Deep in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee, away from the bustling streets of Nashville, rested two neighboring family farms that seemed to exist in a world all their own. To the west lay Milk and Honey Farmstead. The residence of the Jennings Family and their large herd of dairy cows.
To the east lay a thriving field of blueberry bushes that stretched as far as the eye could see. Azul Acres was my family’s pride and joy, where we cultivated the finest berries in Appalachia.
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The Jennings and the Antigua families have been closely intertwined ever since our grandparents built these farms from the ground up in the 60s. Farming was a constant challenge, so our families forged a bond through shared hardships. During the development of the land, our grandparents uncovered a beautiful natural garden between their two farms. The zoning laws were unclear on exactly who the land belonged to, so our families opted to share it, carefully cultivating it into a backyard oasis.
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The garden between our farms has been my sanctuary for as long as I can remember. Growing up with cystic fibrosis, I’ve never been able to run around or play sports the way other kids could, but I’ve always loved the outdoors. The garden is the only place where I’ve ever felt like I truly belonged. The garden held countless memories, both good and bad, but it was the memories I made here that shaped me into who I am.
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My earliest memory of this garden was the day I met Jesse Jennings. No matter how hard I tried to rid myself of him, my heart was scarred with memories of our former friendship. We first met when we were around six years old. I had just come home from a long hospital stay after a brutal lung infection. The first thing I wanted to do when I returned to the farm was to rest in the garden and bask in the sun’s healing light. When I got there, I saw a boy about my age sneaking through the garden gate, picking flowers to give to his mother. The delicate petals fell like snowflakes onto the ground as he hummed a tune to himself. As I approached him, he looked up and gave me the biggest grin I had ever seen. Something about him made me feel at ease. He introduced himself as Jesse Jennings. I was nervous at first, but his infectious, adventurous spirit drew me in. Jesse quickly became my favorite person, and from that day on, we promised to be best friends forever.
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He made us matching leather bracelets, and we spent every day together. In the summer, we’d chase fireflies and collect them in glass mason jars. In the fall, we’d go on scavenger hunts, looking for the most colorful leaves we could find. In the winter, he’d build me a fortress made of snow, and we’d huddle up inside and speculate what Santa was going to bring us for Christmas. In the spring, we’d lie in a field of carnations and look for shapes in the clouds while we planned our future adventures together. Spring was always my favorite time, even if the pollen was literally killing me. Unlike many others, Jesse had never been intimidated by my oxygen tubes and violent coughing fits. He never pitied me or made me feel weak because of my affliction. It meant the world to me to be treated like any other kid.
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As we got older, we discovered a shared love of music. Jesse liked country, while I preferred classic rock, but we’d still swap CDs and play our guitars together. We shared our dreams of becoming famous musicians and going on tour together. Jesse’s dream came true, and mine didn’t. One day, Jesse told me that he had joined a band and was running off to Nashville to be a star. Not long after, he departed our small country town without saying goodbye. My heart grew heavy with bitterness, and I shut myself off from the world. Every time I thought of Jesse, my blood boiled with the intensity of one thousand suns. I loathed everything and everyone. I hated my illness for holding me back. I hated country music for reminding me of him. I hated his bandmates for taking him away from me. I hated him most of all for leaving me behind.
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As the years went by, the scars left by his betrayal slowly began to heal, but the pain of his absence never fully went away. Today, just like every other day since he left, I walked to the garden alone with my guitar strapped to my back. The morning dew still dampened the lush grass beneath my feet. The garden wasn’t quite the same in his absence, but I refused to let that deter me. This is my happy place, and I wouldn’t let stupid Jesse ruin it, even if it was once our happy place.
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My precious long-haired Dalmatian puppy, Scout, raced after me, refusing to let me wallow in solitude. I’ll be honest, it took me a while to warm up to the energetic pup, but I’m so grateful for him now. Scout was a surprise gift from my father I received on a random Tuesday. My father had been dropping hints that I needed to move on from Jesse and make some new friends for years. Despite his growing concern, I ignored his advice and continued to self-isolate. Adopting Scout was his desperate attempt to push me out of my shell. Before he was properly trained, Scout had been a naughty puppy. He was constantly making messes around the house, and his hyperactive attitude often distracted me from my music. Caring for Scout felt like a chore, and I resented both my father and the dog for giving me this burden. Everything changed one night when I had a debilitating coughing fit. I worried Scout would be frightened by all the noise, but instead, he gently nuzzled his head into my chest and laid there until the fit passed. Somehow, Scout always knew when I wasn’t feeling well, and he would cuddle up next to me and refuse to leave my side until I felt better. During those tender moments, I learned to love Scout. He’d been my closest friend since Jesse left, and we spent every morning playing in the garden together.
