By J.A. Salazar
It was inevitable that I would sleep for the duration of my flight, but I had not expected it to be such a deep rest. The kind of sleep that feels like you are floating through a black hole, all while it rips you apart into a trillion pieces and somehow puts you together on the other side. I knew that in Ciudad de Mexico, I wouldn’t get much rest either; I would be chasing my itinerary, which was specifically made to distract my thoughts. As the plane descended, I could observe the city’s sprawling nature and how its dense neighbourhoods differ from those in Buffalo. I was aching for a closer inspection.
Navigating the maze of the airport would’ve been easy enough, but I would lose interest in the signage and would go too far in any one direction, then have to reorient myself. Even at the crucial Migracion, I had entered the wrong line meant for state employees, but the lady rolled her eyes, grabbed my forms, and in her most unflattering American accent said: “Welcome to Mexico.” Walking through those giant frosted doors, I was then picked up by a kid with shaved green hair, who went to question whether I was Mexican and if I enjoyed rock music? Saying I should come see his friend’s band play at UTA Bar. Overstimulated, I said I would, and in about forty minutes, I was at my predetermined location
Now I could absorb a bit more of the city’s distinct architecture that was a mix of the European and American styles. The streets were accessorised with expansive art and unfamiliar vegetation. The neighborhood felt like it was conflicted with modernization, clinging to its own unique history and the growth of its industries.
An old man let me into the building, and as he explained its ground rules we climbed four stories of coral-colored steps. The only information I retained was that the elevator would be fixed tomorrow. The loft lived up perfectly to its posted photos; it was specially chosen for its vibrant colors: deep reds, electric blues, and intense greens. Its kitchen reminded me of something Almodovar would’ve decorated, complete with its own unique pop art. One piece, a mix of photography and colored drawing, was of a man sitting with folded arms and it read in Spanish “Nothing defines me completely, because I came into this world to constantly transform.”
The highlight of the apartment was their terrace that overlooked a short alley that held several food vendors and currently seated customers who chatted and laughed within earshot. The aroma of chorizos and tacos made my stomach rumble, but I was now bone tired, so I dropped my bags and jumped face-first into the smell of freshly cleaned linen. Then the ping of a new message announced itself.
“Hey man, are you around this weekend?”
It was Jamie, the graduate student that I had taken on a disastrous date the weekend before. He had seemed to have forgotten getting blackout drunk and I had no intention of ever seeing him again. He continued to insist we should hang out sometime, but the image of him getting rough with me outside his apartment made the decision to ghost an easy one. Either way I was thousands of miles away and I was now determined to make myself attractive, so I began by making the space my own. I started by unpacking my clothes.
Later that night as the hostess ushered me through the crowd of mostly white tourists at Cafe de Nadie, I began remembering how difficult it can be to go out alone. I was seated on a maroon velvet couch in the back of the dimly lit bar, where I could hide and take in the upscale environment. After I ordered, I soothed myself by nodding my head to the DJ spinning Tus Ojos, by Belanova. I didn’t know where my eyes could stare without making people uncomfortable, so I reached for the phone.
Just then, a group of seven was seated next to me, mostly shaggy middle-aged men, but amongst them was a striking young guy. He was wearing a pine-green sweater with retro jeans and tasteful silver accessories. I could see he was doubling over in laughter at something one of the men had said. His face was feminine in its kindness and steely in its intensity. And when he made his way toward me I was compelled to say something to him.
“Wow, you guys roll deep,” with a hint of nervousness in my voice.
“Yeah, we sure do. These are my coworkers.” He smiled at me and sat down close enough so our thighs were touching.
“Cool, what do you guys do for work?” I asked, taking a sip, in hopes it would make me seem more casual. Instead of answering, the boy reached across me and grabbed the menu. Looking at it, bored almost immediately, he let out a sigh.
“What did you order?” Pursing his lips in the direction of my drink.
“Tequila old-fashioned. They said it was made with some special añejo but I don’t know the difference,” I struggled to keep eye contact with the boy, so my eyes hovered around the details of his outline: his buttery brown arms, his silky hair, even the glint of his silver was easier to look at.
