bronx home number on there, too. You can call me there almost any weekday, but I’m usually here in Brooklyn with my Pop-pop from Friday afternoon until Sunday evening.

“And wow, Angel, you really do live close to the market! I could’ve probably just walked up and down the street and found you if I’d thought about it!”

They embraced once more, agreed to meet at the market doors again that evening at nine o’clock, and then Rosa left.

Angel stood staring through the windows of the doors for a while, seemingly almost mesmerized.

Finally, the woman behind the counter said to him, “Wow, Red, she must be somebody really special. I can see it in your eyes. I love love!”

“Me too,” he answered.

The woman behind the counter turned back to the cleaning she had been doing inside her stall and started singing some of the words to “Higher Love,” the very popular song by Steve Winwood about the longing for a deeper kind of love that gives meaning to life.

 

ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTEEN

Winter into Spring

 

After Angel finished work at nine o’clock on the evening of Saturday, November 28, 1987, Rosa was waiting for him on the corner of Humboldt and Moore Streets, a short distance from the market doors. It was quite cold and the air was damp that evening. Although he was eagerly anticipating seeing her, Angel at first didn’t recognize her, as she was wearing a gray parka with its hood pulled tightly around her head. The fur trim around its edge obscured her face, and she knew it.

As Angel stood outside the doors, for a moment his heart ached as he peered up and down the street looking longingly for her. As his eyes scanned the western end of the street, she approached him from behind and, hidden within the parka’s hood, yelled, “Boo!”

“Oh, you really are a witch, aren’t you?” he responded as he turned and looked into her eyes, wrapped his arms around her, and hugged her tightly.

That evening, they walked together, sometimes hand in hand, without any particular destination in mind through the streets of East Williamsburg. Along Graham Avenue, they stopped occasionally to look at the displays in the store windows, many of which were already festively decorated for Christmas.

“I love this time of the year,” Rosa proclaimed as she pointed to a beautifully decorated and lighted Christmas tree displayed in one of the shop windows.

Angel teared up and said, “Christmas always reminds me of the best and the worst times of my life. The good and the bad.”

He paused for a moment.

“Just last year, a couple of days before Christmas, my little brother Eddy was killed in a street fight on Moore Street, practically right in front of our house. It was the worst day of my whole life. And I miss him so much. I pray for him all the time. I just hope Eddy’s at peace.”

“Last year’s Christmas was awful.”

Rosa reached for his hand.

“I’m so sorry, Angel,” she said. “I had no idea.”

“It’s all good,” he responded reassuringly.

He looked again at the Christmas tree in the window.

“But like the song says,” Angel continued, “we wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!”

He smiled.

“I guess that’s the good part of Christmas. New life, new beginnings. I have to remind myself of that.”

He looked at Rosa for a moment.

“I’m thinking I just want to be honest with you, even about the good and the bad stuff.”

They continued walking and eventually found themselves seated on a bench in Lindsay Park. They sat for a long time, sharing all kinds of things about their lives with one another. Partly because they wanted to keep warm, but even more because intense feelings of affection were clearly blossoming between them, they snuggled close as they talked and talked.

They lost track of time. Then, after sharing so many thoughts and feelings with each other, Angel suddenly asked, “Rosa, can I kiss you?”

And Rosa responded, “You don’t even have to ask!”

It was almost midnight when they made their way out of the park that evening.

“You know, Rosa, I don’t even know where your Pop-pop lives, but I have to walk you home, okay?”

“Pop-pop lives just a couple of blocks from here in one of the Borinquen Houses on Manhattan Avenue. From here it’s on the way back to Moore Street, so yes, of course you can!”

When they arrived in front of the building, they stood for a while and talked about the way they had met, laughing about their confusion and lack of communication during almost all of November. Most of all, they talked about how much they hoped to see each other again soon.

And just before one final kiss that night, Rosa said, “I already told my Pop-pop all about you, and he knows I was meeting up with you after you got off work at the market, and now I definitely want him to meet you. He’s kind of old-fashioned a little bit, and he’s suspicious of every boy I’ve ever talked about.”

“I don’t know how you would feel about this, but on Sunday mornings I always go with my Pop-pop to Mass at All Saints Church. I’m pretty sure he’s well enough to walk over there tomorrow. If he wants to go to church, do you wanna come with us? It would make a really good impression on him!”

Angel smiled and said, “You’re not gonna believe this, but I was baptized at that church. Of course, I’d love to go with you to Mass tomorrow, and I promise I’ll do my best to make a good impression on your grandpop. I even know when to sit, stand and kneel at Mass!”

“It’s a deal then!” Rosa declared.

“Can you meet us right here in front of the building tomorrow morning at nine o’clock?  That will give us plenty of time to walk over there and be in church by the time Mass starts at ten.”

“I’ll get here earlier than that just to make sure,” he assured her.

Angel walked home that night so happy he practically skipped. And when he got home, he went immediately to Julia’s bedside, knelt next to it and, calling, “Mommy, Mommy,” woke her from an intoxicated sleep.

“What time is it, mi hijo? Is everything okay? Please don’t give me any more bad news. Please.”

“No, Mommy, it’s all good!”