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As soon as I opened the garden gate, Scout ran off to chase a butterfly. I sighed and trudged to my favorite spot, the rustic tree swing my father had lovingly handmade for me.
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Before sitting down, I set down my portable CD player and the sizable crate of 80s rock albums I’d carried with me. It contained AC/DC, Aerosmith, Bon Jovi, Def Leppard, Guns N’ Roses, Led Zeppelin, Van Halen, and every other rock and roll legend you could think of. I’ve been improving my pitch by attempting to play songs by ear. I sifted through our extensive collection for the perfect song for this moment.
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Ultimately, I opted for Bryan Adams’s Reckless album and fast-forwarded to “Summer of ‘69.” On this lonely summer morning, as I reminisced about happier times, this song spoke to me. I strummed along to the tune as the distant moos from the Jennings’s dairy herd provided backup vocals.
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Just as I was finding my rhythm, a round, firm projectile rammed into my face. “Hey! Watch It, asshole!” I shouted in the general direction the sound had come from. I let out a wince of pain and then looked to see what hit me. It was an old leather baseball that Scout quickly picked up and ran away with.
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I heard the sound of approaching footsteps, followed by a familiar voice. “Well, I’ll be damned. Is that Ángel Antigua I hear?”
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That better not be who I think it is! I massaged my aching temples and looked up to see Jesse Jennings standing outside the garden gate.
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“No,” I lied, praying he’d go away.
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Jesse poked his eye through the iron rungs of the tall fence that wrapped around the garden. “It is you! I haven’t seen you in ages, brother! How have you been?”
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I clenched my fists. I wasn’t his brother, and I certainly wasn’t his friend. He was dead to me. “Why are you here?” I said in a hostile tone, letting him know he was unwelcome in my safe haven.
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“I’m just here to get my ball.”
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“No, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you in Nashville with your band right now?”
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Jesse rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Things didn’t really work out with the band. We’ve always had our creative differences, but we couldn’t hold things together anymore, so we split up. I’m still trying to figure out where to go from here.”
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“I hear the rodeo is in need of a new clown. You should apply. You're perfect for the job, since you’re already a big joke.” I quipped.
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He took a step back, clearly wounded by my scorn. My heart twinged with guilt for the briefest of moments before I remembered how much he’d hurt me. “Ángel, are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong?”
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“Take a wild guess, Jesse.”
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“No?”
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“Guess again.”
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“...yes?” He said with so much hesitation it drove me mad.
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Jesse’s cluelessness fueled the rage inside me. How could he be so oblivious to the sting of his own betrayal? “Yes, dingus, I’m mad at you. You absolutely destroyed me, and you don’t even seem to care.”
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“Destroyed is a strong word. I’ve gotten a baseball to the face plenty of times. It’ll bruise a little bit, but that’s all,” Jesse said, still clueless.
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“This Isn’t about the damn baseball, Jesse!” I snapped. “You’re the only friend I ever had, and you left me! You threw me away like I was trash!” I hated the way my voice cracked. It made me sound like I was about to cry. I won’t let him see me break. I’ve already wasted too many tears on Jesse Jennings.
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A look of pity flashed across his face. “I’m your only friend?”
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I cursed myself for letting him see me vulnerable. “Yeah, you were my only friend before you left without saying goodbye.
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His expression turned puzzled as he mulled over my words. “I waited by the garden gate all night for you, but you never came.”
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I didn't go to the garden the night Jesse left. I was too sick to leave bed. I secretly hoped Jesse would come to my house to see me. It was the least he could do, considering he lived next door. I made up an elaborate daydream where he'd come knocking on my door. When I greeted him, he'd hug me, and announce that he'd changed his mind about moving to Nashville. He'd declare that our friendship was far more important than a silly country music career, and he was going to stay here forever with me. I stayed awake all night, hoping, dreaming, praying my best friend would come to see me one last time, but he never showed up. What truly broke me was that if our roles were reversed, and I was the talented young star with a shot at fame, and he was just a lonely, sick kid with a guitar, I would've given up all my dreams to stay by his side. “I was too sick to come to the garden. I didn’t have the strength to get out of bed.”
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Jesse reached a hand through the fence to comfort me. “Ángel, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
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I jerked away from his touch. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s in the past. Just leave me alone, okay?”
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“Can I have my ball back?”
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“No.” I scooped up Scout in my arms, then marched out of the garden without a glance back.
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…
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I stopped by the house to pick up a cold bottle of water before walking over to the barn to see my father. I was in desperate need of some fatherly advice right now.
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When Scout and I entered the barn, we were greeted by the sweet scent of hay mixed with the pungent smell of gasoline. I discovered my father underneath the tractor, busy with repairs. I set Scout on the ground, and he scampered over and began licking my father’s face.
