Chapter Text
Latin music booming from an old wooden radio floods the small Tampa apartment. The hallways of the building are bustling, children speeding through them and knocking over boxes and bumping into furniture. In the kitchen, a crowd gathers.
The room is filled with relatives and family friends. In the center of it all sits a young boy, turning 10 years old. His dark brown hair was freshly tussled by an older cousin, and his undershirt and linens were a handful of cake away from being stained beyond saving. Despite his age, his arms and legs are long and gangly, so he appears older than he looks. Currently, he’s missing one of his front teeth. His smile looks crooked, and he whistles when he says “th”, but he still beams at his friends as they sing around him. “Happy Birthday, dear Tinito, Happy Birthday to you!” As he reaches his hand forward to grab the cake, it’s swiped away by his mother.
“Tinito,” she scolds, “we have to cut the cake for everyone to have a slice.” She waves her hand in front of his face, making him erupt in laughter. The young boy is pulled off his chair and into the chaos of the younger cousins, running around the apartment in a game of tag.
“Oh, he’s such a good boy Paloma,” someone compliments while leaving the room. And it’s true. The boy always cleans up without being asked. He plays nicely with his brother and uses his manners when he speaks with the elderly. He’s raised with love.
His mother smiles from the counter as she separates the cake and nods. The warm February air sweeps through the screen door. Light shines through and illuminates the room. She hums something romantic. Strong arms fold over her and wrap around her waist. “Mi amor,” a deep baritone leans into her neck. She hums. “Look at our beautiful life. My beautiful sons, my beautiful wife.” She chuckles in response, “Your beautiful wife is trying to cut the cake.” He coos back and grabs her hand to spin her around so they’re chest to chest, the cake knife still in her hand. She protests in annoyance, but he quickly brings his lips to hers in a tender kiss.
The chase around the house comes to a halt in the doorway of the kitchen. “Eww!” Tinito squealed, barrelling into his parents. His fists balled, raising them at his father and hitting him in the chest. “No kissing, stop stop stop!” Another figure stops at the doorway. “Tinito, you can’t stop chasing when you get tired. It’s not fair.”
“They were being gross at my party.” The boy’s cry is muffled with his face buried at the hip of his mother’s dress. The older boy, 2 years his brother’s senior, rolls his eyes and runs over to his family. The four of them pause, holding onto each other. For just a moment, things are peaceful. Like they could be forever.
“Can we please have cake now?” Cries the youngest. His mother looks down at him and smiles. His father ruffles his hair. “Of course, Valentino. Why don’t you get the plates from the cabinet?” He nods and runs across the kitchen. “Christian, help me reach!” Valentino calls from the other side of the room. The older brother looks at his parents and rolls his eyes before running to his brother’s side.
Ybor was not paradise. Sometimes, it could feel like it. But only sometimes. For the first few moments, when the sun rose in the sky and the birds started moving up and down the streets, it got close.
The city used to be bustling. Before the war, before Valentino had been born, the city was bustling with family and friends. They all had jobs at the factory. Rolling cigars during the day and playing music in the evenings. Val knows that it’s not his fault that the city is in decline. But sometimes he longs for something that isn’t there. Something that he’s never felt.
Still, he has his brother. He has his father and his mother, and all of his friends. In his slice of Tampa. When school lets out in February, just a week after his 10th birthday, he and his friends can take the long way home, turning onto streets that add time to their commute back to the apartment complex.
“So last week, I learned how to do a cartwheel,” Luis calls from up ahead.
“Yeah, right,” Santiago replies. “You’re gonna fall on your face on the street.”
“No, I’m serious. Delfina showed me the other week.” Luis assures. Valentino watches from his brother’s side as his two friends continue bickering. “Do you think he can do it?” Valentino asks.
“Maybe. Cartwheels are easy for girls to do. But Luis is fat, and kinda stupid.” Christian chuckles. From ahead, Santiago yells, “Luis! Just do it!” Soon, all three boys are cheering and egging him on. Standing with his hands raised to the sky, Luis pushes off his back feet and falls face-first onto the pavement.
Valentino runs over first. “Are you okay?” he asks, reaching his hand out. Grabbing it, Luis pulls himself off the pavement. His smile is wide, despite his embarrassing attempt, the gravel rocks sticking to his cheeks, and raw scuffs on his nose and forehead. “My pride is a little shot, but I’m fine.” Christian approaches from behind and hits Luis upside the head, “Watch it. Your mamá will lose her mind if you come home looking like a mess.” Santiago runs up behind the group. “Stupid. You should practice more on grass.” Luis looks back in shock. “You were the one who told me to do it!”
“I did,” Santiago laughs, “but you shouldn’t really listen to what I say.”
They carry on parading down the street and telling jokes that make the others crack up. The shops lining the streets are busy. This is a new part of town, closer to Tampa, that Valentino’s parents haven’t brought him to yet. He keeps stopping in the street to look at the toys and clothing in the windows. Each time, Christian will turn his head and yell, “Tinito, come on!” It’s hard for him to stay focused on walking with his friends when there’s so much to see.
