The Golden Boy

The smell of my mother brewing coffee crept into my room, crawling to my nose and woke me up. The clattering of cucharas and trastes were enough to tell me that I couldn’t take five more minutes, after all, today was the first day of the second semester at school; and for mother this meant chaos, I don’t know why though. When I got up from bed I took a quick shower and grabbed my school uniform which hung from a window – freshly ironed.

In the kitchen, mother swayed back and forth preparing breakfast. Her long black curls fell carelessly on her whole back, and moved with her like she was dancing salsa. She set the table immediately after she saw me: two plates of scrambled eggs with veggies. The breakfast that was supposed to give me energy for the whole semester since I only ate scrambled eggs on the first days; and mine had more than hers. We sat on both ends of the small table and she didn’t take her green expectant eyes off of me until I began eating. And, in this picture, like always, dad had already left to work in the fishing docks - the Montealtos’ docks.

The Montealtos are one of, if not, the wealthiest families in all of Old San Juan. They own the busiest fishing docks in the capital ever since the business rose. They have known an enriching life since they settled here in Old San Juan. My mother tells me they were here before she was even born, that they were a few of the lucky ones who turned cents to thousands, and thousands to millions throughout the years. They’ve climbed the ladder to success in the eyes of my parents and all the folks who live day by day; and now, the magnificent castle-like hotel El Convento, is their humble abode since 1962.

Walking on cobbled streets on my way to school, the sun rose hot over timeless San Juan at 6:35am, and I made my usual stop in front of El Convento to wait for the trolley. There, under the shade of a tree, I waited patiently for the ride, but my heart began to skip beats while I expected her to come out of the huge wooden entrance doors of the hotel – Clara Montealto. I hadn’t seen her in a month since winter break began. It’s not like we spend any time together at all, but seeing her counts for something inside me.

Clara makes me feel hope. She’s the type of person that sees beyond what’s in front of her. She can talk to anyone, and everybody knows who she is - though she makes a great effort to be known by her art rather than her last name. Clara dances, and to be honest, she can do it to anything. Her specialty are traditional dances, because she loves the drums, and the thump, thump, thumps. And she loves Puerto Rico with intensity.

The first time I saw her she was dancing bomba in the center of the school. This was at the Open House before my first year. She had all white robes and laces around her. With all of her rhythmic movements she fluttered gracefully in white; and of course everyone adored her. I adored her. Even if we didn’t know each other, she wasn’t a stranger to my head, my eyes nor my body. All we had to do was exchange words someday, and maybe then I wouldn’t be a stranger to her.

The trolley arrived and for a moment my hopes of seeing her fade. But in the blink of an eye, the doors of El Convento jerked open and some bellboy ran to the trolley yelling.

“Stop!”

Behind him was the one and only Clara Montealto – the golden girl of all San Juan. I had never seen her take the trolley before. To my surprise, while she looked for a place to sit, I caught her eyes and she sat next to me; the trolley carried on its natural route from there. I couldn’t stop staring at her: her long legs, her eager look, the smell she emanated...

“Umm...hello?” She said, her honeyed eyes stunned me on the spot.

“You’re going to Jose Julian, too?”

I saw her staring at my portfolio, “I am, yeah.”

“Prepa?” She smirked.

“What?! No. I’m a junior, actually.” I said sort of embarrassed. She probably had never seen me.

“Oooh!” Her cheeks hid a hint of redness.

“Sorry ‘bout that. I’m Clara – senior.” She held her hand out.

“I’m Kai Bazán” I said, shaking her hand and wondering the how and the why is this happening.

We both smiled and talked the rest of the seemingly endless way. For some divine reason, my senses were on the edge: I could hear the shore bordering the entire capital. I could hear the doves in the plazas and the piragüero setting up his shop. I could smell the caffeine in the breaths of every soul and in the air. I could hear the cop-cop on the streets of the artisans making their way to el paseo; Old San Juan came alive before my eyes. The rest of the day in school was monotonous except for finite glimpses of Clara. I saw her everywhere and, for the first time ever, she saw me. At the end of the day, she spoke to me about the hotel’s 50th anniversary and how they’re throwing a party and everyone’s welcomed for one night.

“Why did you take the trolley today?” I asked her on the front entrance of the hotel, “I mean, I’d never seen you take it before.”

“That’s a good question,” she said, “because I really don’t know. I just felt like starting new this year, you know?”

“I guess.”

“I hope you come, Kai” she said and disappeared behind the enormous wooden doors.

The night of the celebration came two weeks later. My mother took on the task of inviting every vecina she could think of. We all entered the castle-like venue together and were mesmerized by the glistening chandeliers that received us. Without thinking too hard I could notice those who were staying for the one night and those who seemed to live here, so I stared at my mother and told her she looked beautiful.

