Page 91 of Wishing for La Luna
He kisses my temple. “I was planning to lock myself with you in the casita.Solos. I have so many things I want and need to do with you before we jump on that plane tomorrow afternoon.”
I tilt my head and let him full on kiss me and then lean on his neck the way he was leaning on me before.
“You leave for Cali the day after tomorrow.”
He nods against my head. “We are going on the red-eye, and then we have rehearsals for two days ahead of the show. After, we go to Arizona and then Vegas.”
“We haven’t been that far apart since we started seeing each other.”
“I know,” he says softly. “When are you flying to me?”
“I have a couple of interviews this week. After that, we can make it work.”
“You were only at the one concert in New York, and I feel like it will be weird not to have you at all of them. Like, I don’t know how to do thissin tí.”
He knows how to turn my heart into a puddle.
“You know I’ll be watching and rooting for you. I just have to do these interviews. You’re going to kill it, and I’ll be there soon. I promise.”
He hugs me and I end up dozing off.
I wake up to the sound of horns everywhere. I’m disoriented and he says, “Welcome toLa Capital.”
An hour later, after crazy traffic, we arrive at Zao’sbarrio, Buenos Aires. We ride up a hill lined on both sides with houses and businesses. Many home businesses have clothes hanging from the window bars. Thecolmados, convenience stores, are playing music like a club. The kids are running around and waving at the car. It brings a smile to my face. We find Zao at the top of the hill, hanging with a bunch of guys and laughing. He’s just a regular guy here, and people leave him alone while keeping a watchful eye to protect him.
When he sees our SUV, he opens his arms. We climb out, and Rio goes to hug him, picking him up off the ground. The little kids come running, and we are soon surrounded by them. Zao tries to pick up Tito, and they both laugh when he can’t. Then he comes to hug me and Sel.
“Bienvenidas a mi barrio. Welcome,” he says, trying his English. “We’re filming in thecañá.”
Rio takes my hand, and we follow Zao through an alleyway between the blue hair salon and the peach façade of the bakery building. Our feet tap against the gray cement road that leads the way into half-paved steps that are partly dirt and covered in moss due to the filtrating water from the roofs. On each side of the steps, there are houses adjacent to each other like rowhomes made of cinderblock and cement, brushed over in more pastel colors that give them personalities like ladies dressed in their Sunday best. On our trek down the steps, we zig zag to avoid the slippery moss.
Rio’s hand tightens around mine as he maneuvers us like he does this every day. I’m concentrating so hard on my steps I almost run into his back. When we pause, I look up to find the world has opened up and we are facing a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree hill – a patchwork of yellow, blue, and orange houses like sorbet shades – quilted closely together, some separated by trees and water tanks, and stacked over each other to fill every inch of the semicircular panorama. Beyond are the mountains in their green best.
My breath snags in my throat. This majesticvistaof humble abodes stitches itself into a tapestry that I’ll never forget. I take out my phone and snap photos. It’s the only way I can explain to anyone the beauty of thisfavela.
We keep moving down the steep steps down with houses on both sides and people coming out to their porches, yelling for Rio and Zao. We stop in front of a blue house where there’s an old lady with the warmest copper brown eyes and a soft smile sitting behind the iron gate that surrounds the porch of her house.
“Fefa,” Rio says and goes in to hug her. He slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out some bills and puts them in her hand. He kisses her leathery cheek and then turns around. Zao and Tito do the same. She waves at us, saying, “Dios te bendiga.”
“Who is she?” I ask.
“The first lady of this barrio,” he says.
I wave back at her, smiling into her bottomless gaze, and her smile deepens. It’s another thing that’s hard to explain to people who haven’t been there. You can sometimes see the love in people’s faces without words. How their smiles can fill hearts.
We keep going down the steps until we reachLa Cañada de Guajimía, a ravine with running water, which has unfortunately also become a landfill. No one seems to notice though. The flat area in front of it is packed with people. Cameras are already set up and music is blasting through speakers.
Zao motions for someone’s attention. “El niño lindo llegó. Estamos listos.”
“You see?” I say, “I’m not the only one that calls you pretty boy.”
“You got your verse?” Zao asks before Rio can answer me, and he nods. “Luna and Sel, you can be in the video in the back.”
“When did you write your verse?” Tito asks.
Rio smiles, and it’s enigmatic and cryptic. “I sent it to him the other day.”
They tell everyone to dance but not make noise as the piano music plays out.