One particular store catches his eye, with long gowns and bright boas draped over mannequins in the windows. Valentino walks over and presses his nose up against the glass. The fabric is gorgeous. It looks luciourious, nothing that he’s ever seen on his mother or his Tias. It must be something exquisite, for special occasions only.
He can hear his friends talking down the street, but Valentino can’t ignore the stores along the street; he has to look into each one. As he moves from window to window, he hears noise coming from an alley. It sounds like two boys talking. What could they be doing in between buildings?
Val creeps over to get a better look and sees two older teenagers drinking near trash bags. They have bottles littered around them, and their clothing suggests that they didn’t just get out of school. They look messy and a little rough. But the most curious part is how they move.
They touch eachother. Almost how friends would, but their hands on each other are slower. Different. They slide over chests and cup each other's faces. Their mouths graze each other's ears and whisper something Valentino can’t hear. As he moves forward to get a better look at the pair, he’s instead pulled back. He yelps.
“Pendejo!” Christian barates. “When I tell you to stay with me, you walk next to me, and you don’t go wandering off, okay?” He glares down at his younger brother, who’s still looking into the alleyway at the two boys. They joke and laugh loudly like Valentino and his friends, but their conversation feels much more intimate. Christian looks over to where Valentino’s attention lies and scoffs. He pulls his younger brother back out to the street quickly. “Don’t look at those guys. They’re not good kids; they don’t do anything that doesn’t set them up for trouble.” He mumbles under his breath while pushing a protesting Valentino back towards his friends.
“They weren’t doing anything at all, Christian. They were just joking.” Christian protests, saying something about ‘patos’ and joking around too hard. “We shouldn’t have even come to this part of town. Guys, we have to go home.” Christian calls the boys. They groaned reluctantly. As soon as their fun started, it had to end.
As the group walked home to their street, Valntino’s thoughts drifted back to the boys in the alley. The way that they moved was something familiar. Like how his mom and dad would move after dinner and a few juices. It looked nice, and Valentio didn’t know why that meant it was bad. But he didn’t want to upset his brother by prodding further. Christian didn’t let Valentino slip out of his sight until they stood in front of their apartment.
The two slipped through the back door and into the kitchen, where their mother was over the stove making dinner. “My boys! How was school today?” she smiled, bending down to Valentino and peppering him with kisses. He tried to squirm out of his mother’s grasp, to no avail. “School was good, Mamá, we took a different way home, we went into the city!” Valentino got out. His mother immediately shot up. “Christian!” She whips around trying to catch her older son, but he slides out of her way before she can hold onto him. “It was Luis’s idea. I tried to stop them!” He calls back, running across and out of the room. Their mother groans and touches her forehead. “Valentino,” she starts. “I don’t know where you boys went, but when you finish school, you come right home, and you take the shortest walk possible, ah?” Valentino nods sorrowfully. “The boys in Tampa are not good. They make their mothers worry, and they don’t listen. They’re not good boys.” She swipes her hands across, “Not good.”
Christian runs back into the kitchen, pulling along his father, who is bent down and trailing behind as best he can. “Tinito! Papá’s home early!” Valentino smiles and runs over, but his mother crosses his arms. “Anselmo, what are you doing home so early?” Her brow furrows, and her confusion blends with dissatisfaction. He melts into her arms, trying to dismiss her worries. “El jefe told the men to go home early to see their beautiful wives. I couldn’t just ignore his orders!” he jokes, leaning in for a kiss. Instead, she pulled away, and her eyes flew from her children and back to her husband.
“I’m serious,” she whispers, “this is the third time this month, what is going on?” He looked back at her with tired eyes before responding, quickly, “They’re bringing in a few more automated machines, Paloma. They don’t need as many men for as many hours.” Anselmo looked back at his boys, who were playing with the utensil set on their small table. “The hours are temporary until they set things up. Just a small adjustment.” He holds his hand up and pinches his fingers together in front of his wife. “Small. So small,” he assures. Her frown doesn’t dissipate, but relief shines through.
“Boys,” she calls, “please go wash your hands for dinner. And take your father too. He needs to scrub extra hard tonight.” The two children laugh as they push their father out of the kitchen and towards the bathroom.
In the kitchen, Paloma grips the countertop. Tears threaten to fall from her eyes. Though Anselmo promises the cutbacks on hours are temporary, she knows better. She knows that they’ll need to work more to support their family, that his work alone isn’t enough to keep them safe and healthy. She doesn’t know what to do, but before she allows a tear to fall, she feels hands tugging on her skirt. “Mamá,” Valentino calls. Paloma wipes her tears away and picks up her boy. “What is it, mijo?” He holds up wet hands and shakes them around. “I finished! Are you ready to eat?” She looks at him, her perfect son, and smiles. She brings her hand up and wipes back her tears, “Of course, baby. Let's eat.”