“This is Mister Ríos, Kai. He’s my confidante.” Clara presented me to the bellboy of the first day. He winked at her and opened an exit door behind him,

“Have fun Clarita” he said. She dragged me into a starry night in Old San Juan.

First we made our way through Calle del Cristo and Calle San Francisco to Plaza de Armas. There, musicians were playing salsa and I couldn’t control myself when the rhythms took over me. I embraced Clara and led her to the sounds of the timbales and congas. Her smile shone like the stars that adorned our sky, and her eyes reflected the silver moon that hung from above us. Everybody around us joined in clapping and dancing. The space was filled with laughter because some ladies were challenging the older men to dance, so some sort of competition began. Clara and I stepped outside of the circle and watched the spectacle. The older women moved with grace and experience. The men responded respectfully and gallantly.

After that, we went through Calle de la Cruz and made a stop in Butterfly People. It’s a store of boxes. But boxes adorned with real butterflies! Clara wanted to show me her favorite butterflies in the collection which were every blue butterfly in display.

“My dad hangs a new box every year for my birthday.” She said while studying a brochure titled ‘Make your own designs!’

“Some are even around the hotel.”

This made me picture Clara rushing through the yellow hallways of El Convento with her arms wide open, and every blue butterfly coming alive when she passed them.

“I’d like to see that.” I told her and reached for her left hand.

Outside, muffled police sirens were heard in the distance, but it wasn’t something new. The grip was sweaty but neither of us cared. Then, we kept on the same street to reach El Paseo de la Princesa. Clara spoke friendly to the maví seller and he gave us freebies; we sat in Sanguino’s bronze masterpiece Raíces and drank the yellowish drink.

“This maví just keeps getting better and better.” I said when I finished mine.

Clara sat silently staring at the statue in the center of the fountain. A naked woman with her arms and eyes to the sky, said to mean liberty.

“Are you alright?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she said quickly, “I was just wondering something Kai. Do you remember when I told you about starting new this year?”

I nodded. She turned her gaze directly at me.

“Well, I want you to be a part of it, Kai.” She drank the last sip of her maví, stepped up and grabbed my hand.

We got back to the hotel through La Puerta de San Juan, and to our surprise El Convento was completely deserted.

“This is odd.” Clara said.

We searched every corner of the hotel and nothing. Clara didn’t mind, so I didn’t either; and we went to the rooftop of the hotel were the pool was. At first neither wanted to go in, but then I took my shoes off and saw that she did too; I took my shirt off and she unbuttoned her dress; lastly, I took my pants off and her golden dress fell gloriously on the floor. We jumped.

It was ecstatic, the whole scene. The lights in the pool softened my vision. The only amount of details I could see underwater were hazy white silhouettes of Clara’s body. She swam swiftly around me, twisting and turning, as if she were dissolving in the water. In a few seconds I lost her. Then I felt her behind me and she put her hands over my eyes. She removed her hands but I kept my eyes closed for a bit expecting something else to happen. Nothing did. When I opened my eyes, the surface reflected the glows of red and blue lights, and Clara wasn’t in the water.

The sirens broke the enchanted night. I was pinned face-front on the floor with my arms cuffed behind my back; I couldn’t move; I couldn’t see; I couldn’t do anything.

“Stop! What are you doing to him? Leave him alone! He didn’t do anything wrong.” Clara yelled.

I could hear them, my parents and the Montealtos arguing. Their mouths degrading each other, marking the division only money can make...

“Mom, Dad, what’s going on?!” I tried to yell.

“Kai!” Mother yelled.

“Your delinquent son kidnapped our daughter, Mr. and Ms. Bazán. Somebody has to do something about it, the law is the law...” A dazing voice, a woman’s, spoke.

“My Kai...He hasn’t done a thing! He doesn’t deserve to go to...to a prison. He’s so young.” Mom sobbed.

“You don’t have the authority to do such thing!” Dad exclaimed in a grave voice.

“Who said anything about prison? I heard something about a detention center in Ponce... ” The woman again.

I was shoved inside the back of a police car. All I saw was blue and red in a haze. And Clara’s and Mom’s voice echoed in my ears like a whisper. I rose into a sitting position and looked outside the crystal, mom had her hand pressed there. Everything was happening too fast for me to take it all in. I pressed my forehead to the crystal and her hand and began to scream. The driver started the car. With every passing second we were farther apart, and my heart felt torn and my eyes sore. In the last corner, right when my hopes of seeing Clara Montealto were fading with the night, and my heart began to slow down by the thought of never seeing her again, I saw her running towards me, mouthing my name, merging with the stars.