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My father chuckled, then crawled out from under the tractor to greet us. Papá was a short, yet muscular man with salt and pepper hair and deep wrinkles from the stress of being a single father of a chronically ill kid for two decades. He was currently covered in sweat and motor oil.
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“Any luck getting it to start?” I said, eyeing the rusty old machine. That tractor was older than I was, and it was desperate to be laid to rest, yet we kept reviving it against its will and forcing it to continue on.
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He let out a tired sigh. “I’ve been at it all day, but the worthless thing won’t budge.”
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I felt a nagging tug of shame in my chest. We’d needed to replace that rusty hunk of junk for ages. Although we were by no means poor, my father had to make a lot of sacrifices to cover my extensive list of medical expenses. Sometimes, I can’t help but imagine how much easier his life would be without me.
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My guilt and sorrow must’ve been apparent because Papá ruffled my hair and said, “Don’t worry, mijo. We’ll get it fixed in no time.”
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I nodded solemnly before handing him the bottle of water I brought for him.
He gratefully accepted it and took a large swig. Then, he finally noticed my injury because he exclaimed, “¡Ay! What happened to your face? You’ve got a bruise the size of Texas!”
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I tenderly pressed on my growing welt and winced. “Jesse Jennings happened. He hit me in the face with a baseball.”
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“¡No me diga! He’s got a lot of nerve coming back here after the way he hurt you. Do you want me to go beat him up for you?” Papá punched the air to illustrate the sincerity of his threat.
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“No, it’s fine. He’s not worth it. Jesse is nothing to me.”
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My father shot me a pitying look. “Don’t lie to me. I remember how hard you sobbed when he left. You were inconsolable for months. I was worried you’d never be happy again.”
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I flushed with embarrassment at the mention of all the times I cried like a baby because of Jesse Jennings. I waved my hand dismissively. “The past is the past. We were different people back then. As a matter of fact, Jesse apologized to me today.”
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“For abandoning you or hitting you with a baseball?”
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“Technically neither; he apologized for not saying goodbye before he left. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to respond. Should I forgive him or what?”
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“Do you think he means it when he says he's sorry?”
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I took several moments to consider it. “I think he feels bad about the way things went down, but I don’t know if I can ever trust him again. If I give him another chance, will he just abandon me again?”
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Papá placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “No one can force you to forgive. That choice is in your hands. I support your decision no matter what.”
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…
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I spent all night thinking about Jesse and the memories we shared. I desperately longed for the friendship we used to have. My head and my heart were in a desperate tug of war. I wanted to forgive Jesse. I really did, but I couldn’t trust him to stay. I knew he’d break my heart again, so I decided to keep my distance for my own safety.
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I got up at sunrise the next morning to take a jog because my doctor says I need exercise to live or whatever. Before I left, I took my daily handful of antibiotics, then hooked myself up to my portable oxygen tank and packed it in my backpack.
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It’s rare for cystic fibrosis patients to use oxygen therapy all day like I do. Most only use it during sleep or strenuous exercise, but I was different. Ever since I was a child, the oxygen levels in my blood were dangerously low, and drastic measures were needed to keep me alive. When my doctor first prescribed oxygen therapy, I detested it with every fiber of my being. The hefty oxygen tank and noticeable breathing tubes immediately marked me as different and opened me up to teasing and ridicule from my peers. My feelings drastically changed when I discovered how much independence it granted me. I now had the freedom to explore the farm all by myself without struggling to breathe, and Papá didn’t worry nearly as much as he used to.
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Scout yipped with joy as I put on his harness. I’m glad at least one of us enjoys this cruel and unusual torture. I put in my earbuds and hit play on my favorite playlist before beginning my jog down the dirt path that snaked around the blueberry fields. I was careful to take deep breaths, ensuring I received a steady flow of oxygen. I savored the crisp scent of freshly cut grass mixed with the sweet aroma of blueberries. Scout wagged his tail enthusiastically as we trotted down the road. I took a moment to revel in the beauty of the moment. The morning sky was painted a brilliant shade of gold as the sun slowly peaked through the trees. Even though the sun was just beginning to rise, the Tennessee heat was already sweltering. Massive pools of sweat gathered in my armpit region, and a wave of exhaustion washed over me. That’s when I started to remember why I hated these runs so much.
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Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a figure in the distance. Upon further inspection, I realized it was Jesse rushing toward me. “Hey, Ángel! Wait Up!” He shouted after me.
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I pretended not to see him. I cranked up the volume of my music and dashed in the other direction. I ran as fast as my body would allow me to as Freddy Mercury belted about wanting to break free at maximum volume. Eventually, my lungs gave out on me, and I had no choice but to stop and catch my breath.
