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hauntedbostonrpg"Mom, get Tío to help you. You spend your entire day in the hospital while he sits on his butt --" Christian ran his hands through his hair, dislodging his hat. He pulled the brim back over his brow and sighed. "No, mami. I know I shouldn't speak of my elders that way. Yes, I'm eating. Are you?"
The stream of Spanglish coming from his cellphone sounded like music - nagging music, but music nonetheless. If he closed his eyes, he could hear his neighborhood, his apartment building, four hours away in New Jersey. He could smell the different floors with different dinners. His eyes snapped open when he heard his mother's voice go up in a question and he panicked, knowing he had no idea what was currently coming out of her mouth.
"Uh, que, mamá?"
"Mira, Cristián!" English forgotten, his mother opted for their mother language and lightly berated him for not paying attention.
"Lo siento, mami. I'm just missing you, that's all." He leaned his forehead against the glass of the window, the cool winter air biting through the thin material of the cap. "It gets lonely."
His mother's voice softened. "I know, mi hijo. But you were with us for Christmas. And now you're officially back at school after a long month in New Jersey." Her voice brightened. "You should go out."
Christian groaned. "It's the first week of school."
"And I bet you've already done all of your homework. Gracias a Dios that you're in a conservatory so we don't have to worry about your math grades." Christian heard a door open and close in the background. "Your father is home from work." He heard her cover the phone with her hand and shout something about Christian being on the phone.
He then heard his father lifting the receiver of his old rotary phone in the office, jury-rigged as it was to work with the phone lines. His father was delightfully modern in most of his life, but he clung to that phone, having come from the old country. "Christian?"
"Hi papá. How are you?"
"Wonderful, a bit tired." His father laughed tiredly. "Same old."
"I'm happy to hear your voice." Chris stuffed down the twinge of sadness he felt in his chest. When he first got back to Boston for his second semester, there was so much of him that wanted to hop back on that train back to Hudson County. His family saved so much money to allow him to pursue his dream. They weren't poor; they weren't affluent either, but they lived comfortably and he never wanted for anything. Chris wanted to go to NYU very badly, but his grades weren't NYU worthy. Thankfully, his audition and interview at Berklee went well. Very well. The only fly in the ointment was the fact that he did not qualify for financial aid, thanks to his parents doing very well. They were able to pay his tuition - he was blessed for sure - but it didn't leave much for an allowance.
His apartment was always filled with people and his building was like family. Sitting in his double in a private school, alone but for his roommate - and his roommate's boyfriend - he felt terribly alone.
"Mom, dad, I love you."
"We love you too," they chorused, then laughed. He knew they had been planning that for weeks, and the thought made him crack a smile.
"I'll call you tomorrow. Hey, pop, we can even FaceTime if you want." His father loved his tech toys.
"I'd like that very much. Maybe we can plan it for when we're at abuela's after work."
"I'd love that." Christian smiled to himself, knowing they could feel it through the phone. "I love you."
"I love you too, Chris. Good night." His father replaced the phone on the cradle.
"Te amo, hijo. Paciencia y fe. Buenas Noches y que duermas con los angelitos." His mother's standard nightly wishes made his chest ache - in a good way.
"Te amo." He pushed the button to disconnect the call and looked out the window onto the busy Boston streets below. It was only nine at night. The night was young and his mom was right.
Christian grabbed his wallet and room keys and slung his guitar over his back. He needed to work at it - and he needed patience and faith. He headed down the stairs into the Boston nightlife, ready to perform until the wee hours.
The stream of Spanglish coming from his cellphone sounded like music - nagging music, but music nonetheless. If he closed his eyes, he could hear his neighborhood, his apartment building, four hours away in New Jersey. He could smell the different floors with different dinners. His eyes snapped open when he heard his mother's voice go up in a question and he panicked, knowing he had no idea what was currently coming out of her mouth.
"Uh, que, mamá?"
"Mira, Cristián!" English forgotten, his mother opted for their mother language and lightly berated him for not paying attention.
"Lo siento, mami. I'm just missing you, that's all." He leaned his forehead against the glass of the window, the cool winter air biting through the thin material of the cap. "It gets lonely."
His mother's voice softened. "I know, mi hijo. But you were with us for Christmas. And now you're officially back at school after a long month in New Jersey." Her voice brightened. "You should go out."
Christian groaned. "It's the first week of school."
"And I bet you've already done all of your homework. Gracias a Dios that you're in a conservatory so we don't have to worry about your math grades." Christian heard a door open and close in the background. "Your father is home from work." He heard her cover the phone with her hand and shout something about Christian being on the phone.
He then heard his father lifting the receiver of his old rotary phone in the office, jury-rigged as it was to work with the phone lines. His father was delightfully modern in most of his life, but he clung to that phone, having come from the old country. "Christian?"
"Hi papá. How are you?"
"Wonderful, a bit tired." His father laughed tiredly. "Same old."
"I'm happy to hear your voice." Chris stuffed down the twinge of sadness he felt in his chest. When he first got back to Boston for his second semester, there was so much of him that wanted to hop back on that train back to Hudson County. His family saved so much money to allow him to pursue his dream. They weren't poor; they weren't affluent either, but they lived comfortably and he never wanted for anything. Chris wanted to go to NYU very badly, but his grades weren't NYU worthy. Thankfully, his audition and interview at Berklee went well. Very well. The only fly in the ointment was the fact that he did not qualify for financial aid, thanks to his parents doing very well. They were able to pay his tuition - he was blessed for sure - but it didn't leave much for an allowance.
His apartment was always filled with people and his building was like family. Sitting in his double in a private school, alone but for his roommate - and his roommate's boyfriend - he felt terribly alone.
"Mom, dad, I love you."
"We love you too," they chorused, then laughed. He knew they had been planning that for weeks, and the thought made him crack a smile.
"I'll call you tomorrow. Hey, pop, we can even FaceTime if you want." His father loved his tech toys.
"I'd like that very much. Maybe we can plan it for when we're at abuela's after work."
"I'd love that." Christian smiled to himself, knowing they could feel it through the phone. "I love you."
"I love you too, Chris. Good night." His father replaced the phone on the cradle.
"Te amo, hijo. Paciencia y fe. Buenas Noches y que duermas con los angelitos." His mother's standard nightly wishes made his chest ache - in a good way.
"Te amo." He pushed the button to disconnect the call and looked out the window onto the busy Boston streets below. It was only nine at night. The night was young and his mom was right.
Christian grabbed his wallet and room keys and slung his guitar over his back. He needed to work at it - and he needed patience and faith. He headed down the stairs into the Boston nightlife, ready to perform until the wee hours.