“Remember that girl Rosa I told you about a few weeks ago? She came to the market today, and after work I spent a couple of hours strolling around the neighborhood with her. We didn’t head anywhere special, but we had fun looking at Christmas decorations on the Avenue. We spent a long time sitting in the park talking about everything. And she wants me to meet her grandpop tomorrow morning and go to church with them. I’m gonna go! Mommy, I think I really, really like her a lot.”

Julia reached up and gently caressed Angel’s cheek. Although her speech was somewhat slurred, she said, “Mi hijo, that’s . . . so sweet! She sounds . . . really lovely, and you . . . seem so happy. Did you . . . get her number this time?”

“I sure did, and I got two numbers. The one for her grandpop’s house in Brooklyn, and the other for where she lives in the Bronx.”

“Good night, Mommy. I’m sorry I woke you up, but I had to tell you!”

Julia closed her eyes, sighed and said, “Te quiero muchísimo . . . mi Angelito. Buenas noches!”

“Good night, Mommy. Sleep with the Angels!” he said and left her bedside.

That night Angel drank no liquor, but he lay in bed for a long time looking about the room and at the ceiling, thinking about many things.

And the name Rosa was the last word in his thoughts, and a beautiful image of Rosa’s face and smile floated gently just behind his closed eyelids before he finally drifted off to sleep.

 

 

 

ONE HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN

The Bronx

Several months had passed since Angel first joined Rosa and her grandpop for Sunday Mass at All Saints Church. That very afternoon, after walking Pop-pop home to his place on Manhattan Avenue, Angel had taken Rosa to the Moore Street apartment and introduced her to Julia and Amanda.

Their mutual and extended family bonds continued to strengthen in the ensuing months as Angel introduced Rosa to Drina and Pop, to Tyrone and Monica and their kids, to Sylvia and Charlie, and to the whole Gutierrez family. They all adored Rosa and believed she was the best thing ever to happen to Angel.

Rosa, for her part, after seeing that Pop-pop had clearly developed a genuine affection for and trust in Angel, began regularly inviting him to her home in the Bronx. Rosa and her family lived in an apartment on Walton Avenue near East 150th Street, not far from the 149th Street–Grand Concourse train station. There, he became very friendly with Rosa’s mom, Zenaida, and her dad, Jorge, and with her two brothers and two sisters, but particularly with her older brother Marcos.

Angel began spending a great deal of time in the Bronx. Soon after he and Rosa realized they had become serious about their relationship, he started traveling back with her every Sunday afternoon.

Angel’s boss at the market was more than happy to give him Mondays off so he could spend two nights with Rosa and her family. He stayed until Tuesday afternoon, returning in time for his evening shift.

Although a devout Catholic, Mrs. Miranda had little say in the matter of Angel and Rosa sharing a bed whenever he stayed overnight. Mr. Miranda simply brushed aside her objections.

“Leave those kids alone,” he repeatedly told her.

Jorge also endeared himself to Angel very quickly by inviting him to have a shot of vodka whenever he arrived at the family home. This was a custom Rosa disliked but didn’t dare challenge.

Angel’s weekly visits soon became a regular routine. Even Julia was happy with the progression of his relationship with Rosa.

Julia told Gladys one day, “I’m so glad he’s finally becoming a little surer of himself and has found such a nice young girl from such a great family to fall in love with. It warms my heart!”

Angel’s Sundays in the Bronx always included a six o’clock family dinner. As soon as Mrs. Miranda returned from church in the morning, she began preparing the evening meal. She always cooked plenty, and by six o’clock, the entire family, often joined by friends and relatives, gathered around the table to enjoy her wonderful Puerto Rican cooking.

Angel loved spending time with Rosa’s family and friends, and they treated him like one of their own.

Mr. Miranda enjoyed those family gatherings, but he also enjoyed his liquor, often far too much. He was a heavy drinker, and although he seldom acknowledged it, his drinking had been a source of tension in the Miranda household for years. Mrs. Miranda and their children had learned to recognize when he'd had too much.

Rosa’s brother Marcos was the oldest of the five Miranda children. After him came Maria, then Rosalía, followed by Javier and, finally, Elena.

They were a very proud Boricua family, spoke a lot of “Spanglish,” and, for the most part, were practicing Catholics and active members of Immaculate Conception Church on East 150th Street. The two exceptions were Mr. Miranda and his oldest son, Marcos, neither of whom ever went to church.

Both parents regarded Marcos as the most immature and problematic of their children. From early childhood, he had always been in some sort of trouble or another.

His father never allowed him to forget an episode for which he had never really been forgiven, one Mr. Miranda always referred to as “El gran incendio del setenta y cinco.”

At the age of twelve, when Marcos was in the seventh grade at Elijah D. Clark Junior High School, J.H.S. 149, he lit a garbage can on fire in the boys’ bathroom, causing lots of smoke, the arrival of numerous FDNY trucks and firefighters, countless NYPD cops, a complete evacuation of the school for hours, and many, many worried and aggravated parents.

Besides the suspension he received from the school, Marcos endured a merciless beating with his father's belt and was grounded in the house for many months afterward.