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Jesse took full advantage of my moment of weakness and caught up to me. “Please wait! We need to talk.” He held my wrist to stop me from running again.
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I ripped out my earbuds and whipped around to face him. “What do you want?”
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Jesse didn’t let go of my wrist. “You’re still wearing my friendship bracelet,” he said in a stunned whisper, staring down at my braided leather wristband. “I can’t believe you kept it after all this time!”
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I’ve tried to get rid of that stupid bracelet more times than I can count. I’ve tried everything from throwing it in the pond to burying it in the blueberry patch. I even threw it out of a car window once. No matter what I do, I always come back for it. I just can’t let it go. I can’t let him go. I hate the part of myself that still needs him. I glanced down at his wrist, and to my surprise, he still donned the matching one. I guess I’m not the only one who’s had a hard time letting go.
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Scout yapped enthusiastically and jumped onto Jesse’s legs. Scout didn’t have many chances to meet new people, so he was always thrilled to make new friends. Jesse chuckled and reached down to pet him. “I can’t believe you got a dog! I’ve always pictured you as a cat person.”
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I ignored his comments, refusing to make small talk with him. “Why are you here, Jesse? I already told you I don’t want anything to do with you.”
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There was a look of genuine heartbreak in his piercing blue eyes, and I felt bad for being so hostile, but he needed to understand that I wasn’t going to let him toy with my feelings. “You left your CDs in the garden yesterday,” he said. “I was wondering if I could drop them off at your place later.”
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He was right; I had left my CDs behind. I’d been so desperate to get away from him that I'd completely forgotten about them. I was tempted to tell him to keep them, just so I wouldn’t have to see him again, but I really did want those back. I sighed. “Fine, I’m not doing anything today, you can swing by later.”
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The faintest trace of a smile crossed his lips. “Listen, Ángel, I really need to apologize to you.”
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I crossed my arms. “You already did that yesterday, remember?”
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He shook his head. “I didn’t give you the apology that you deserve. I had no idea how much I hurt you when I left. I just assumed you’d move on and forget all about me. I had no idea I was your only friend. I was up all night, thinking about how lonely you must’ve been for all those years, and I feel truly awful. I was a terrible friend for not staying in touch with you, and I’m so sorry. Please, let me make it up to you.”
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I turned away from him. “You can’t slap a band-aid on this and make it all better. I can never trust you again, Jesse. Why should I forgive you when you’ll just abandon me again when the next best thing comes along?”
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“You were always the best thing in my life. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that. Those guys from the band weren’t really my friends; they ran away as soon as things got tough. They made me realize how lucky I was to have a loyal friend like you.” He got down on his knees and pleaded. “Please, I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right. Just name your price, and I’ll do it.”
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I gazed down at his pitiful, kneeling form for a long time. He appeared genuinely remorseful for our falling out. I hated to admit it, but his rousing admission had stirred something inside of me, and I was tempted to accept his apology. Could I really trust him again? As I considered it, I realized that forgiveness didn’t have to come all at once. I could start by giving him a second chance to regain my trust, and we could reevaluate from there. “Chocolate milk,” I said resolutely.
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He shot me a puzzled look. “You want chocolate milk in exchange for your forgiveness? That’s all?”
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“Yes. I want a bottle a day, fresh from the farm. Papi won’t let me have dairy, so I need you to give it to me discreetly, understand?”
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“Your old man banned you from having chocolate milk? That’s cruel and unusual punishment! What did you do to deserve that?”
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“It’s not a punishment. My father is just paranoid that eating dairy will cause a mucus flare-up,” I explained. Fifteen years ago my father joined a Facebook group for parents of kids with Cystic Fibrosis. One of the members posted an extensive list of all the foods that could potentially harm kids with CF. Papá followed the list religiously. He kept it taped to the fridge as a cruel taunt, reminding me of all the delicious snacks I could never indulge in. Papá worked tirelessly to prevent any contraband from entering the home. He once grounded me for three weeks for eating a Danimals Crush Cup. I don’t even like yogurt; I just wanted to enter the contest for a chance to go on a cruise with Zack and Cody. Of all the forbidden treats, chocolate milk was my favorite.
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“Are you sure you should be drinking something that might be bad for your health?” Jesse said, with a note of concern creeping into his voice.
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“What are you, a cop? Do you want my forgiveness, or not?”
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“More than anything.”
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“Then you better get me that chocolate milk, fast.” I tried to walk away again, but Jesse stopped me one last time.
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He handed me a flier and said, “My family is hosting a little get-together for the 4th of July. You and your father are invited to join us if you’d like. You and I can watch the fireworks from the garden like we used to when we were kids.