“Can I try yours, see if I like it?” This was the exact right thing to say to me, because it made me instantly look into his light brown eyes. His soft face invited me now to connect with him, and I handed over my glass. Watching him eagerly take a sip, I waited for his verdict.
“That’s strong, I’ll want three more,” he said with a slight giggle. “My name is Matias, what’s yours?”
“Ivan. Ivan Muñoz.” I helped Matias wave down a server.
I was later introduced to the six men, but retained none of their names due to the increasingly loud music. As we drank, Matias explained they were lawyers and he a law clerk. They were celebrating a major win for the union they were representing. With each gulp, I could feel a warmth of good feeling land in my stomach and radiate to the rest of my body.
“Muñoz. Muñoz? Are you Mexican?” Matias was smiling into his glass as he sipped.
“Puerto Rican, actually. At least my parents are.”
“So, you don’t consider yourself Puerto Rican.”
“I do. Like, ethnically, I am.” he nodded his head with a hint of judgment as he considered my statement.
“So, what do you plan to do while you’re here?”
“Play tourist mostly, tomorrow I’ll do Teotihuacan.” The man next to him pulled in Matias and whispered something humorous into his ear. Both looked back at me and started to chuckle amongst themselves and I began to feel shy and self-conscious.
“Here, let me give you my Instagram. I’ll send you some things to do while you’re here.” He grabbed my phone. “Maybe we’ll meet again”
Standing up and dropping a wad of cash on the table, he walked towards the exit. As he stood, I began to notice that he was notably taller than me and that his back was wide and strong-looking, but it was hidden underneath his thick sweater. I felt my heart rate spiking, anxious to get up but paralyzed thinking of what I should say now. Right as his foot reached the exit, he turned around and looked in my direction once more, and he was gone.
As I walked towards my apartment, I felt defeated. I read Jamie’s message again and realized how much I still craved validation. I thought about jumping on the hookup apps, thinking I could at least sext my way to acceptance but came to the conclusion that it was not worth the degradation. I decided to send Matias a quick message.
“Thanks for being so nice earlier. I loved to hang out another time.”
“Hi Ivan, how long will you be in town again?” I was shocked by how quickly my message was answered.
“I leave on the 27th of December.”
“Hmm, not very long. This club is kind of boring. I have some more to drink at my place. Would you be down to hang out–just the two of us?” My mind raced with possible replies. I was in a strange city, I was all alone, and I had no idea who this man was. But was I really going to be a coward again?
“Where do you live?” The address he sent was a 15-minute drive to the neighbouring Centro Histórico.
As I stood alone outside his building, I questioned every decision that led me to this moment. The neighborhood truly looked historic with cobblestone streets and stone buildings that must’ve been built at least 300 years ago. Just as I thought of texting him again, a shadow of a man came downstairs towards the gate.
“Ivan, you’re here.” His voice was much deeper than I remembered. “I hope I didn’t make you wait that long. My roommate left the living room a mess, and I had to clean up a bit.” He said as we climbed the stairs to the sixth floor that led to his apartment. He opened the door and led inside. Turning on a lamp at a side table, he began taking off his shoes; intuitively, I did the same. “This is home, sorry it’s not much, my roommate and I moved here about a year ago, but we can never figure out how to decorate it.”
Instantly, I was impressed by the scale, more than triple the size of my apartment. Though furnished, nothing was designed to be a permanent fixture. Nothing hung on the walls, no heavy sideboards or even a rug; it was most definitely a first-time apartment. Immediately, I was attracted to the living room window, which fully covered the wall from top to bottom, and it exposed a beautiful view of the city square across the way.
“It’s really something,” as I turned around, he was pouring a clear liquid and orange juice into a glass. On the kitchen island lay fashion magazines and I picked up a copy.
“I do photography on the side, I actually took those.” I quizzically pointed to the cover photo of a girl in a pretty red dress, posed in the thinking man’s position. And Matias nodded in confirmation, then handed me my glass. “So tell me, what do you think of my beloved city?”
“I’m not sure. So far the people are friendly,” I said as I raised the glass to my lips. He nodded in agreement.