As his father beat and verbally chastised him on that occasion, Marcos cried out, “And what about you? You’re nothing but an old drunk! I hate you!”

Marcos was regularly smoking weed by the time he was a freshman in high school, and around the same time he began drinking whenever the opportunity arose. Whenever police officers came to the Miranda home looking for Marcos, which happened far too often, Jorge typically resorted to the belt. But his attempts at discipline, often carried out while he was drunk and in a rage, rarely brought about any change in his son's delinquent behavior.

After Marcos dropped out of high school when he turned sixteen, he had a few jobs here and there but never any kind of meaningful employment. And the troubles seemed to never end.

Marcos couldn't hold a job, but mysteriously, he always seemed to have money in his pockets. This alone gave the family plenty of reasons to wonder what he was doing “out on the streets.”

Frankly, Rosa loved Marcos as her brother, but in every other regard often found herself desiring as much distance from him as possible. It greatly perplexed her when Angel seemed to take such a liking to him.

In March of 1988, Angel turned twenty. That same month, Marcos turned twenty-five, yet their age difference didn't seem to matter to their friendship. In fact, Angel sort of looked up to Marcos and thought he was very wise for such a young age.

The two had bonded as “bros,” as they said, almost immediately.

And although Rosa was happy Angel was so well received by her family, the one thing that bothered her greatly was the amount of drinking Marcos and Angel always insisted on doing and how much time they began spending together.

It quickly became “an issue.”

Although Angel ordinarily spent most of his time with Rosa during his visits to the Bronx from Sunday evening until Tuesday morning, he always managed to make time for Marcos as well. Often, the two would go out into the neighborhood late at night, and Rosa and the other family members had no idea where they went or what they might have been up to.

By July of that year, there were even some weeks when Angel would extend his visits and skip work on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. When he did so, he would always tell Rosa, “What's the big deal? I just want to spend a little time chilling with Marcos and his guys.”

Before long, those extended stays were devoted almost entirely to hanging out with Marcos. Sometimes Angel wouldn't even spend the night with Rosa, but instead, as she complained, would be “running the streets with Marcos somewhere.”

The increasingly troubling behavior of the two young men began to undermine the warm relationship Angel had previously enjoyed with the entire Miranda family. Zenaida, growing more concerned about their drinking and late-night activities, frequently expressed her frustrations to Jorge, Marcos, and Rosa.

Jorge would simply tell her, “Really, Zenaida, at this point it’s a lost cause. Just leave them alone.”

One Sunday afternoon in late August, as Angel and Rosa sat together on a Bronx-bound 4 train, they began arguing about whether Marcos should be included in Angel's plans for the next couple of days, or perhaps even longer.

Rosa griped emphatically, “You know, Angel, you're my guy, and sometimes I feel like you want to be my brother's guy. And I don't mean that in a homo way, but it's kinda weird if you ask me. We both know my brother's a drunk and loves to smoke that shit, but why the hell do you want to spend so much time with him, and all that drinking and smoking you guys do?  And the fact that my dad just seems to go along with it pisses me off more than you know. When I first met you, I never imagined you would be like that. It makes me so fucking mad. I just . . . don't know what to say or do. And I'm on my last nerve with both of you.”

“So, I'm telling you right now, if you and Marcos piss me off in the next couple of days, I probably won't want you coming with me to the Bronx next weekend. Or maybe ever again. You hear? Okay?”

When they arrived at the Miranda home that afternoon, Jorge greeted Angel enthusiastically.

“Angelito, bienvenido, have a shot or two with me before we sit down for dinner!”

Rosa rolled her eyes but said nothing.

The following day, Monday, August 29, 1988, Marcos and Angel drank all afternoon, and then Marcos convinced Angel to go with him into the City that night for “a little action,” as he called it.

That night, they took the 2 train from the 149th Street–Grand Concourse station down into the City, got off at Times Square–42nd Street, smoked some more weed, and ended up on 42nd Street in a “gentlemen's strip club,” where eventually they both hooked up with prostitutes and finished up the night in dark back rooms “meeting their needs,” as Marcos described it.

The next morning, Tuesday, August 30, Angel woke up on the couch in the Mirandas’ apartment. He didn’t know where he was, how early that morning he had gotten there, or what exactly had happened the night before.

He was sure of only one thing. Rosa was absolutely infuriated with him.

And Marcos didn't even seem to be home.

She stood near the couch screaming, “Do you have any idea how late it was when you came back in the middle of the night? Do you have the slightest idea how much noise you and Marcos made when you came crashing in here? Go home, Angel. Just go home right now. Please leave this house. I'm not even sure I ever want to see you again.”

And then she cried uncontrollably as she ran into her bedroom and locked the door behind her.

Shortly thereafter, Angel left the apartment without even trying to say goodbye to Rosa or anyone else. He walked over to the train station and headed back to Brooklyn.

He was terribly hungover.

As the 4 train rattled along the tracks heading south, he tried to remember what had happened the night before. And as he thought more and more, a tremendous sense of shame and guilt came over him.

Recalling some specific moments, particularly some rather intense moments in the back room of that strip club, he asked himself over and over, What the fuck have I done? What the fuck have I done?

