Chapter 32.1: 1994, Ruiz
A kiss on my forehead.
"Merry Christmas Eve, my Ruiz."
It was a beautiful voice. My Mama's voice. My eyes opened to my Mama's smile. Her dark brown hair was in her customary high ponytail in a salmon pink scrunchie and as she removed the blanket from my body, I saw her nails matched.
I stretched. "Merry Christmas Eve, Mama," I yawned.
"Get up, I have a present for you." She seemed excited.
"Oh, but Mama, don't you want to wait until tonight? Don't we give our special gifts at midnight?" I asked, wiping my eyes with my fingers.
"I'm too old for that now," she waved away like my question was ridiculous. But I knew she wasn't being mean. She just wanted to give me my present now. It must have been very good. "Come on, in the kitchen," she smiled, pulling my hand with her strong arms.
"I gotta put on my clothes, change out of my pajamas. The sweater Grandma gave me," I protested, looking towards my gaping closet. The white crocheted sleeve of the bolero Miss Cha Cha had given to me on the seventh of December, a special Colombian holiday for her, was peeking out on a hanger and I hoped my Mama didn't notice. A small bead of worry descended into my heart, but I tried to shake it away as I wiggled my body awake, getting up with my Mama's pull.
I followed her into the hallway and Zorro started yapping, glad to see me. "Zorro, don't make me trip," I warned him as he twirled around our ankles.
"Sit here," Mama ordered me, pointing to my favorite chair at the kitchen table.
"Okay, Mama," I said, obeying. I watched her disappear into her bedroom, saw her scurrying about in there through the doorway. Finally, she appeared, carrying a bright red box with a large green and gold bow.
"Here," she said proudly, sitting across from me and presenting me with the box.
Automatically, I knew it had to be clothes. She was trying to give me something she was excited about so I should be grateful. But I knew it must be some kind of clothes for a man. Maybe a jacket, judging from the size and weight of the box. I felt dread.
My hands descended to the gift, but I breathed out, my hands passing the box and landing on the table softly. I looked down at them. My fingernails were still painted blue with silver snowflakes from Club Her Majesty's Annual Christmas Eleganza Extravaganza Ball.
"What is wrong?" Mama asked, causing me to look up at her. She was still smiling. It only caused me to feel more guilty.
"Mama..." I sighed.
"Hm?" she said, starting to finger one of the bow's tails.
"Nothing," I said quickly, starting to blush. I took the green ribbon tail from her and grabbed the other one, pulling them to untie the bow. My breath was caught, but it was better than me being caught. My brain was a volcano of panic, causing my hands to sweat. Had I really almost told her I didn't want men's clothes? How ungrateful could I be as her son? But how was she supposed to know...I was her daughter?
With the bow off, I was left with the red box. It had no wrapping paper, cluing me in that it was from a clothing store. I knew enough about clothes to know. Inside, I sighed deeply, promising myself I'd wear whatever was in there. It didn't matter, I told myself, she's my Mama. She bought me this out of love. She wants me to wear it because she thinks I'll look good in it.
Something inside wished it could be a dress still. It knew it was an impossibility, but it wished with all of itself.
Maybe if I wished enough...a Christmas wish...
My hands lifted the cover of the box carefully, slowly. My Mama's eyes watched eagerly.
My heart started crying as I stared down at the blue and yellow mountain jacket in the box. Men's colors. Men's lines. Nothing pretty about it at all. My Christmas wish wasn't granted, but of course not. Of course not.
"Do you like it? I took a couple of hours more for a while at work to get it. Susan bought it for me in November when it was thirty percent off, and I paid her back. I saw it when I was shopping for your sneakers but it was too expensive. I bet you could wear it for a long time. Doesn't it look classic? You like it?" she asked in a gush of words, so excited, her eyes bright.
"Its very nice," I said, touching its rough wet resistant outer shell fabric with my fingertips.
She didn't respond, and a split second later I realized how my voice had sounded. My heart fell into my gut as her face turned crestfallen. Her stupid son did not like her gift, the one she had tried so hard to save for, busting her ass for. Immediately I felt awful, horrible.
Silence followed, neither of us knowing what to say. Then without a word, she got up and went to the stove. "What do you want for breakfast? I can make you a bacon and egg sandwich. I have to go to work in two hours, but I can make it for you." She was turned away from me, already getting a pan out of the cupboard with clanging.
"Mama," I said quietly, staring at the blue and yellow jacket, still folded with such love in the box. It was now how I noticed her clumsy folds, how it was true it wasn't directly from a store. How one of the box's sides was exposed white, old. She tried so hard and I was such an awful person.
The pots and pans still clanged, then the pan fell on the burner with such a loud slam I jumped.
She was angry.
"Mama, I'm sorry," I whispered, feeling the fear of her coming out from its hiding spots in my body, always there. My hands folded on my lap, twisting on themselves.
The burner whooshed on and the smell of heating oil filled the kitchen. She was at the fridge now, taking out the eggs and the bacon. I could sense her feeling, boring into me. How she was just doing this out of her obligation as my Mama, just her ungrateful spoiled child still at twenty-one.
