Good thoughts, Bad thoughts

“Muñoz, it’s all downhill from here,” was the last thing my boss Fran said as he closed the door between us. I was relieved to drop my jovial disguise after spending the last hour discussing my end-of-year evaluation. Although exceeding goals, being a team player, and needing little supervision had seemed like satisfactory praise, all it got me was a two percent raise and a new Starbucks gift card. I knew office jargon was meant to anesthetize the knife of corporate swindles, but I found its indirectness embarrassing. This is why I admired Fran. Managing the water treatment plant for St. Louis seemed tedious, but he always maintained a sunny demeanor. I supposed he was the kind of man I was going to have to emulate if I was to succeed in this business. But the truth was, I had neither the methodical nature nor the depravity necessary to exploit my fellow workers.

Only in my second year as a civil engineer, working for St. Louis’s supplier of clean water, I had already begun to feel the weight on my low spirit. When I moved from the backwoods of Eastern Pennsylvania, all I had was lint in my pockets and an air mattress that would leak, needing to be refilled halfway through the night. But times had changed, and I had become such a dependable performer that when I had announced my first extended vacation, it sent ripples of anxiety through our little cubicles.

Walking back to my desk, I heard Fran’s voice echoing in my ear, Downhill…Downhill, it did not feel reassuring; instead, it conjured an image of a crash landing. As I stood there, staring with a glazed look at my cluttered desk, I sensed the others around me were abandoning any facade of continuing their work. Understandable since it was Friday, 20 minutes to Five, and with Christmas the following week, liberty was in the air. Instead, my head was beginning to fill with unnecessary dread. My life in St. Louis was not going the way I had envisioned. Not just at work, but my personal life had been populated with one impending disappointment after another.

I felt less well-adjusted than the normal guys; I had become more bitter and cynical than my peers, and I envied those my age who seemed to have a better ability to reconcile with what their life was versus what they wanted it to be. I wanted to stop comparing myself to those normal guys, because I didn’t actually know what was typical for men in my position.

Twenty-six was around the corner, and the truth was I had dissociated for so long that I ended up feeling like a rough sketch that had yet to be rendered into an actualized portrait. Yes, I was Puerto Rican, but my alleluia-ass parents stripped all the fun out of Latino culture because it was from el mundo. We didn’t dance, we didn’t listen to secular music, Hell! We even grew up vegetarian. Which meant I grew up without much of a defense against the overpowering whiteness of my neighborhood. Being the only melanated kid did not make me well-liked, nor did it make me particularly loathed. It just made me invisible. Every day I floated into my assigned spot, did what was expected of me, without making an impression on anyone. So I spent most of my youth hoping I could propel my physical body through time and space, where I could reinvent a new life for myself.

My misfortune consumed me most when I started musing about boys. The first was Santi, a Colombian boy from Reading; even watching him kneel in a suit that pinched his tight body would set my ten-year-old mind ablaze. In that instant, I knew it was over for me. My alleluia parents would one day have to disown me, but worst of all, I was infected with an even worse fate: I had developed a taste for unattainable men. Men more attractive, men of higher class, men who didn’t love me as much as I loved them. They would crawl into my crowded mind and take up all the space. At no point did I suspect that my conservative neighborhood would provide any refuge to me either. But looking back, no one seemed to care what my sexuality was. I wasn't the kind of person they saw as a sexual being; they just hoped I would disappear. That’s why, when the first opportunity came to leave my small town, I jumped at it.

Now, as I packed up my work bag, having been in the Midwest for a handful of years, I was fending off a quarter-life crisis. It would be my last day in the office this year, so I made sure to clear my desk and issue half-hearted “Happy Holidays” to my work friends. As soon as I stepped through the front door, the afternoon sun blinded me, but I recognized a familiar voice calling my attention.

