Friday, March 18, 2005


I mailed el Cubano a silly article I had clipped hoping he would mail me a note. His cell phone wasn’t working. I called his job and sure enough they told me he didn’t work there anymore. I didn’t know if he had quit or was fired. That’s when I began to get nervous. I tracked down the email of a former co-worker of his, who knows some people that el Cubano knows. No response from that person (who knows who I am). I then called el Cubano’s father but he had heard from him less recently than I had. That’s when I broke down. Yes I know that el Cubano is a grown man and capable of taking care of himself but of course I thought the worse.

The next morning I had the LAPD’s number, the numbers of area hospitals and even jails. That was on day seven, the same day my period came a week late (probably because of the stress. I haven’t had sex in months!!). That same day, before I began making phone calls el Cubano sent me an email. In it he apologized for disappearing and explained briefly but without much detail what was going on. He said he had contacted his father and asked him to call me. He said he loved the MapucheRican and me and that he would try and call me soon. His father still hasn’t called me. He still hasn’t called me. It has now been two and a half weeks since I have spoken to him.

To my own credit I haven’t completely fallen apart. I haven’t really broken down and had a good cry about the whole thing. I haven’t reverted to drinking or fucking strangers. I’ve been depressed though. So depressed and mopey that my sister and my mother joined forces and got me a membership to a local gym (or maybe they were trying to tell me I was out of shape?). I have been going to gym at least every other day and am sore enough to prove it. I have allowed myself to go out and not be a slave to the phone. I have joined a friend for hot green mango tea during a snowstorm. I went to a party at the Copacabana thrown by a newspaper I have written for. I still though do jump and run to the phone when it rings hoping it’s him.

All of this brings out huge issues for me. There is nothing worse for me than living in the limbo of uncertainty. I can already hear/see el Cubano yelling/getting mad about what I am going to write next. This has made me wonder about the state of our relationship. Does he not calling me for two and half weeks equal breaking up with me? I know I know Cubanito. If you wanted to break up with me you would have said so. You are always very direct except when you’re not communicating.

This has made me wonder about my moving. Yes I should want to move because I want to move and I still do. I would love to live in Los Angeles. But the plan was a partnership. It is hard to make plans to move with someone when that someone has gone MIA.

I know some of you will now take this opportunity to say “I told you so” or bring up el Cubano’s history and mental health. I am thinking of those things too.


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