When he transferred to the L train, he sat down and buried his face in his hands. As the train made its way through Brooklyn, he cried on and off for almost the entire journey.

What the fuck have I done? he kept thinking, over and over again.

When Angel returned to the Moore Street apartment that day, he went straight to bed and slept for nearly five hours. He woke up with barely enough time to drag himself to the market for work.

The two hours he spent sweeping and mopping the market floors that evening seemed to drag on and on. Each time he checked the clock, he could hardly believe that only ten or fifteen minutes had passed when it felt like at least half an hour.

All he wanted to do was go home, have a little whiskey, maybe smoke some weed, and go back to bed.

When Angel returned home that evening, Julia told him Rosa’s brother Marcos had called and wanted him to call back as soon as possible.

She handed him a piece of paper with a telephone number Marcos had given her.

“He said you could call him at this number. It belongs to a friend of his, and he said it didn’t matter how late you called, ’cause he’d be there all night.”

“Thanks, Mom. I’ll call him when I get the chance.”

Julia, somewhat confused, said, “But he sounded like it was urgent, and he wanted you to call back as soon as possible.”

“Everything with that guy is ‘urgent,’” Angel responded.

“I’ll call back when I get the chance, maybe tomorrow. Right now, I just want a little bit of juice, and I want to go to bed.”

He then poured some whiskey into a glass and retreated into his bedroom.

“Buenas noches, mi hijo,” Julia yelled to him just as he was closing the bedroom door.

He didn’t respond.

 

ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN

Another Chance?

 

Angel didn’t call Marcos back that night, nor did he call him the following day. Or the day after that.

However, every day for the rest of that week, he tried calling Rosa over and over, but she refused to take his calls.

During one of those attempts, at five o’clock on Thursday, September 1, Rosa’s older sister Maria answered the phone and said to him, “Angel, Rosa has been crying for nearly three straight days. She doesn’t even want to get out of bed. I don’t know what happened between you, but I suspect Marcos has something to do with it.

“And let me tell you, things have been really tense in this house between those two. He’s such a jerk. It’s really a shame . . . really a shame!

“I don’t even think she wants to go to Pop-pop’s tomorrow, and we’re trying to figure out what to do about that. I’ll tell her you called, but I don’t think she’ll be calling you back anytime soon.”

“Okay, Maria. Thanks anyway,” Angel responded before slowly lowering the telephone receiver into its cradle.

He stood beside the phone for a long time, his hand still resting on the receiver.

What the fuck have I done? Why am I such a jerk too?

The questions raced through his mind over and over again. He was overwhelmed by self-hatred and regret, knowing how terribly he had treated Rosa, the first girl he had ever truly loved.

He stopped trying to call Rosa, and the few times Marcos called and left messages asking Angel to call him back, those messages went unanswered.

That Saturday, when Angel arrived at the Moore Street Market for work, he paused for several moments outside the entrance and anxiously looked up and down the street, desperately hoping he might somehow see Rosa coming toward him.

But she was nowhere to be seen.

With his weekly trips to the Bronx over, Angel resumed his old work schedule and once again worked at the market every Monday evening.

And for weeks, every time Angel approached the Moore Street Market on his way to work, his eyes habitually darted up and down the street, searching for Rosa, longing to see her again.

In Brooklyn, on Saturday, November 5, 1988, light rain showers and unusually mild autumn temperatures had defined the day. On his way to the market that evening, Angel dodged puddles on the wet sidewalks along Moore Street. He was so preoccupied with keeping his shoes dry that he barely noticed someone standing near the entrance to the market.

As he reached for the door, he glanced toward the person, who was wearing a bulky raincoat with an oversized hood pulled tightly around the head, completely obscuring the face.

And then, as the person turned toward him, he heard Rosa's unmistakable voice emerging from the darkness of the hood.

“Boo, stranger!” she shouted timidly.

“Rosa!” Angel exclaimed, his voice cracking with emotion as he said her name.

For a few moments, they stood motionless, looking mournfully into one another's eyes, neither quite sure what to say or do.

Finally, Rosa broke the uncomfortable silence.

“I know you're probably really surprised to see me here, Angel. I thought about calling earlier to tell you I wanted to see you for a moment tonight, but honestly, I was afraid you might tell me to stay away. So here I am.”

“Rosa, I would never not want to see you,” he responded.

They didn't touch or embrace, but continued standing a short distance apart near the market doors.

Then Rosa continued, “I didn't come over to my Pop-pop's house for a few weeks because I was sort of afraid to come back into Brooklyn. I know, it's crazy, right?”

“Rosa, I'm so, so sorry for what I did to you. And I can't blame you for staying away. I can't tell you how many times during the past couple of months I've told myself what a jerk I am for the way I disrespected you and your family.”

Rosa responded, “You really f 'd up, Angel. You really f 'd up! And my brother is the real jerk here. No, you're both pretty much jerks!”

She paused for a moment, struggling to find the right words.

“But . . . and I don't know how to say this, or even what I'm saying, but I do miss you a lot. And right now, I don't know if I want to see you again like that. But I miss you, and I think maybe we can somehow just be friends for now, or something like that?”

