Chapter 15 Together and Turbulent
Together and Turbulent
Coco
When we get back, I get the impression Gus is feeling better. And in a way, I am too. Marín and Aroa could have been looking at each other like monogamous birds who could die from the pain of being apart, but they’re not.
“Coco Puff,” Gus says as we approach our RV. “Can I give you a piece of unsolicited advice?”
“Of course.”
“Nobody’s better than you.”
Blanca’s cackles are ricocheting brashly. Loren’s trying to get her to quiet down. Everyone except Marín has that warm, blushing glow that wine leaves on the skin, but Blanca is practically on fire.
“Hi!” they greet us. “How was your little walk?”
“Fucking great,” Gus responds, a little gruffly. “How’s the wine? Good, right?”
“You want some?” They offer him the bottle.
I grab it and take a swig straight from the bottle.
“Should we play something?”
“Yes! What?” Aroa asks giddily.
“I’m going to get another bottle and a cigarette. Does anyone need anything from inside?” Loren asks.
Nobody answers, but Aroa holds out her phone.
“Plug it in. It’s dying. It’s been beeping for a while.”
“Jeez…the video of the slide. I’ll send it to you all now so you can see it.”
Aroa flashes Marín an expansive smile. “I love that you were able to come.”
“And I’m glad we could come too, right, dude?”
Gus looks up and nods.
“Hey.” I elbow him.
He stands up and goes over to the window of the camper’s kitchen. “Loren, dude, can you hand me a pen?”
“The muse is a demanding lover,” Blanca chirps. “Write something, Gustavo Adolfo…”
I kick her and gesture for her to stop. “Okay…should we play something?”
“Cards!” Aroa suddenly yelps, jumping out of her seat and hurtling into the camper, where she crashes right into Loren.
“Did you watch the video?” I ask him.
“Yeah, but it’s total dog shit.” He looks at Marín and Gus. “And all you can hear is these two talking.”
“Are we playing cards?” Aroa pops up smiling next to his chest.
“Let’s do it.”
Two more bottles of wine are polished off, but we stop serving Blanca pretty soon.
She hasn’t even gotten one single point in a game she usually trounces us all in.
She’s laughing like an idiot, knocking over glasses, trying to light a cigarette the wrong way round, and slurring more than she’s talking.
Two games of cards and her eyes start drooping shut at the table.
“We should get her to bed,” Marín and I say at the same time.
“I’m tired,” she mumbles.
Aroa watches Marín pick Blanca up like someone who’s seen a ghost. Aroa has been sitting next to him all night, all hyped up but, apart from that look, there’s been nothing else.
I know Marín. I know he loves her, but I think he’s already made peace with the idea that their thing is not possible.
I’m sure the reason for the breakup is something much more important than a simple exchange of opinions that didn’t go the way he was hoping. Something big happened between them.
“Come on, Blanqui… Let’s get you in bed.”
“I have to take my makeup off.”
“You’re not wearing makeup, love,” I say, standing up from the table and hurrying to help them.
She gets up, staggers, and kicks the table, threatening to topple a couple of glasses.
“I’m such a messy drunk…” She laughs at herself.
“You really are.” Gus’s comment is unnecessary, but it doesn’t matter because nobody’s paying attention to him and nothing’s getting through to her.
Marín puts Blanca’s arm around his shoulders and leads her toward the door, but when she tries to go up the stairs, she almost falls flat on her face.
I take her other arm, and between the two of us we manage to shove her into the narrow camper where every inch has a purpose.
She collapses onto a bed that’s not hers, but no one gives a rat’s ass.
She curls up on the bottom bunk where Aroa slept last night.
Marín crouches and brushes her hair off her face in a sweet gesture.
“Are you okay?”
“Mm-yes.”
“Do you want a bag in case you need to throw up?”
“Rainbow. I’m going to vomit a rainbow.” She turns back to us suddenly and laughs. “I’m going to vomit a rainbow, sneeze fucking hearts, and shit glitter because, love is so beautiful, the fucking whore!”
I kneel next to Marín and stroke her face. “Are you okay?” I repeat.
I get the feeling that Blanca is pulling away and hiding a sob, but it turns into a hiccup.
“Let me.” Loren nudges his way in. “Wine makes you really cheesy, Blanca. Everything’s okay. It’s cheap wine. It gets you. You just sleep here and everything’ll be fine.”
Marín grabs a pillow and puts it next to her so she can hug it. “Keep an eye on her, okay?”
“What for?” I ask.
“If she vomits, make her do it on her side. We don’t want the bride to choke on her own vomit at her bachelorette party.
” He stands up and changes his taciturn expression to a timid smile and eyebrow raise.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that? I’m an expert.