"Mama, I'm transgender, I'm sorry," I blurted, bursting into tears, tear drops silently falling down my cheeks, "that's why I don't want to wear that coat."
She made no moves to show she had heard me, still moving things around to get to the bacon at the back of the fridge, the coldest place.
"Mama, did you-"
"I know that," she said harshly, slamming the fridge closed. The bottles on the door banged together so violently I thought they would shatter.
...What did she say?
"What do you mean?" I asked carefully, in shock.
"I think you'd better get out of here," she said calmly, turning off the burner.
"Mama...?" I whispered, my voice shaking, the fear taking over my shocked state. What was she saying?
"Ruiz, get out of here."
"Why? Mama, I'm sor-"
"Don't make me yell at you."
My breath came in gasps as I tried to get up from the table, getting the chair to slide in my body's confusion. My knees buckled, my hands slammed onto the table to steady myself. Mama turned and looked at me at this noise, her expression betraying nothing, but her message to me was clear: she didn't like that I was transgender, and she wanted me out of her house.
I grabbed the yellow collar of the mountain jacket, pulling it out of the box, trying to hold my breath so my crying wouldn't get out of control in front of her. I didn't want to cry in front of her, but I was already doing it.
"Leave it!" she shouted suddenly, causing me to startle violently and cry out in surprise. "You don't want it, so why are you taking it?!"
My fingers let it go as quickly as they could in my shaking and without a word I ran out of the front door, fleeing from her. As I unintentionally slammed it behind me, Zorro started barking and I heard a large crash in the apartment. It sounded like she had thrown the pan against the wall.
Standing outside of the apartment building, I realized I was still in my pajamas. I had no money. I had to pee. A pressure built up in my chest, my belly, and I let out a loud sob. My hands flew over my mouth, knowing that if she heard it she might come out here. And I really didn't want her to come out here. Who knew what she would do, her ungrateful son crying. Her ungrateful son.
A piece of information floated into my brain as I stood on the stoop, beginning to shiver, the tips of my fingers already numb in the Wintry New York chill. "I have to go to work in two hours." She was going to leave the house. But in two hours. Could I last out here for two hours like this? I looked down at my white pajamas, the thin cotton button down shirt and pants, the little red polka dots all over them. Luckily I always slept with socks on, but they were useless, soaked through from the slush on the stoop. I realized it was already difficult to feel my toes in the wet socks, the sloshing melting snow between my toes seeping in.
At that moment, I heard a car coming from up the street, and I thought about the people in the car, seeing this messed up, crying Puerto Rican in the snow. I made a decision, feeling numb in my heart.
I began to walk.
An unknown amount of time had passed by, but I knew it must have been a long time because I could not longer feel my toes or my fingers. My socks made a squishing sound every time I had taken a step. People gaped at me on the sidewalk, a couple of them even asking if I was alright. I didn't answer them. My entire body was one giant shivering machine, the only thing it knew how to do was to put one numb foot in front of the other, regardless of where I stepped.
Now I found myself miraculously in front of Ambrose's house, Miss Cha Cha's apartment building. And it was now I let go of my tears, my eyes turning into waterfalls, my nose into a faucet over the frozen snot already on my face. I'm home, my heart cried, this is my new home, isn't it? I just sat on the front steps, too ashamed in my pajama'd and crying state to knock on their welcoming door.
So instead, I got up and opened the Pepto Bismol pink passenger door of Miss Cha Cha's car and got inside, laying my forehead on the creamy leather dash and crying. Just crying in my shame.
I didn't hear the door of the apartment open, didn't see the person come up to the car. The knock on the window startled me, making me cry out in fear, thinking it was my Mama.
"...Ruiz?" Miss Cha Cha gasped, muffled behind the door. She opened it quickly, taking me in her gorgeously warm arms. "Dios mio, what happened to you?! Are you okay?" She started speaking in a rapid string of Spanish that I didn't care to comprehend in my embarrassment. I started weeping on her. The next thing I knew, she had taken my hands in ones so hot they felt like coals due to their difference in temperature to mine.
"Where's your coat?" she asked me in Spanish as we walked, "where- where's your shoes?!"
All I could do was sob loudly into her as we walked, her arm around me, leading me to the apartment house.
"Oh, baby, where's your shoes?" she asked again softly, starting to choke up.
She opened the door all the way, and I saw she hadn't closed it when she exited. I felt so guilty about getting the muck from the sidewalk on her hardwood floors, her carpet, even her welcome mat, that I didn't move from it just inside the door. So when she tried to pull me into the hallway, I resisted by not moving from my spot on it.
"Baby, what's wrong?" she asked me in Spanish still, not letting go of my hand.
"A-Ambrose," I whimpered in a squeak. Ambrose. Where was he? Suddenly I wanted him more than anything, to feel his comforting arms. His love.
"I'll get him, sweetheart," she assured me, taking off her robe and spreading it around my shoulders. It smelled like her Opium perfume and oranges. It was so gloriously warm from her body heat, it seemed to toast me. I didn't move as she went to Ambrose's door down the hallway.