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My heart ached at the mention of what used to be, and in an impulsive moment, I ripped the invitation in half. “Don’t push your luck, Jesse. You’ll have to prove to me that you’re loyal before we can even think about being friends again.” Without another word, I ran away from him, taking Scout with me.
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…
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Jesse and I met behind my house every day for the next week, and he kept his promise to bring me chocolate milk every day. Our conversations were reduced to stilted small talk about the weather and other irrelevant things. It was obvious that Jesse wanted to pick up our friendship right where we left off, but I wasn’t the same person I was when he left. We were nothing more than strangers now. I avoided the garden because I didn’t want to look at his stupid face any longer than I had to, and I began to resent his presence in my life. Part of me wished he’d stayed in Nashville and never came back. Then I could at least hold on to the fond memories of our friendship, now they were tainted by the awkwardness of his sudden return. Even so, I was deeply appreciative of the chocolate milk he brought me. It tasted even better than I remembered.
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As much as I tried to keep my distance from Jesse, he seemed determined to break down the wall I'd built between us. On the sixth day of his visit, Jesse showed up behind my house with an envelope in hand along with my usual smuggled goods.
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I raised a curious eyebrow. “What’s in the envelope?”
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"I know we haven't been getting along great, but I wanted to give you something," he said.
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“I don’t know what you're talking about. We’ve been getting along fine.”
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He gave me an incredulous look. “You can drop the act, Ángel. I know that we’ve been having a hard time reconnecting, so I thought maybe we could go out tonight and have some fun, just the two of us. I have two concert tickets for tonight if you’d be kind enough to join me.”
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No! The last thing I wanted to do was spend quality time with him! I panicked and quickly tried to think of an excuse as to why I couldn’t join him. “Gee, I’d love to, but I promised Papi I’d help him vacuum the lawn tonight, so I can’t.
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“You should go!” Papá said, poking his head out the back window, and scaring me half to death. He ignored our shady, backyard milk deal as he addressed me. “Don’t worry, mijo. I can vacuum the grass all by myself. You enjoy yourself, okay?” He said in a sincere tone, but he couldn’t stop himself from laughing as he walked away.
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Traitor! He was supposed to be on my side!
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Jesse gazed at me hopefully. “So, will I see you there?”
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“I don’t have a car,” I said in a last-ditch attempt to call the whole thing off.
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“In that case, I’ll pick you up at five.” He shot me his trademark devilish grin and marched back to his house before I had the chance to protest.
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…
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Much to my dismay, Jesse knocked on my front door at 4:59 pm. I was hoping he wouldn’t show up.
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I swung open the door to greet him. “You're early,” I teased.
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“I was too excited to wait. You’re going to have the night of your life, Ángel.”
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I seriously doubt that.
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“Have fun and be safe. Make sure you're wearing your oxygen the whole time. You call me if anything goes wrong, okay?” Papi said in a kind, yet firm voice, as he patted me on the shoulder.
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I nodded and adjusted my nasal cannula, ensuring I was receiving proper airflow.
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“Are you ready to go?” Jesse asked me.
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I let out a long, reluctant sigh. “As I’ll ever be.”
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We climbed into his cobalt blue pickup truck and hit the road. Jesse rolled down the windows. I closed my eyes as the wind tousled my hair. I began to relax for the first time this evening. It was too late to back out now. I might as well go with the flow and try to enjoy myself.
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We parked the truck two blocks away from the concert venue, and Jesse led me down several city streets.
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“Jesse, what are you doing? You're going the wrong way! The venue is in the opposite direction! I scolded.
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“Relax, the concert doesn’t start for hours. There's somewhere I want to take you first.” We rounded the corner and arrived at a Latin nightclub called Nocturno. “Surprise!” Jesse exclaimed, showing off the building like he was the host of a game show and the club was a car I’d just won.
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“Why did you pick this club? You’re not Latino. Wouldn’t you rather go line dancing or something? I said, glaring at his bedazzled cowboy boots.
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“I hope I’m not being too presumptuous, but I thought you might like it here. I’ve been looking back on our childhood a lot recently, and I remembered when your dad used to take us to The Hispanic Culture Festival every year. One time on the car ride home, you told me how heartbroken you were that you’d never get to see Cuba and be a part of your culture because of your health issues and all the travel restrictions. I know it’s not remotely the same, but I wanted to give you a taste of what you’re missing out on.”
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I can’t believe he remembered that. It happened so long ago that I nearly forgot about it. His thoughtful gesture warmed my heart, and I couldn’t help but smile. “That actually means a lot to me. Thank you.”