“Tony! There you are,” It was Cora sauntering towards me with her beaming smile. “Tony, Bestie, how are you?” wrapping her arms around my neck. She was wearing a black sports bra and black miniskirt underneath her favorite statement-piece jean jacket, which she closed tight to preserve modesty. She also donned steel-gray boots that made her only slightly taller than me. I adored Cora; she is the first adult friend I have ever made. I met her here at the office, where she was working as an administrative assistant. Every day, she would dramatically plop herself on my desk to tell me some office gossip or to brag about some fabulous gift her girlfriend got her. They were usually given as an apology for flirting with some Thot at the Grove the weekend before. She was the first person I remember coming out to, not just because she was the only lesbian in the office, but because her don’t give a fuck attitude made me feel braver than I was.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were going to pick me up later tonight?” I said while examining her luminous makeup; it always seemed to highlight her natural beauty.

“I texted you! I figured it would be safer to leave your car here, at the office. I don’t want you leaving it in street parking for that long,” she exclaimed as she pulled up the evidence on her phone.

“I’m sorry, I had a meeting with Fran. I got distracted, but thanks for thinking ahead for me. That’s why I love you,” I said as we interlocked arms and she hugged my shoulder with her head.

“I know, how would you survive without me?” Cora said with a mocking tone. I could smell her signature sage aroma; it always brought me such comfort, as if she alone had the power to ward off all bad spirits.

“I wouldn’t survive. Do you miss this place?” signaling to the stone gray office building I had just walked out of.

“Fuck no! You, I miss; these other crusty old bitches can choke. University Hospital treats me way better, and God knows they pay me better,” she scoffed as we walked towards her hyper-white Hyundai Sonata. “Sooo, are you excited for your first big solo trip? I’ll assume this is your first time seeing the ocean."

"I thought I told you, I won't be anywhere near a beach, and by the way, thanks for driving me to the airport,” I said as we cleared her passenger seat of gym bags and Amazon returns.

“What do you mean? You said Mexico, I assumed you would be booking some kind of all-inclusive?”

“No, I’m going to Mexico City. There are no beaches and no resorts there.” We closed the doors, and she turned on the car.

“I don’t know if I trust you in some random city by yourself. Why would you pick that as your first vacation? Isn't it dangerous?"

"More dangerous than St. Louis?” Though the city had seen better days, since I’d been here, the downtown has been completely gutted. St. Louis was struggling with high poverty that left entire high-rise buildings abandoned and a declining infrastructure problem that still haunted the neighborhoods. So we considered the question for a moment, and as soon as we glanced at each other, we started cackling.

“But seriously, what’s in Mexico City?” turning up an old Janet song, Got Til it’s Gone.

“I don’t know, some good food, I get a chance to practice my Spanish… maybe go to some new museums.”

“That’s gay,” she interrupted. We started laughing again and began driving away towards the place I called home.

Soulard wasn’t what it was advertised to be, but I felt lucky to live there. Understand, I made all my living arrangements online and over the phone before I could even set foot in Missouri. I had scraped together enough money for first, last, and security, and would max out my credit cards just trying to get myself there. When I found myself in the cramped studio apartment that could’ve been used for a sequel to Requiem for a Dream, I was dismayed. But after a while, I discovered the neighborhood provided insulation and a sense of security for me. At one time, the town had a “world-class” public market and a larger collection of nightlife activities, but now the sidewalks and buildings appeared poorly managed. In spite of this, it was still Cora’s favorite place for a quiet stroll in the afternoon because the 19th-century brick architecture was still striking.

Although most of the farmer's stands at Soulard Market remained vacant, we still enjoyed giving it a walk through and buying a sweet pastry when one piqued our interest. Eating and talking, we began to make our case over who had the most stressful job, which just gave us room to vent our frustrations but always left us empty on answers. After visiting the market, we continued on the road, going past Bogart's Smokehouse, where we celebrated Cora's return to school for accounting. Then we walked next to Protagonist Cafe, where we went to debrief the day she broke up with her girlfriend, Regina. Now Cora had another great idea.

“Let’s get a drink at Molly’s!”