Taking care of drunks since nineteen-ninety… ”
I give him a kiss on the cheek. I don’t want him to think about that. Love is wanting to go back and undo everything that erased his childhood in one fell swoop.
* * *
We go back to the table, closing the door and leaving only the exterior light on. Gus lets out a protest. “Hey!”
In his hands he has a piece of the paper towel that we’ve been using as napkins, dish towels, paper towels…and he’s writing on it. Poetry comes first. Then humans, starting with himself.
“Well, kids…I think at this point, since you haven’t found a motel or anything, it’s obvious you’re going to stay here, right?” Aroa asks.
“I haven’t had a single drink. We can leave now.” Marín ducks his chin and looks at the time.
“There’s an extra bed in the living room.” Loren says. “The table comes apart.”
“They won’t both fit in there. They’re too tall,” Aroa snipes back.
“Well, you’re the shortest. Maybe you should sleep there,” Loren suggests.
“I’m sleeping in one of the bunks. Someone can fit in there with me. They’re not very wide, but they’re long. Maybe one of them will be more comfortable there.”
“Blanca’s sleeping in your bunk. You’re the shortest of the group and you’ll be the least cramped.”
“Fine… Why don’t we draw straws?”
She shoots Loren a look that could kill, and we both understand that she wants to sleep with Marín. What’s she going to do? Manhandle his gearshift in a camper full of people? My lip curls as I realize I would do it too.
“Aroa, you’re five five, Marín is six two, Gus is five eight, and Loren is a hunk of a man at more than six foot,” I pipe up.
“Straws,” she says through clenched teeth. I swear it’s like when Bilbo Baggins sees the ring on Frodo’s neck and wants to possess it—even her face looks different. Where did the wood nymph go, and who swapped her for Gollum? “Gus…give me five slips of paper.”
“Huh?”
“Five little pieces of paper. Give them to me.”
“Here.” He tosses over the roll of paper towel, and with a patient sigh, she rips them up herself.
Things aren’t going how she planned. Frustration. She’s not used to having to deal with that emotion.
Loren helps Aroa and writes “bunk” on one of the scraps of paper, “loft bed” on two others, and “living room” on one. Then he scrunches them up into balls and cups them in his hands, shaking them like a maraca.
“Okay, the most innocent one should draw first.”
“Me!” Aroa jumps up excitedly.
“You? No fucking way. Put your hand in, Coco. No one can beat you for innocence, my child.”
I grab a scrap and read, “Bunk.”
“Amazing. Okay, my turn,” Loren says decidedly.
“Of course, go right ahead,” Aroa grumbles.
“Loft bed,” he says happily.
This guy is an idiot. I’m no fortune teller, but luck is the sluttiest of sluts. I can see what’s going to unfold—he’s going to end up sleeping with Gus…who’s the only one who has the power to make him lose his shit.
“Come on, Aroa…your turn.”
She studies the balls of paper, and her excitement vanishes immediately. “Living room,” she mutters grumpily.
That means…either I’m sleeping with Marín or with Gus. In a bunk bed. Long but narrow. A body and a half. Body to body…
“Come on, Gus, pick one.”
“I’ll sleep in the street or on my feet,” he grumbles.
“It’s not like I’m hoping you’ll sleep with me.” I sound touchy.
“Me either,” Loren adds, his hands making a hole with two crumpled paper balls between them. “Come on. Let’s go. Choose your fucking paper and stop talking like you’re Snoop Dogg, please.”
Marín and I stifle a laugh.
“What? Who does he sound like?” Aroa asks, wanting to get in on the joke.
Gus sighs, grabs a little ball, opens it, and shows it to everyone. It’s clear: “upper bed.” Loren grabs his forehead and sighs.
“Upstairs with me, Gus. But, for the love of God…if you recite poetry to me, I’ll flip you over like an egg.”
“Fuck, bro, so much hostility…”
“Anchovy and Sardine…top bunk.”
“Listen up.” Marín gives me a smile and holds up his index finger between us. “If you fart, it’ll push me out of the camper like a wave.”
“If you get cute and I can feel your penis, I’ll make an iPhone case out of your foreskin.”
We cackle a little and sit down again. It’s still early.
There are still bottles to empty. There are still anecdotes to remember.
And since we’re taking turns checking on Blanca to make sure she’s sleeping soundly, we don’t realize someone else is feeling bad—Aroa has her arms wrapped around her legs.
Maybe it just got through to her that Marín isn’t going to make an effort for her anymore, that he’s never going to move the sky to fulfill her wishes again, that for him, she’s lost whatever made her different from us.
Now, the only special one for him is me. And that… That has to be a sign.