“I like photography, show me some more,” and I sat down on the stool surrounding the island. With excitement, he fidgeted with his phone pulling up his dedicated Instagram page that had over six-figures followers. One by one Matias explained the beautiful black and white stills, taken of everyday life in the city. One that caught my eye was of a homeless man standing over a boy fully dressed in Day of the Dead make up.
Pointing to it, I said,“That’s great. Is the goal to do photography full-time?” He all of a sudden became flushed.
“No, no, it’s just a hobby. Life here in the city is hard; it’s important to be practical,” he said, putting away his phone. I could feel his emotions rushing inward.
“You have talent, you’re building an audience, it’s okay to dream big,” I said as I finished my drink.
“Americans love dreaming but never seem well rested to me,” a corner smile revealing a small dimple in his cheek. “You never told me what you do.”
“I’m an engineer, I work with the city of Buffalo, building the infrastructure that helps treat the water.”
“We could use you in Mexico.”
“I’ve heard. Have you ever travelled to the US?”
“No, I’ve tried, but they haven’t approved my visa yet, maybe one day.”
“Are you trying to move there?”
“No, I’d never move to the US. Here I’m a professional, and I have my friends. If I went to live in America, I’d be starting at less than zero. Plus, even as a native, I think Ciudad de Mexico is a pretty fantastic place to live.” Looking around the place, I began to agree. “Come to my room, I wanna show you something.” Grabbing my hand, he led me to his bedroom, which, unlike the common area, was fully accessorised with plants and framed prints.
He showed off his impressive-looking sound system and asked me if I wanted to play anything. I simply pointed to a poster he had hung in his room, and before I knew it, I heard the sad strums of Supermodel by Sza play. We both lay our heads down on the bed, our bodies parallel to each other, taking in the sound of those melancholy sentiments.
“I love this song, but it breaks my heart,” I said in a hushed tone, still looking up at the ceiling. Softly, I felt Matias hug his arm across my chest, and still lying down, I reached my other arm over him, inviting him to lay his head on me. Though he was bigger than me in every way, I could feel him making himself small and vulnerable.
“You seem nice, Ivan, and I think you are so good-looking.” He hugged me tighter as he took a deep sigh. I knew he was lying; no one has ever called me attractive, especially when I was growing up. I had strong indigenous facial features, along with curly hair that was difficult to make presentable, but my body was my worst attribute. I had no muscle with flimsy arms and legs, the complete opposite of what populated the grid of influencers and models on social media.
“You don’t have to say that,” I said, looking away from him. He raised his upper body above me and moved my chin towards him, quietly contemplating.
“Yeah, it’s really true,” he said right before pressing his lips on mine. Though it was a quick kiss, I was shocked by its softness. I yearned for more. Sitting up now, I kissed him, feeling more comfortable when I was in control. Again, the softness of his lips evoked a pillowy sweetness. It was unlike any kiss I had ever experienced. Our hands moved all over, searching where we could ignite a fire between us. He was now kissing my neck, and I grabbed the side of his thigh, laying claim to his body as mine. Reaching his hand under my shirt, he began to play with my chest, rotating his finger softly around my areola. When he felt we were properly turned on, he slipped his hand in my boxers, feeling I was excited.
When we both had finished, I had expected there to be a shift of energy, common after hook-ups. Instead, Matias seemed energized, smiling with even more warmth than he had before. He kissed me again and guided me to the living room, sitting me down on his well-worn leather couch.
“Let me make some coffee,” and he was off before I could protest. As I sat staring out the window, I thought of how impressive Matias appeared to be: fully educated, good-looking, and with a sweet demeanor. Despite this, I was still bracing for impact. At least for now, I could relish my time here and admire this excellent view of the city, which even this late seemed to be lit extra bright for me.
“So tell me, Papi, did you travel with your family here?” Matias said as he handed me a small mug and sat down close enough that our arms could be pressed against each other.
“No, I’m by myself,” sipping the hot coffee that had more sugar than I expected.
“It’s the holidays, isn’t your family going to miss you?” I shook my head in response.
“My mom passed away a few years ago, and my dad and I don’t really talk anymore. I figured I would take advantage of my time off and enjoy the trip. Maybe I’ll make it a tradition,” I did my best not to convey the sentiment awkwardly. Matias faced away from me, and I could tell he was considering his response.