Angel took hold of the market door and pulled it slightly open. But before stepping inside, he turned back toward Rosa, his voice filled with apprehension.

“Rosa, I care about you a lot, and yeah, let's work on that friendship thing. Maybe we can get together sometime to take a walk or something. And I gotta be totally honest, I really miss you too.

“But Rosa, I can't promise you I'll never be a jerk again. Sometimes I think I'm just a loser. I know I fucked up. You probably deserve better than me. I don't know. Can I call you sometime tomorrow, maybe before you head back to the Bronx?”

“You know the number,” she responded.

As Angel stepped into the market, he looked back at Rosa and said, “I definitely have your number.”

But just as he turned away, Rosa called out after him.

“Oh, and I wanted to tell you, Marcos got himself arrested on some kind of drug charge. He's at Rikers now, waiting for some kind of hearing or trial or something like that. What a jerk he is, for sure!”

Angel turned back toward her.

“Wow,” he said quietly.

Then he disappeared into the market without another word.

 

ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN

Marcos’ Destructive Grip

 

Angel called Rosa early on the morning of Sunday, November 6, 1988, and they agreed to meet outside her grandpop's apartment building at the Borinquen Houses after she and Pop-pop returned from church.

“Thanks for calling, Angel. Yes, for sure we can meet up today. How about after I take my Pop-pop to Mass? I should have him back home by twelve o’clock for sure. I know Pop-pop would be happy to see you again. I’m gonna make lunch for him, and you can join us if you want, okay?”

Angel arrived half an hour earlier than planned. As he waited near the entrance to her grandfather’s building on Manhattan Avenue, he spotted Rosa a couple of blocks away, calmly accompanying the old man as he slowly made his way along the sidewalk with his walker.

As Angel watched them approaching, he felt both happy and sad.

They enjoyed a friendly lunch together that day.

For much of the meal, Pop-pop talked enthusiastically about his beloved New York Knicks basketball team, often repeating the same observations again and again.

“Did you watch the game last night, Angel?” he asked, before adding, “¡Diantre! That was a tough loss. ¡Dios mío!”

“I can't stand those Nets, or much of anything from Jersey. We're two games into the season, and our guys have been humiliated again, and this time by those doggone Jersey Nets! And this was supposed to be a strong season. We’re certainly not off to a good start. What happened?”

Angel said, “No sir, I didn't watch the game because I was at work, but I sure heard about it. But we'll see what happens this Tuesday when the Knicks go against Michael Jordan and the Bulls. We'll see what Coach Pitino has up his sleeve for the game, right?”

A little while later, Pop-pop asked again, “Angel, did you see the Knicks game last night?”

He added, “¡Dios mío! What a disappointment, no?”

As Pop-pop repeated himself, Rosa looked across the table and smiled at Angel, who patiently responded to her grandfather as though they were having the conversation for the first time.

After lunch, Angel sat for a while with Pop-pop on the living room couch as Rosa tidied up the kitchen and packed her things for the return trip to the Bronx.

“How about those Knicks, Angel? Did you watch the game last night?” Pop-pop asked him one more time.

“No sir,” Angel responded, “but I’ll try to keep on top of it for Tuesday’s game against the Bulls.”

“Me too!” Pop-pop responded enthusiastically.

Angel and Rosa said goodbye to the old man and then walked together the several blocks to the Montrose Avenue L train station.

Before leaving her at the top of the stairs, Angel gave Rosa a very brief and tentative hug.

“Thanks, Rosa. It's really good to see you again. And it was great to see Pop-pop too. Please tell everyone at home I said hello, especially your mom and pop.”

“We'll talk, Angel,” Rosa said as she awkwardly shook his hand and turned to go down the steps.

But then she turned back for a moment and added, “Hey, thanks for being so nice with Pop-pop today. You were so sweet! Call me if you want, okay?”

During the next several months, Rosa and Angel frequently talked by phone, often with no particular purpose other than to say hello and share tidbits of information about family, friends, and work.

They occasionally got together when Rosa was in Brooklyn tending to her grandpop, but never romantically. Angel made only a couple of trips with Rosa to the Bronx during those months, never staying overnight but joining the Miranda family for their usual Sunday dinners on both occasions.

Angel and Rosa often joked with each other that they had become closer and more loving as friends than they had ever been when they were together as a couple.

Pop-pop's health declined considerably during the early months of 1989, and in April of that year, the Miranda family made the difficult decision to move him from his longtime apartment at the Borinquen Houses on Manhattan Avenue in Brooklyn to the Concourse Nursing Home at 1072 Grand Concourse in the Bronx.

With Pop-pop no longer living in Brooklyn, Rosa had little reason to travel regularly to the neighborhood. Consequently, she and Angel saw each other even less frequently. Their friendship continued, however, without any clear sense of how it might change, grow, or perhaps even gradually diminish.

And diminish it did.

After a long silence between the two that lasted throughout June and into July 1989, Rosa called Angel unexpectedly late in the evening on Sunday, July 16, and told him the family had been asking about him at that day's Sunday dinner.

“Angel, my mom talked about you at the table today and told me and everybody else she misses you and wants to see you again. She asked me to ask you if you want to come up to the Bronx next Sunday for our family supper together. I gotta be honest, I miss you too, and hope you can come. Can you?”

