6/28/12 Te Amo Marisol

            Kerlyn had to come to lunch late because a kid had pooped on him. People were already putting their dirty plates in the tray and filtering out. Alissa, another intern, was busy putting the food away and wiping down the tables. I should really have been helping, but I figured it could wait. It was wonderful to sit in the breeze next to Carlos, Kendrix, Dianna, and Romano. They are all Dominicans or Haitians about my age, give or take a few years. We had been coaching basketball all morning, and the cold water in front of me couldn’t taste better. Kerlyn sat down across from me with his plate of rice and beans.

            They spoke in Spanish with one another about the basketball clinic, and I listened and watched the people still remaining in the room. There were a few team members washing the dishes. I really appreciate that because it means I don’t have to. One of them came and took Kerlyn’s empty plate and the empty glasses still sitting on the white plastic table. Another team member wiped down the tables that Alissa already had. Maybe I could have told him that she already did, but instead I let him have the satisfaction of doing good. Eventually, the team filtered out leaving only the Dominican cooks in the kitchen, the Dominican youth at the table, and the American me.

            Kendrix started to hum, but it must have been a song they all knew. In no time at all, Carlos, Kerlyn, Kendrix, and Romano were belting out a song about love and passion. The song ended, and I applauded. But Kendrix wasn’t finished yet.
            “Be right back,” he said.
            “I think he went to get that guitar,” Kerlyn said as he rolled his eyes at his exuberant brother.
Just as predicted, Kendrix came back with the guitar and took a seat at the table. He started to play another song everyone knew. The women in the kitchen began to roll their eyes and sneak smiles at each other.
            “Marisol!” Kerlyn shoved back from the table, “This one’s for you, baby!” He pointed to Marisol, the head cook. She is a plump, short lady probably in her 50’s.
            “Te quiero,” he mouthed to her and sang with Carlos and Kendrix.
Marisol came out of the kitchen, hands on her hips. She shook her head with a half smile on her face. Her look was scolding but the twitching of her lips gave her away. Kerlyn took her hand and got down on one knee. The song carried on full of love and promise. Romano was laughing so hard, I thought he might fall off his chair. The song slowed and Carlos and Kerlyn wrapped Marisol in their arms. She started to smack them. But she didn’t make a move to leave, and now her smile was harder to hide. Finally, they had had enough of her smacking so they relinquished their grasp. Kerlyn danced back and grabbed an unopened pack of plastic cups and used it as a microphone.

            Kendrix started to play a new song, and Marisol waved the boys away. She went back to the kitchen and proceeded to roll her eyes at the new love song given in her honor. Romano and I exchanged happy looks.
            “How come you don’t go take a nap like the other Americans?” he asked me.
            “Because then I would miss this.”