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Since it was five-thirty on a Wednesday, there was no line outside, so we could walk right in without standing in line. As we entered the club, I was immediately overwhelmed by the lively atmosphere. I’d never been to a place like this before. The steady beat of reggaeton blared over the speakers, filling the air with its rhythmic energy. The dance floor was alive with a kaleidoscope of moving bodies, swaying hips, and twirling couples. Jesse led me to a reserved table next to the bar. I flipped through the drink menu, trying not to let on that I didn’t know the first thing about cocktails. Eventually, I said, “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
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“Dos beers, por favor!” Jesse shouted at the bartender in southern-accented Spanish.
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The bartender brought us ice-cold bottles of Modelo. I hesitantly sniffed the yeasty-scented, amber liquid.
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“Is something wrong?”
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“I’ve never had alcohol before,” I confessed.
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Jesse’s eyes widened with surprise. “Never?”
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I shook my head. “I’ve only been twenty-one for a month. Papá doesn’t keep it in the house, and I don’t really get out much.” What I didn’t tell Jesse was that alcohol was at the very top of Papi’s Things Ángel Is Not Allowed To Consume Under Any Circumstances List.
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Jesse rested a reassuring hand on my arm. “You don’t have to drink it if you’re not comfortable.”
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“No, I want to try it.” I threw my head back and took a huge swig. The bitter taste assaulted my taste buds. The harsh flavor remained in my mouth long after I swallowed. I couldn’t suppress a grimace as the foul aftertaste clung to my throat. God! This stuff is nasty! Do people actually like this, or does the sensation of being drunk make up for the vile taste?
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Jesse chuckled. “I guess you’re not a fan, huh?” He went to the bar and returned with a strawberry sangria. “Here, try this instead.”
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I took the glass from his hand and took a cautious sip. The sweet taste of strawberries mixed with the gentle tang of citrus mingled on my tongue. I couldn’t help but smile as the fruity flavors washed away the bitter residue of beer. I took another gulp, savoring the delicious taste. I guess this makes me the kind of guy who buys fruity little drinks cause he can’t shoot whiskey, but I’m okay with that.
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“Better?”
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“Hell yeah! Why didn’t you open with this?” I chided.
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“I forgot that beer can be an acquired taste.”
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We quickly chugged the rest of our drinks, then Jesse gazed at the pulsating dance floor, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
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“Don’t look at me like that. It’s never going to happen. I don't dance. Ever!”
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“Since when? We used to dance all the time as kids, remember?”
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“Not in public!” I glanced around the club as skilled dancers expertly twirled across the dance floor. My heavy oxygen tank and chronic joint pain prevented me from being able to move as effortlessly as they do. I would just embarrass myself if I even tried.
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Jesse gave me an understanding smile. “Don't worry about them, Ángel. They're off in their own world, they're too busy enjoying themselves to waste their time judging you. You deserve to have fun, just like everyone else.”
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I hated that he could always read me so well. It was annoying how he always knew what I was thinking. It was ruining the brooding and mysterious vibes I was trying to give off. I gave in to Jesse's coaxing with a sigh. “Fine, but you better not embarrass me!”
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Jesse shot me a playful wink. “No promises.”
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As soon as we stepped onto the dance floor, I regretted saying yes. The music was deafening, and the lights were blinding. I was out of my element, and everyone around us was dancing so well that I felt like a complete idiot. But Jesse took my hand and spun me around, and I couldn't help but laugh.
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His movements were wild and erratic. He truly was an awful dancer, but he was having so much fun that it was contagious. An unfamiliar warmth flooded my body, and I felt my inhibitions slipping away. Jesse was right, no one was looking at me. Tonight, I was just another guy having fun, and no one cared that I was different.
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“You're a terrible dancer,” I said after he stepped on my foot for the fifth time in a row.
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“You're not that great yourself,” Jesse teased, sticking his tongue out at me.
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I rolled my eyes but couldn't wipe the grin off my face. I didn't feel like the sick kid in the room for once. Dancing with Jesse was liberating, and I finally understood why people loved going out to dance. It was a way to forget everything that was troubling you. At that moment, I couldn’t even remember why I’d ever resented Jesse in the first place. Our long-time separation was a figment of the past. Right now, it was like nothing had ever changed between us. We were just two best friends having the time of our lives together.
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We partied together for what felt like forever, when Jesse looked down at his watch and exclaimed, “We have to go! The show is starting soon!” He dragged me out of the club and hailed a taxi to the concert venue. The driver dropped us off right outside the stadium, where we were surrounded by a swarm of middle-aged dads. They proudly showed each other their rare band merch and undersized concert shirts from previous tours in the 80s and 90s. Gazing up at the concert posters covering the venue, I finally realized who we were here to see. I was expecting to see Luke Combs or Florida Georgia Line, the kind of artists that Jesse was fond of. Now I realized this concert was for me. I couldn’t stop my body from trembling with excitement. “Are we here to see Bon Jovi?”