“For sure, I'd love to see you and everybody again. It's been a while,” Angel responded happily.

And so, on Sunday afternoon, July 23, Angel took the train from Brooklyn to the Bronx and made his way to the Miranda family home on Walton Avenue.

It was five o’clock when he arrived at the apartment door, and everyone greeted him warmly.

The men of the family were crowded together in the living room. Among them were Mr. Miranda and his son Javier, along with four relatives Angel had never met: three cousins named Jesús, Esteban, and Jason, and an uncle called Tío Teo.

Mr. Miranda stood, a little shaky on his feet, and exclaimed, “Angelito, it's been too long! Please join us for a little taste of Absolut!”

Meanwhile, Mrs. Miranda, her daughters Maria, Rosa, and Elena, and an aunt called Tía Xiomara worked together in the kitchen, completing the final preparations for dinner and setting the table with silverware, dishes, and glasses of water at each place setting.

Just before six o’clock, as they waited to be called to the table, Marcos suddenly came walking through the apartment door and into the living room, much to Angel's surprise.

No one seemed to notice or even greet Marcos, and no one seemed surprised by his presence.

But Angel rose to his feet, shook Marcos's hand firmly, and simply said, “What's up, bro?”

Marcos seemed genuinely happy to see Angel.

“Hey, my man, didn't expect to see you here today! How's life in Brooklyn, bro?”

Glancing from the kitchen into the living room at that very moment, Rosa rolled her eyes, grimaced, and shook her head from side to side, thinking to herself, Well, seems like nothing's changed between those two. What jerks. Ugh!

Her brother Javier had assured her that Marcos wouldn't be home that Sunday evening. She also hadn't mentioned to Angel that Marcos had been released from Rikers Island three weeks earlier, much to her chagrin, after the Manhattan district attorney's office dropped the drug charges against him.

Marcos disappeared into a bedroom and wasn't seen again until much later that evening. He finally reemerged after the family meal was over, when the men had returned to the living room and the women were clearing the table, washing dishes, and cleaning up after everyone.

Then, at about eight o’clock, when everything was finished in the kitchen, the family gathered in the living room, crowding together on the furniture and sitting close to one another on the floor.

Mr. Miranda, who had left the table early, was already fast asleep in his usual living room chair.

Mrs. Miranda lit several votive candles and placed them on a shelf beside a small, slightly scratched and well-worn statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary. She then announced that the family would soon be praying the rosary together.

Immediately after she spoke, Angel said, “Well, thanks for the dinner, and it was great to see you all, but I’ve gotta be on my way. Sorry I can’t stay for the prayers, but my mom is expecting me home before it gets really late, and it’s a long way on the train back to Brooklyn. Hope to see you all again soon.”

He proceeded to hug and politely kiss Mrs. Miranda, Maria, Elena, Tía Xiomara, and finally Rosa. He didn’t disturb Mr. Miranda but shook hands with all the other men, and just before pulling the apartment door shut behind him, he called out, “¡Nos vemos, mis amigos! ¡Hasta la próxima! Goodbye.”

After leaving the Miranda apartment, Angel walked south on Walton Avenue toward East 149th Street. Just as he reached the corner and began turning left toward Grand Concourse and the subway station, he suddenly heard Marcos calling after him.

“Hey, bro! What the hell, you leaving without even talking to me?”

Angel stopped and turned to see Marcos walking quickly toward him.

“Hey, man, nothing personal. I wasn't even expecting to see you this evening. And for real, I didn't want to sit there through the rosary. So I knew it was time to go.”

“Got that right. No damned rosaries for me neither,” Marcos responded.

Laughing slightly, Angel added, “Well, you coulda just stayed there and slept through it like your pops.”

“Well, he always gets a pass, unlike me,” Marcos answered.

Then, putting his arm around Angel's shoulder, he proclaimed, “How's 'bout you and me heading into the city right now for a little recreation time, if you get my drift?”

Angel looked fearfully into Marcos's eyes and hesitated for a moment before responding.

 “Oh no, bro, can't be doing that shit again. I know it's been a long time, and a lot has happened since then, but that night in the city with you really fucked a lot of things up for me. It fucked up my head, and it fucked up things between Rosa and me. And honestly, I'm surprised I'm even here, invited back to your folks' house after all that. I can't be doing that shit again. No way!”

Marcos laughed.

“Damn, bro, I never thought you were anything like a pussy like that. Shit. Fuck outta here, man. I know what you like, my man. Come on, don't be such a wussy. And by the way, I never said nothing to anybody about what went down for us in that strip bar last year. I don’t tell people my business, so you don’t have to worry about me saying things.”

Angel stood there silently for a while. He looked up into the evening sky, framed by the buildings on either side of the street. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought as he bit his lower lip.

His head seemed to be spinning.

 “Damn. Fuck,” he finally muttered, sounding more frustrated than angry.

Then he looked back at Marcos and asked, “What do you have in mind?”

Delighted by Angel's apparent sudden change of heart, Marcos said, “Now you're talking, bro. Now you're talking! Nothing to fear with me, right? You know I got'chu, bro.”

