Soledad: A Novel

by Angie Cruz

Caramel says it’s because I’m always falling for artists. That’s my biggest mistake. She also thinks that I have problems with men who remind me of the men in my family. Maybe you’re afraid you will end up like your mother, Caramel says, practicing her Psych 101.

She dips a spoon in the water and decides it’s salty enough. She says it should be salty like the sea. And if I don’t remember how salty the sea is, then maybe it’s time I go and find out.

My grandmother says the secret to keeping a man interested is never letting him know who a woman really is, what she’s capable of. But I want a man to know who I am, love me for everything I think about and desire.

Don’t let him peek in your pots. You’re feeding him and you control your kitchen.

That’s probably where I go wrong. I let guys peek in my pots too soon.

Maybe if he’s done something nice, you can give him a taste on a spoon, outside the kitchen. Men like mysteries. And believe you me, Soledad, if ...

Do you think I won’t see you again? I’ll look for you when I come back in a few months. I promise. I will be dead in a few months, Olivia said. Dead? Sí muerta. My mother will kill me when she sees I’m pregnant.

She made a promise to God that if he got her out of this one she would start going to church again.

Te ves bella con la luz de la luna, he said. Olivia smiled. He always reminded her she was beautiful. She liked that.

I like the overpriced cafés. Even if that means I have to skip dinner to afford it. When I’m sitting on one of those tall bar stools facing the window, watching people walk by, sipping my foamy milk, sprinkled with cinnamon, among other university students, I feel like I’ve arrived.

I want a caramel apple and a coffee please . . . Caramel thinks she has a certain right to the caramel-flavored things. She insists it helps her to get in touch with her inner self.

. . . and Soledad will have the white boy on a platter, Caramel says to the waiter.

I’ll have french fries and a chocolate milk shake. Aren’t you sure you want vanilla? What’s up with you, Caramel? No I want chocolate. Thank you very much.

I just think your thing for white boys is weird, that’s all. I don’t have a thing for white boys. You date white girls. Do I ever say anything about that?

I want to find a mountain that I can sit on that will never change or move. That I can always come back to. I want that in a man, in my family, in my home. I’m tired of the unpredictable.

If only one day I could go home and find my mother exactly the way I left her. If I could ever have a home where there are no surprises, nothing breaks, everyone is happy, living normal lives.

Fuck you, Caramel. When and where?

She says that even if I do decide to live in Westchester and paint on Sundays in my quasi–art studio, with my nice white-boy husband, who pays for my expensive cappuccinos but doesn’t know how to give me an orgasm, she will visit me and love me no less.

I am filling myself with hope that one day I can return to Dominican Republic to feel the sea in my hair, algae tangling up in my toes.

Hoping for the day my mother does not have to wake up and feel like she needs to take care of everybody except herself. Hoping for the day Gorda stops living her life waiting for Raful’s return. Hoping for the day Soledad finds comfort in her own skin.

Maybe if I just lie under the sun long enough I will melt like an ice cube and all my sadness will evaporate into the air so I can start again.

Doña Sosa likes the way Ciego’s eyes droop. Bedroom eyes, she thinks they’re called. Men with bedroom eyes are always kind.

Doña Sosa wonders what does a blind man see when he looks out into the distance. Does he see memories, images stuck in time?

Gorda is afraid that the innocent infatuations with hoodlums from around the block might get Flaca into trouble and then what? What can Gorda possibly do?

I find my horoscope and asks him for his sign. You want to see if we’re compatible? He

He winks at me, caressing my bare legs with his eyes. His eyes can’t keep my shirt on. I like his eyes, they’re round and big and his eyelashes look like they’ve been lengthened with mascara.

I like what I see, he says, and exposes silver fillings with his wide-open smile. Well that doesn’t say much, you could just be looking at yourself. You’re pretty smart. I like that in a girl.

He probably didn’t even finish high school the normal way. He has GED written all over him and he’s talking about smart.

You never told me your sign. He’s looking over to the sun which is coming up golden, buttering the sky. Only if you want to know if we’re compatible, then I’ll tell you, ...

So if I stand up? I’d be afraid you’d be leaving. And if I stay? There’s hope between us. There will never be an us, Richie.

Already the girl has doomed the greatest love of her life.

You could never understand me. Let me see. That you’re dying to be anywhere but here. I can see you think y...

Did you know that even though you think we’re not touching we’re sharing electrons and therefore we’re all over each other? Richie says. Yeah I know. I feel him blowing more electrons my way, kissing me all over with tiny bites.

I’m a Scorpio, the better to sting you with. A Scorpio. He’s also a water sign.

When Olivia first arrived in New York City, she was surprised to see how big everything was.

Olivia went to the faucet and opened it. The water was clear and cold. She cupped her hands and filled them. She drank the sweet water and poured it over her face.

Every day I find more offerings on my bed.

They think I can help them but can’t they see I have nothing to give? When I hear them coming I tense up. I don’t have enough air to breathe.

They like to see me sick. That’s when they pray for me, take care of me, give me things. They like to be scared of what I’m about to do next.

Soledad would have never made the time to see me otherwise. But now she comes to me. Now she finds compassion.

I have this feeling when I walk out of the room my mother gets up, stretches, dances, jumps on the bed. As if her sickness is all a sham. She’s too inconsistent.

And why would she go through all that trouble? Caramel asks. Because she needs attention. I guess. Maybe she thinks if she scared me away I’d never come back.

Every time she doesn’t respond I get angry at her for not responding. I don’t know why I do this to myself. Caramel says it’s because I give a damn. And I should because our parents have sacrificed so much for us so we can live the lives they couldn’t. But does that mean I have to take care of her? Give up my dreams, my life, for her?

My mother doesn’t flinch. I accentuate and lengthen the sexy words to try and shock her. We’ve never talked about sex, or anything related to sex. Our sex conversation went something like . . . men only want one thing and if I know what’s good for me I better not give up that thing or else my life is ruined.

She grabs the magazine from the floor and tosses it to me. If you want me to read, why don’t you ask me. You have a tongue, I tell her. I know challenging her might be a mistake

She arches her eyebrows in that motherly and authoritative way. It feels like progress. The kind I don’t want to share with anyone. The kind I will keep for myself to see what will happen next.

Olivia says Flaca is her mirror image. From the day she pulled Flaca from Gorda’s stomach, she saw herself in her. Flaca likes the way that sounds, mirror image. Just like her.

Olivia said that they have a bond that no one can break.

He said to Flaca once, Flacs, there ain’t nothing like a kid coming over to you and saying Daddy. Man it feels good. It cuts you deep down in the heart.

I lu mi na da, that’s a big name for a little girl. Who gave you those eyes? I just want to pluck them out and eat them. Would you mind if I just ate them?