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Jesse’s grin was a mile wide. “Surprise! I’ve always felt terrible that you never got the chance to see them. So, I wanted to make your dream come true.”
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My excitement was so palpable that I could barely contain it. I felt like a kid on Christmas morning.
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Several years ago, Jesse and I found out that Bon Jovi was coming to Nashville, and we begged our parents to buy us tickets. Most of my favorite bands were either dead, retired, or permanently disbanded, so this was a special occasion. Eventually, they grew tired of our relentless pleading and relented. Our two families had planned to go see the show together, but the night before the concert, I came down with bronchitis and began coughing up blood. Papi rushed me to the hospital, where I stayed for a week. Much to my disappointment, the Jennings family ended up going to the show without us.
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As we made our way to our seats, the crowd roared in excitement. I could feel the energy of the room pulsing through my veins. The lights went down, and the stadium erupted into a thunderous cheer.
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The opening chords of “It’s My Life” filled the air, and I felt the prick of tears in the corner of my eyes. I’d always held a deep connection to this song, and I’ve always fantasized about getting to hear it live with Jesse beside me. Until today, that felt like an impossibility, but Jesse had made my dream a reality, and I’d always be grateful for this night together.
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“Dude, are you crying?” Jesse said, looking over at me with a concerned expression.
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“No,” I lied. I blinked away the tears and tried to enjoy the moment. Bon Jovi was killing it on stage, and the energy was contagious. I found myself singing along to every word of every song, feeling alive in a way I hadn't felt in a long time.
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For the next several hours, I was lost in the music. I sang along to every song, my voice hoarse from screaming. As the concert drew to a close, Bon Jovi took their final bow and left the stage. The lights came back on, and the crowd began to shuffle out of the stadium. Jesse and I maneuvered through the mob of concertgoers and made our way to the parking lot, where a cab was waiting to take us home.
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We climbed into the back seat of the taxi, and Jesse beamed at me expectantly. “So, did you have a good time?”
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“It’s been the best night of my life,” I said honestly. “Thank you, Jesse.”
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He waved his hand dismissively. “There’s no need to thank me; you deserve it all.”
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The warm tingle of the alcohol implored me to be more vulnerable than I usually would be. “No, seriously, this means so much to me. I never thought I’d live long enough to become an adult and have a night out like this, so thank you for making this happen. I feel terrible because you worked so hard to give me the perfect night after I was so mean to you. I’m so sorry that I was so hostile when you first came back. I was still hurting, and I took it out on you. You didn’t deserve that, and I’m so sorry.”
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Jesse placed a hand on my shoulder, his eyes filled with compassion. “Hey, it’s alright. You don’t have to apologize. I understand your pain because I was hurting too. I thought going to Nashville and living the dream would fill the void inside me, but all it did was make me feel emptier. I missed home, I missed my family, and I missed you. I never tried to contact you because I assumed you were better off without a loser like me, but I never stopped caring about you.” He reached into his pocket and handed me a folded slip.
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I unfolded the piece of paper to discover that it was a receipt for a fifteen thousand dollar donation to the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation made in my honor. I gasped at the sight of the dollar amount. “Where did you get all this money?”
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“That was every dollar I made during the band’s first tour. I didn’t want the money, so I decided to give it to a good cause, and there was no cause better than making sure people like you receive the best medical care possible.”
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I was speechless, unable to comprehend the amount of generosity that Jesse displayed in that moment. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude for his generous gift to my community. Now, I knew for certain that his apologies were sincere, but was I ready to forgive? Maybe forgiveness didn't mean forgetting or blindly trusting again. Perhaps it meant letting go of the resentment that weighed me down, freeing myself from the burden of anger and pain. Maybe I could still be hurt by his abandonment, yet be willing to move forward.
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I considered these things for the entirety of the drive home. The cab parked outside my house and I stepped out of the vehicle. Before I closed the door, I met Jesse’s gaze. “Thank you again for tonight. I had a lot of fun.”
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“Does this mean I'll see you at my 4th of July party?”
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“I’ll think about it.”
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“I’ll be waiting for you all night. Meet me by the garden gate if you decide to come.”
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…
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I spent my Independence Day resting in the hammock in my front yard. I wasn’t in the mood to do anything else.
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I knew the Jennings’s 4th of July party was in full swing because Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the U.S.A.” blared over their speakers at such a loud decibel, I could hear it from my house. Do they even know that this song isn’t supposed to be patriotic? Scout snoozed peacefully on my lap, utterly unbothered by the ruckus next door.