“Listen to me, bro. I got a friend who lives down in Hell's Kitchen. He's a really cool guy, and he's into all kinds of shit, but we don't need to go into that right now. I'd love to take you down there to meet him.

“You want weed? He's got it. You want something a little stronger? He's got it too. You want something else?  Hmm, I’ll say no more, but he’s on it. I call him my uncle. He's my king of pleasure and passion. He's my dog, and I know you're gonna like him. Let's go down there tonight. What do ya say? I know you won't regret it. I'm sure.”

Then Marcos added, “And another thing, bro. Ain't nobody gotta know what happens when we hang together. It's nobody's business but ours. Not my family, not your peeps, not nobody, and definitely not my nosy-ass sister Rosa, you hear? I promise, your secrets are good with me.”

“Damn. Fuck. Damn,” Angel muttered again, this time with less uncertainty, as though he had finally convinced himself to accept Marcos's invitation.

Then he looked at Marcos and said, “What the fuck, let's go meet your guy. What's the worst that can happen, right?

“And what the hell, I gotta pass through the City on my way to Brooklyn anyway. What difference does it make if I make a little stop along the way?”

Before they went anywhere, however, Marcos pulled a blunt from his shirt pocket, lit it, and took a hit before offering it to Angel.

As Angel exhaled, he exclaimed, “Damn, this is some damned good shit, my bro. Fuck it, what the hell, let's go into the City, man!”

Then, almost before he knew it, the two were together on the 2 train as it pulled out of the 149th Street–Grand Concourse station and headed south into the City.

After they exited the station at Times Square–42nd Street, they lit up the blunt again and took a few more hits as they casually walked along 42nd Street toward Eighth Avenue.

As they walked, Angel looked around, paying particular attention to the many old theater buildings along the way. He remembered a time long before, when he was just a little kid and Uncle Ty had walked with him down this very same street, giving him a little history lesson and a warning about the neighborhood.

This isn't the best part of the city, but a long time ago, this was a much better area, and some really famous people performed in those old theaters. Don't pay too much attention to the sleazy shops and scary-looking people.

Angel turned to Marcos and, almost giggling, asked, “Hey, bro, do you think we look like scary people walking along here in this sleazy part of the city?”

Marcos, seemingly annoyed by the question, responded, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Never mind,” Angel said.

As they turned right from 42nd Street onto Eighth Avenue, Marcos teased Angel.

“You see some of these old theaters, bars and porn shops? Some crazy-ass shit happens in some of those places. But I think you know that already, right?”

He laughed loudly.

They crossed Eighth Avenue from east to west at 44th Street, then made their way to the north side of the block and walked about halfway toward Ninth Avenue before stopping in front of an old, several-story apartment building.

Marcos pointed toward the entrance and announced, “My dog lives in this building. The place is a little rundown, but who cares? Let's go upstairs, my bro. I can't wait to introduce you.”

Once inside, they climbed three flights of stairs. When they arrived at a door marked “Apt. 3B,” Marcos knocked loudly.

An unkempt, slightly overweight white man, about six feet tall, opened the door. He had closely but unevenly cropped gray hair and an untrimmed goatee. Angel guessed he was about fifty years old.

The man was barefoot, wearing black sweatpants and a wrinkled yellow T-shirt with faded, bold green lettering that read “NYC SANITATION.” Beneath those words, in smaller italicized green letters, was the phrase “New York's Strongest.”

“Marcos, my dog! Damn, I just saw you yesterday, but good to see you again!” the man exclaimed, clearly delighted.

He opened the door wide and said, “Come on in! And who the hell is your friend?”

Marcos turned toward Angel, then looked back at the man.

“Larry, this is my bro, my friend Angel. He's a really cool guy, and I guarantee you can totally trust him.”

Larry then said, “Come in and have a seat. I've got some really good weed, and you guys gotta give it a go!”

The three entered what appeared to be the apartment's living room, but it was furnished with nothing more than five or six industrial-style rectangular milk crates, turned on their sides to serve as makeshift chairs.

“Have a seat, boys!” Larry exclaimed enthusiastically.

They sat facing one another, and Marcos took the blunt from his pocket again, relit it, and took a hit before offering it to Larry, who then passed it to Angel.

As Larry handed him the blunt, Angel sensed the man was studying him from head to toe.

“This stuff isn't bad,” Larry said, “but what I've got is much better, and I spiced it up just a bit. Let me get my bong, and we can all take a hit. You won't be disappointed!”

Larry went into the kitchen, took the bong from a cabinet, and prepared it with the spiced weed. When he returned to his seat on one of the milk crates, they each took several turns smoking from it.

It was indeed very strong stuff, and Angel soon realized he was higher than he had ever been in his life. It felt good, and he found himself becoming completely absorbed in whatever was happening around him in that bizarre apartment with Marcos and his mysterious friend, Larry.

They sat and smoked, took occasional breaks, smoked some more, and then took more breaks. This went on for over an hour.

It was all good!

Then Larry looked at Marcos and, changing his tone of voice to one of seriousness and concern, asked, “Do you think your bro Angel would be willing to take this up a notch?”