It was early enough that the patio was plenty empty, which allowed us to decompress in those familiar, well-worn stools. Cora hadn’t known this, but Molly’s was my go-to location for meeting Tinder dates. So far, they had been college seniors, most of whom made sure to tell me that they were moving away after graduation. Explaining they wanted to keep things casual with me, insisting that we were only there to keep things fun. Was I supposed to have fun in this equation? Who knows? Most of the time, when I became disinterested in the date, I would suggest we stay and watch the dance floor fill up. This would give me an opportunity to slip out the back once I noticed my date dancing with someone else. Nevertheless, the bar was a community staple, and I enjoyed it outside of my relationship to the guests I brought there.

“What you want, it’s on me,” and I held up my hand preemptively to shut down Cora's inevitable protest, and I waved over the bartender. The thick dread-headed Jessie walked over, giving me a look that said I didn’t know you went both ways.

“Jess, how have you been? I didn't see you last week,” I said, trying on my best smirk. Jess had worked here since I started coming, and I liked her. She seamlessly managed Molly’s rowdy crowd, which, when intoxicated, tried to intimidate her for being a black and masculine-presenting woman.

“I’m good, Tony. You know my sister is opening a salon in the ville, so I was helping her for a bit. You’re looking well,” she said, now glancing at Cora.

“I want to introduce you to my Cora, um, I mean my friend Cora, my best friend.” I nudged her with my arm.

“Well, aren’t you the sweetest thing? I’m Jessie, extending her hand out and grabbing Cora’s.

"Pleasure to meet you, Jessie,” she said, beaming again.

“How about something to drink, two mules?” she said as she held up a peace sign.

“That'd be great, thanks, Jess.” As she left, we both couldn't help but watch her handsome figure float away. I texted Cora Jessie’s Instagram handle because I knew drunk me would forget later. When I looked up, a little box appeared on the table. Cora nodded towards it, signaling for me to open it.

“I’m too young for a lavender marriage,” I joked, peeking inside. A gold pendant shimmered; in the middle was a biblical-looking man holding a large staff and carrying a child on his shoulder, as he walked through knee-high water.

“Merry Christmas, Tony. I know you didn't feel like celebrating this year, and that's why you're going away, but I wanted to give you a little something. It's Saint Christopher, the Saint of travelers, and it's something to keep you safe,” she looked at me with a tenderness that made me melt. I stared at the inscription on its border that read Saint Christopher, protect us.

“I don’t know what to say, it's gorgeous, Cora, but you shouldn’t have.” I wanted to cry to explain what this little gift meant to me. Cora stood up and grabbed the box, removed the disposable backing, and struggled with opening the small clip that unlocked the two ends of the necklace.

“I want you to see everything this world has to offer, but Tony, you're family now, that means any Christmas, birthday, even Mardi Gras, you're welcome with me. Just because your mom passed and your dad is estranged from you right now doesn’t mean you're alone.” All I could think to do was give Cora the biggest bear hug that ended when I picked her off the ground. I tried to apologize for not getting her anything, insisting that I was a bad friend. She waved off the comment but joked that I owed her a trip to Chicago for our birthdays in the summer.

A noticeably different crowd started walking in, but undeterred, we started dancing to Naked in Manhattan because we were finally armed with our mules. Side eyes and semi-sober glances judged us, but we didn’t care because we knew we were ahead of the curve. Soon, the bar would fill to capacity, and they would have to siphon from our good vibes. For the first time, I felt shielded from life's cruel jokes, I was impenetrable.

Before I knew it, it was after two am. I had stuck around to keep Cora company as she flirted with Jess, who still continued to close down the bar. My eyes diverted between this burgeoning flame and a husky dog lying exhausted in the corner of the patio. I knelt down and ran my hand over its soft fur with a light touch. Realizing how intoxicated I was now I began to yearn to lie down. Ignoring this feeling, I invited Jess over to spend time with Cora and me as we waited for my early flight. The morning was silent as we walked down Geyer Ave. towards my apartment, just three blocks from the bar.

“What a night, man. How are you feeling, Tony?” Jess said with faint concern.

