Page 11 of Portrait of A Lost Artist
Yet, I can only bring myself to laugh, feeling tears spilling at the corners of my eyes.
Maybe Lorenzo Pacheco destroyed me, but I’m certain that it will be only a matter of time before I can head out into the world. I’ll grant him something—he had the grander punch, the protagonist moment, but I’ll be the one laughing at last. Even when I’m drenched in wine, bathed in regret and self-pity.
That’s just life, isn’t it?
?CHAPTER FIVE
NATHAN
“I always knew I’d be the second best at best. I always knew he left a big gaping hole in your chest. I always knew about the clothes of his that you kept. I always knew it’d be the two of you in the end.” -The Other POV by Khloe Rose.
IF SIMON SAW WHEREI LIVED, HE’D HAVE A STROKE.
I quite like it, if I’m being honest. It’s just...different.
The cramped house that ceased my hunt for a home in Havana at the fair price of fifty bucks monthly belonged to none other than Benicio Gutierrez. Upon living here for an entire week, he has caught me up on the rumors about him that go around town. He lives in a small home, surrounded by eccentricities and collectives. Benicio collects dead flowers, marking them and hanging them on his walls. Lush plants are thoughtfully scattered throughout the space, creating a vibrant atmosphere in this charming home. With two cozy bedrooms, a well-appointed bathroom, and a kitchen featuring beautifully polished wooden surfaces, it exudes warmth. He likes for his surroundings to feel full; some call it obsessive, but I understand Benicio.
He studied English when he was in middle school, saying how the studying system was way better at this time—he’s in his sixties, nearing his seventies—and complaining about the government like it is his job. Though, he’s just another retired teacher that people judge. They say he has gone mad; he told me through our morning talks in between sips of coffee before I went to work, that he collects to fill a deep void in his brain. Though, no one dared know that Benicio just was going through grief and heartbreak.
Not that anyone knows, or some could whisper about it, but they don’t openly talk about the subject. As I’ve learned, the idea is still being welcomed and accepted in this Latin society. He shared a heartfelt memory of a time when he was deeply in love with another man. They were husbands, living together as devoted teachers at the same school. Their bond was woven through shared experiences in the classroom and quiet moments at home, filled with laughter and understanding. He died a few months back from lung cancer—a smoker, quite like me, so Benicio stopped me from ever doing it around the house—and that’s when he started renting the room. Extremely cheap, but I make it up with talk and filling up his house with more of those collectibles he likes.
He’s framing a weirdDiphylleia Grayithat I asked to be bought by Renna so I could give it to him as a present. Benicio is a tall man, hunching on his small wooden chairs—a habit he inherited from his time with his husband, who was much shorter—, with a bald head and rounded glasses, wrinkled to the core. He speaks with a gentleness and patience that I wish I had when I was younger, instead of Simon’s booming voice asking me to be more.
“I don’t get why you’re so set on learning Spanish.” Benicio points out, for that’s what I’ve asked him in this uneventful morning. We’re having coffee and dulce de leche-covered bread, silently waiting for the sun to be at its peak before I have to return to my dishwasher job for the morning.
“I came to Havana, and I can't keep making signs or using Google Translate to communicate with everyone.” I say, though Benicio spares me a look, inspecting me with intent before sighing.
“That’s good. Learning is always a good thing. I have a few books from when I was a teacher myself, but I feel you’re hiding something from me.” He eyes me up and down, maybe because I am much different from how I was when I entered this house. I’ve let my beard grow a bit, not too much, for I like it trimmed, but a change wouldn’t do me wrong. “But let me tell you...Cuban women are far more complicated than what you’re used to.”
“What makes you think it’s because of a woman?” I lean back on the chair, balancing it with my feet for it to go back and forth. Though, I can’t help the little grin that forms on the corner of my mouth.
“Oh lord, Nathan...” He repeats my name a few times before joining in on my laughter. “Don’t tell me it’s love you’re thinking about—”
I shake my head relentlessly. Interest is more of what I would call it. The woman that I saw at the restaurant was gorgeous, I won’t lie about that. The eccentric curve of her hips, the handles and weight that make her look matured, an elongated face and plump lips that beg to be bitten. I won’t get in trouble with the daughter of my boss, but if the moment came about to forget about life for a bit and just...let some steam off, I would be delighted to be part of it.
Not that it would ever happen, considering that the moment she saw that man outside, she came back crying and didn’t dare get out of that bathroom. Heartbreak becomes an unbearable feeling once it happens, and while I’ve never gone through it for something related to romance, I can understand that it broke her. Badly.