Although quite high, Angel still thought it strange that Larry hadn't asked him the question directly.

“I don't know. Let me ask him,” Marcos replied, as though Angel hadn't been listening.

Marcos looked into Angel's glassy eyes. By then, Angel's thoughts had become increasingly muddled.

“Angel, my bro, you wanna take this up a notch?”

Angel answered, “I ain't sure what the fuck that means, but what the hell, I guess so.”

Larry looked at Marcos and said, almost whispering, “I promise, the ready rock I got this time is the best you've ever hit. You sure your boy is down with it?”

“Let's do it,” Marcos proclaimed.

Larry disappeared into another room and returned a few minutes later carrying a small glass pipe he called a stem. While in the other room, he had also removed his T-shirt and sweatpants, and now wore nothing but boxer shorts.

Marcos seemed not to notice the change.

Handing the pipe to Marcos, Larry said, “Show your bro how it's done, my dog. It's packed and ready, no pun intended!”

Marcos took the pipe and demonstrated its use. Angel watched intently as Marcos held the flame of the lighter to the pipe, inhaled, and then exhaled a cloud of smoke into the room.

“You see how it's done, Angel?” he asked.

Then he added, “Did you hear that crackling sound when I held the flame to the pipe and took a hit? That's why they call it 'crack.'”

A little later, after the glass pipe had cooled and Larry had packed it with more rock, he handed it to Angel.

Angel nervously took it, his hands trembling. He followed Marcos's example, smoking crack cocaine for the first time in his life.

After exhaling, he exclaimed loudly, “HOLY SHIT!”

Then he jumped to his feet and began turning around, almost as though he were dancing.

“Holy shit! This stuff is good, man! Wow! I fucking definitely wanna hit that again!”

The three men burst into delighted laughter.

Early on, after taking his second or third hit, Angel declared, “What I really, really like about this shit is that when I take a hit and get that blast, I don't care about anything else. I don't care about all the shit I've been through in my life. I don't care about the people who did me wrong. I don't care about nothing, and I feel totally free from everything. There’s nothing that bothers me right now. It's like nothing else matters and there ain't nothing wrong with anything! It's fucking fantastic!”

“Right! You said it, bro!” Marcos responded happily, in complete agreement.

Over the next twenty minutes or so, they continued smoking together, eventually losing count of how many hits they had taken.

At one point, Marcos took off his shirt and threw it on the floor.

A little later, Angel thought he noticed Larry and Marcos exchanging nods and strange, knowing glances. But he wasn't entirely sure whether he was imagining it.

Then Larry turned toward Marcos and asked, “Yes? No? What do you think?”

“I'm not thinking the time is right,” Marcos responded.

“Maybe next time,” Marcos added after a moment's hesitation.

He picked up his shirt and put it back on.

Suddenly, Larry announced that he had no more ready rock to offer them.

As Larry led them to the door and held it open for Marcos and Angel, he winked at Marcos and said, “My dog, you can pay me back for the ready rock the next time we get together. Obviously, your bro Angel isn't ready to go down that road yet, if you know what I mean.”

 “Definitely not,” Marcos assured him, before adding, “But who knows? Maybe next time. We'll see.”

Angel gave no indication he might have understood their parting words, or even that he had heard them at all.

Soon afterward, Angel and Marcos left Larry's apartment and made their way back to the Times Square–42nd Street subway station. They had already agreed to part ways there. Angel would take the downtown N train, the first leg of his journey back to Brooklyn, while Marcos would take the uptown 2 train for his return to the Bronx.

As they clasped hands in a very tight handshake on the concourse level of the massive Times Square–42nd Street station, they agreed to get together again “as soon as possible.”

Before they separated, Angel added, “Your friend Larry is sorta strange, but anyhow, he seems like a cool guy. Maybe we can see him again someday, but I gotta be honest, I thought it was a little weird when he stripped down to his boxers while we were hitting that shit. And a couple of times I thought he was acting kinda gay or something. Did you see the way he kept looking at me? It was a little creepy. And what was that whole thing with your shirt? But I guess it's all good.”

“For sure,” Marcos said. “People sometimes do crazy-ass things when they smoke crack, but that's half the fun, even if it gets a little weird, like you said. Don't give it no mind. Take care, bro. See you soon, I hope,” he added as he walked away.

Later, while riding the L train back to Brooklyn, Angel, having pretty much come down from his high, thought about everything that had happened--from the moment he left the Miranda apartment to the moment he said goodbye to Marcos.

And he began repeating the same anguished question over and over in his mind.

What the fuck have I done this time? What the fuck have I done?

Angel slipped into the Moore Street apartment just a little after one-thirty in the morning.

He found Julia passed out on the couch. There was a nearly empty bottle of whiskey on the table next to her.

He took the bottle into his room and finished it off.

Then, after lying awake in bed for hours, often staring at the ceiling, he finally dozed off at about five in the morning. Again and again, the same question had haunted him.

What the fuck have I done this time?

Suffering from a type of hangover he had never experienced before, Angel slept almost all day Monday and, unable to get out of bed, didn't show up for work at the market that evening.

I’ll just tell the boss I went back up to the Bronx this week, he thought as he turned over and went back to sleep.