“I’m really sorry, Ivan. I won’t pry more if you don’t want me to, but I will say this city is a fantastic place to distract yourself.” There was a silence between us for a second as we both stared out the window “In fact there’s this big fair in the main square, the Zocalo, for Verbena Navideña. Would you like to come with me, there’s still time?”
“I probably should go, I don’t want to bother…”
“I’m saying, I want us to go,” he said, gripping my hand as if I were about to float away. The stern look on his face communicated his serenity, so I agreed.
Matias made navigating through the crowd of people look effortless, mostly because he commanded such a large presence with the outside world. Simultaneously, he began proudly explaining that the zocalo has been a meeting place for Mexicans since the time of the Aztecs, and that the whole Centro was built over Tenochtitlan, the capital of the Aztec Empire. Today, the Zocalo is the largest city square in all of Latin America. I was spellbound by the light installations that scaled the heights of its famed buildings. Every free space of the massive center was taken over by Christmas artisans, food vendors, and amusement park rides.
“Can I ask you a question, Ivan?” Matias asked in a sheepish tone.
“Of course you can.”
“Are you in a relationship? I mean, back home, is there someone waiting for you, worried you’re with someone else right now? Because there’s nothing I would hate more than being that guy.” He said, looking aghast at the very thought.
“There’s no one back home, I’m very much single. How about you?”
“I was in a relationship for a long time, but that’s over now.”
“Good,” I said with a faint smile, but the truth was the thought hadn’t occurred to me until he asked. I decided to rest my body on the fence of the tilt-a-twirl, watching the pods spin so fast you could only see their hosts’ smiles in flashes
“What are your friends like, Ivan?” Matias said as he saddled up next to me.
“I don’t have a lot of friends. I guess I have one really good friend. Her name is Asha. She is the complete opposite of me: very sweet, super charismatic, and brave. I don’t know why she’s friends with me, but maybe we just end up balancing each other’s personalities.” The ride was incrementally picking up speed in front of us, and we were now hearing the screams of those eager to express their enjoyment.
“I think you’re brave. I would never be able to travel alone. Hell, I can’t even sit in a bar by myself.” When the ride eventually stopped, Matias shined at me again. “I want to go on. Come with me,” I agreed, and he grabbed my hand and led me to the entrance. I paid the few pesos it cost to get us on the ride, and we were packed tightly into the pod. I was beginning to feel foolish, but then the ride began to spin us in every direction. Soon, the metallic reds, yellows, and oranges of the ride’s painted colors blurred into one, and the only thing that was in perfect focus was Matias’s childish grin. I could also feel myself truly leaning into the joy of this singularly euphoric moment. After a while of walking again, I mentioned that it was time for me to go. Matias seemed disappointed and almost ready to give a protest.
“Okay, but one last thing,” he pointed at the shooting gallery. “If I win you a prize, will you give me your number?” I could begin to realize that he wanted another opportunity to impress me so I indulged him. He handed the man working the counter a couple of pesos, grabbed the rifle, and aimed at the moving targets. One shot fired, missed. There was a hesitation from Matias, who was now concentrating. Two, three, four, five pellets hit the bullseye. The next shot missed, but then Matias fully stuck the landing, finishing in rapid succession and hitting all of his targets. This earned him his choice of the small stuffed animals, and he picked a grey and pink axolotl, his reasoning being that it was the most Mexican. I gave him a small applause, and he returned a humorous bow.
Walking away, I couldn’t believe that the evening went as delightfully as it did. However, as much as I was charmed by Matias, in the real world, I was a gay and Puerto Rican boy. Happy endings were nothing more than a temporary feeling for us. I never truly expected to hear from him again. I turned around and though I had lost Matias in the crowd, I would never lose the memory, for the first time I truly believed there could be more.
J.A. Salazar is a Dominican writer from Newark, New Jersey. His fiction is featured in Latinelit Magazine and For Page and Screen Magazine. Heavily inspired by his travels as a nurse across the continental United States, his work explores themes of assimilation and its psychological effects while centering the experiences of Black, Latino, and queer youth. IG: @joshasalazar