“I feel great, best night ever,” I exclaimed a little too loudly.

“Hush, you’re going to wake up the whole neighborhood,” Cora slapped the arm she was already hugging. I opened the door as quietly as I could, but between the three of us, I’m sure we shook the entire brownstone. Cora was quick to make breakfast, already knowing where she could find things around my sparsely furnished apartment. Meanwhile, Jess cracked jokes about some notable characters of the night, all while lighting a blunt. I offered everyone coffee, but all refused; I was the only one who needed to stay awake. Now my run-down studio was filled with the aroma of Cajun sausages, fried eggs, and toasted croissants, soon to be served with strawberry preserves and soft butter. All of us were sitting around the antique wooden table that I had inherited from the previous tenant.

“What’s your type, Tony?" Jess said with a devilish grin, “Do you find white guys attractive? I know a couple of good ones, but I never see you bring any to the bar.” Cora’s interest was piqued; she began to sit up straight and grabbed a hit from Jess’s blunt.

“I don’t know. Growing up they didn’t pay me any attention so I never even considered it” I said, taking a sip of my black coffee, the statement and the coffee both leaving a bitter taste in my mouth “I’m open to anyone, but the common thread of the guys I date is that they’re smart, men of color and all seem to be emotionally unavailable. White guys have not been an option.”

“You’re not missing anything, Tony. I dated this dyke once; she almost ruined my life. She thought she was the catch in the relationship. Look at me,” Cora was gesturing at her body. “She wasn’t even cute. They think that because they’re white, they have an upperhand on the power dynamics of a relationship. I do not play those games,” she said, filling the room with marijuana smoke.

“I’ve dated a few white girls, but it’s never serious. I wouldn’t want to make it work long-term. That being said, you’re a nice guy, Tony. I can tell you’re looking for love, but the guys you're bringing to Molly’s ain’t it. Sorry to have to say it. You deserve better, my guy,” I considered what Jess was saying, while I finished scarfing down my breakfast.

“It’s funny, I must have a hopeless romantic tattoo on my forehead because everyone loves to manage my expectations. I don’t see myself as someone looking for love anymore. I go on those dates more to develop an idea of what normal guys are like; it’s my version of an anthropological study. How they moved through the world is what fascinates me. Maybe their freedom of being will rub off on me, and I'll make up for the time I wasted trying not to be anything.” I chugged the last of my coffee and began collecting my bags from the side closet where I had hidden them. “Whether it’s white men or black men or Latinos. Whatever. Whoever. Everyone seems to have made up their mind about me before they even get to know me.”

“You’re putting these guys on a pedestal, everyone, when you dig deep, is fucked up. And if you ain’t normal, then what are we? A couple of black queers in the Midwest, we ain’t ever been mainstream. Tony, I know you well, but most importantly, you need to know yourself. Don’t waste your life questioning how normal you are, because the truth is, Tony, you’re better than normal to me.” Cora said this while wrapping the curls of my hair around her finger. Jess decided to chime in. “Normal was won by those who colonized us. But one day, I promise you, our own kind will look at us, and we'll be as normal as a can of Coke.” I squeezed Cora's arm to signal it was time to leave because I had nothing more to say.

The time was half past three, and the distant creep of a migraine began to announce itself across my forehead. I ushered my friends out of the building and locked the doors behind me. The breeze was cool, and a symphony of cicadas soundtracked our short journey to the car. I hugged Jess, maybe for the first time, and I hoped that we would become closer friends after this. Jess knowingly extended her hand to Cora's, and when reciprocated, you could sense enough electricity that could power the whole state. I was happy for them, but my blood pressure began to rise at the thought of leaving the comfort of friendship at this moment. I would be far from home and all alone. Throwing my bags in the car, I began to control my breath and think about all the possibilities that awaited me.

As we drove away, I also thought of what Jess had said. How would the future generations remember us? Could we rewrite who we were, and give ourselves our happy ending? Would they fight for this world and our place in it? Was it worth the trouble?