“Close Call Entertainment is working on this android thriller and the writer is coming over. I might get to pick his brain on some things,” Mario says. I’m immediately relieved it’s just a work-type thing. “Carlos didn’t want to tell me until I got here so I wouldn’t freak out.”
“That’s so amazing.” I’m embarrassed by how I was panicking over Mario meeting another guy. “So is Carlos going to cook?”
“I am, Alejo.” Mario stops on the corner of the street and looks both ways before crossing. “I’m going to make this pumpkin soup for everyone while my uncle cleans up the backyard. Everything will be cozy and I will not lose my mind over speaking to a cool screenwriter. Also, I love it here—look.” Mario flips the camera and shows me the bright blue sky and sunlight bouncing off a shiny black building.
“We’ve got some exciting weather here, too,” I say, aiming my phone toward my window and showing him the rain.
“Still?!”
“Still.”
We shift our cameras away from our skies and back on ourselves.
“Pop quiz, Alejo. ?Como se dice ‘rain’ en espa?ol?”
I know it’s a double-L word, but it’s not coming to me as quickly as I’d like. Then I remember how I thought it sounded like it would be a gorgeous spell to use in TWWW, or even a character name. “Lluvia?”
“Bien hecho.”
It feels weird being praised for such level-one vocabulary. I’m nineteen and learning what rain is for the first time. Even though my parents have spoken Spanish their entire lives, they didn’t teach it to me. I was willing, but between all the jobs they’ve worked they didn’t really have the time. Even though I know that speaking Spanish won’t make me any more Officially Puerto Rican than I already am, every new word I learn makes me feel less like a fraud.
Anyway, better to start with the basics now with the goal of being fluent in a few years.
“Alejo, my uncle is calling. He’s probably going to send me back to the grocery store to get more stuff. Can I call you later tonight?”
“I’ll—”
“You’ll be asleep! Three-hour difference. I’m in the past and you’re in the future.”
“I’m in your future,” I say. Then I shut up because I realize how this sounds. My face runs so hot I need a lluviastorm to cool me down.
“Yeah, you are,” Mario says with his weak wink. “Te veo luego, Alejo.”
“Catch you later, Colón.”
We hang up and I stare out the window. Dark cloudy skies. The same view of my neighborhood I’ve had my entire life. Same shoe repair store. Same park entrance down the block. Same apartment building across the street that’s clearly nicer than ours.
Whenever this world bores me, I go back to creating my own.
I write about Ben-Jamin finding Mars at a campfire that appears out of nowhere in the forest. The attraction is there, but the chemistry takes a while to grow, and I’m able to work in some solid slow-burn metaphors about magical potions brewing across full moons. Ben-Jamin needs Mars’s powers to communicate with a serpent known as a wavesnake that lives underwater, but I realize I’m undoing my measured pacing by making Ben-Jamin and Mars kiss in a field of crystal flowers. I need to slow it down. Don’t give the reader everything right away.
I hope I’m not misreading the Mario vibes.
Maybe Mario should switch from tutoring me in Spanish to Marioish so I can become fluent in understanding him better.
I go through our WhatsApp chat, where he sent me a bunch of pictures from last night at Dave & Buster’s. I wish I had been bold enough to ask him to take photo booth pictures with me.
I come across the group selfie after our game of Mario Kart. I remember the heat on my face with Arthur leaning on me, but the glow of the arcade conceals my blushed cheeks. The lights expose Arthur’s forced smile. I could be overthinking it, but I know what Happy Arthur looks like: sitting on the curb in Times Square while we listened to music, the day we finally decided we didn’t need another do-over date, and when I kissed him for the first time.
Friendships are two-way streets. He shouldn’t be the only one walking toward me. I have to meet him in the middle.
If Arthur can hang out with Mario, I can be better talking about Mikey.
If I can’t, I’ll lose him again.
And I want Arthur in my life.
I should keep writing. I know I should, but I have to reach out to him.
I send Arthur a quick text: Between Mario and Mario Kart and Dylan and his Dylan-ness I feel like we didnt get to talk much. Do-over hangout?