She opened it, and inside I heard his voice. "Hi," he said beautifully.
"Ambrose, come quick, its Ruiz," she said in a panic. I breathed in, holding it. Why did she have to alarm him? I didn't want him to be upset. I started crying anew, guilty. I didn't want him to feel sad.
His footsteps came in a rush, and he appeared like a vision instead of reality. His face was twisted in concern, his mouth parted like how I adored.
"Ruiz?!" he cried, seeing me in this state. His strong arms took me and he kissed my forehead and then hugged me tighter and tighter. "Why are you here? What's wrong? Why are you crying?!"
"Ambro-se," I wailed, burying my face into his shoulder. I felt an intense warmness surround me and looked up. A sunflower yellow comforter was draped on us, and Miss Cha Cha started to pat it on us to secure it.
"Its straight from the dryer, thank god," she said. "Come on to the living room. I'll make you hot chocolate. Or do you want coffee?"
"Choco-late," I hiccuped, my cheeks springing to a blush at them.
"Take your socks off, I'll put them in the washer," she said gently, looking at me with such love that I burst into tears again. Why did they love me so much? My own mother didn't love me...
"Oh, babyyy," she said in a hush to me, hugging us both, "don't cry. Tell us what's wrong? We'll listen. Ambrose, take her to the couch."
Ambrose adjusted himself behind me, slipping the blanket around me in the process. Knowing his warmth comforted my heart but made it weaken more. I couldn't stop my gushing tears.
On the couch, he peeled off my soaked socks and put them in a small pile on the floor. He noticed the bottom of my pants were sopping wet as well. "I'll get you new pants, wait here," he assured me, but when he turned to go, I grabbed his sleeve.
"Don't gooo," I wailed like a child.
"Sweetie, won't you feel better out of the wet-"
"No," I whimpered, fresh tears rolling down my cheeks.
"Take them off at least," he urged, "you can fasten that robe to cover your legs I think."
I did as I was told and my pajama bottoms joined the socks in the pile behind the coffee table. As he put them there, he paused.
"...Sweetie...wait...these are your pajamas..." Comprehension dawned on him slowly and his panicked eyes looked up at me.
"My Mama kicked me out," I whimpered as he rose up slowly from his inspection of my pants, complete shock overcoming his features.
"What do you mean," he breathed, sitting next to me, putting my head on his shoulder in our familiar way.
"She said she didn't want me in the house," I sniffled into him. He began to rub my hair lovingly in his slow, comforting strokes.
"That witch," he whispered, the other hand finding my back and rubbing it in the same way. "She always apologizes, though," he offered after a bit, trying to help.
"Not this time," I whispered back to him, his closeness calming me a little bit.
"What did she do?" he asked so sadly it broke my heart.
"...I told her I'm transgender and she threw me out of the house with just my pajamas," I admitted, burrowing my face into his chest in shame.
"Ruiz," he whispered as he shuddered and started to cry.
I heard Miss Cha Cha's bunny slippers shuffling on the hardwood floor of the hallway and then the carpet of the living room. Two porcelain thumps landed on the coffee table and then came a wheezed depression sound in the old chair's cushion next to the couch.
"Is she okay?" I heard her ask in a muffle from outside of my safe, warm Ambrose cocoon.
"She will be.... But oh my god, Miss Cha Cha. Her Mama...you know how strict she is?" his voice rumbled from his chest into me and I cherished the vibrations.
"Yeah?" she asked.
"She threw her out with just her pajamas and socks because she told her mom she's transgender!" he said loudly, his outrage so present in his lovely voice.
Miss Cha Cha gasped. "What?! Oh no! Why?! Oh my god, Ruiz! Baby, did you have any money? What- how did you get here if you only had on pajamas?!"
"I walked," I mumbled into Ambrose's chest.
"You what..." Ambrose whispered in disbelief.
"Please don't tell me that baby just said she WALKED HERE," Miss Cha Cha started to yell in anger, the first time I ever heard her do so. It reminded me of my Mama yelling and I started to shiver.
"Stop shouting," Ambrose gasped, squeezing me tighter, "she's shaking."
"Dios mio, lo siento," she said a lot more quietly, "I'm just...I can't believe this..."
There was a pause and Ambrose started to rub my back again, massaging away the shivers.
Miss Cha Cha spoke again, more calmly, but it seemed forced. "Ambrose? What's her Mama's number? I want to try to talk-"
"No way, do you know what she'd say?" Ambrose chuckled unexpectedly in the utter ridiculousness of the request, his arms gripping me protectively ever more. It made me sigh deeply.
My Mama was probably at work by now anyway. There was no use. I didn't bother to tell them.
"Are you hungry? I want... Can I make you something? Did you eat?" she asked instead, abandoning wanting to call my Mama, sounding desperate now in wanting to help me.
"Sweetie, can you eat?" Ambrose asked. I felt his steamy heated breath on top of my head.
"I'm hungry," was all I could offer as a response. He rubbed my back vigorously at this, and I closed my eyes in comfort.