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Papi stepped out of the house and walked over to greet me. “What are you doing lying around here? Aren’t you supposed to be at Jesse’s party?” He said without any preamble.
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“How do you know I’m invited? Maybe It’s just for his cool new Nashville friends.”
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Papá unfolded a paper invitation from his shirt pocket. “Jesse dropped this off this morning. He asked me to help convince you to accept the invitation. He told me that he’s been trying to convince you to come for a week, but you always turn him down. It seems like it’s really important to him that you go there.”
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God! Jesse was persistent! “I don’t want to go.”
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“¿Por qué no?
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“Because I’m afraid of getting hurt again,” I confessed. “I know he’s trying really hard to make things right, but I don’t know how to let him in again. Every time I try to forgive him, I can't help but think about how much it would destroy me if I ever lost him again. What if his band gets back together, and he wants to go touring with them again? Or what if my CF takes a turn for the worst, and it’s too much for him, so he runs off again? I don’t think I could survive the heartbreak. I don’t know how to trust anyone anymore. It’s less painful to reject him before he has the chance to abandon me again.
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“You have a beautiful heart, mijo. A heart that loves so deeply and breaks easily. Don’t hide yourself away just because you’ve been hurt before. You deserve to be happy.”
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I smiled up at him. “Thanks for the advice, Papi. I really appreciate it.”
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“Anytime, mijo. Here, I have a gift for you.” Papá extended his arm, offering me a glass bottle of chocolate milk. “Here, take it.”
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I eyed his gift wearily. “Is this a trap?”
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He let out a humorless chuckle. “No, it’s not a trap. You deserve a treat.”
I grabbed it and took a hesitant sip. I waited for a scolding, but it never came.
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He ruffled my hair. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re not in trouble.”
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“What’s gotten into you? You never let me violate the sacred food restrictions list.”
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Papá let out a long, solemn sigh. “I’m only protective because I care, mijo. You mean the world to me, and I want you to live a long, happy life, but you’re all grown up now. It’s time for you to make your own decisions regarding your health. Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself, alright?”
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I wrapped my arms around his waist in a tight hug. “I will, Papi. I promise.”
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Papá winced as I squeezed him.
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I immediately let go when I heard his subtle cries of pain. “What’s wrong?”
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“It’s nothing. I was working in the fields and pulled my back. The doctor says I’ve been working too hard, and I need to take it easy. I think I’m going to hire some extra help around here, to help me better handle the workload.
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Shame twisted in my gut, causing a sickening feeling I couldn’t shake. It broke my heart to know he was struggling, and my disability made it impossible for me to lighten his burden. I'd overheard plenty of snide remarks from the hired farm hands about how I was weak, lazy, spoiled, and a terrible son for not contributing around the farm more. Their words cut deep because they solidified the feelings of guilt and worthlessness I already carried. I never told my father about their cruel gibes because I knew Papá would reprimand them, and they would grow to hate me even more. “Papá, can I ask you something?”
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He nodded.
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“Do you ever wish you were given a healthy child instead of me? You know, someone who could help around the farm.”
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The expression on my father's face became serious. “Can I sit with you?”
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I nodded, and he climbed into the hammock beside me. I feared it would collapse under our combined weight, but the hammock held strong.
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“Have I ever told you your adoption story?” Papi asked.
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I shook my head. The topic of my adoption was seldom brought up for discussion. Most people had no idea I was adopted. Papá and I shared similar features from our shared Cuban roots. We both had the same jet-black hair, warm brown skin kissed by the sun, with matching freckles sprinkled across our noses. No one would ever guess that we weren’t related by blood.
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“For my whole life, my greatest wish has always been to be a father, but I've never had any interest in romance or marriage. After years of forcing myself into unhappy relationships, I decided that I would become a father all on my own. I reached out to an adoption agency the very next day and eagerly got the house ready for the arrival of my future child. To my disappointment, I was stuck on the waiting list for over two years. The agency always gave preferential treatment to more traditional families, but that didn't stop me from praying,” Papá said, clutching his rosary. “Every morning, noon, and night I would beg the Lord to bless me with a child to call my own. On one perfect night, I got the phone call that would change my life forever. The adoption agency informed me about a beautiful baby boy all the other families had turned down. They told me all about your illness and all the medical care and attention raising you would require. None of that bothered me, so I told the agency that it would be an honor to take care of you. I jumped in the car and raced to the hospital to meet you. When I held you in my arms for the first time, and you gazed up at me with those big, beautiful eyes, everything was perfect. You were even more wonderful than I ever thought possible. I didn't know it was possible to love another human being this much until I held you. You’re my precious gift from heaven, mi angelito. From that moment on, I promised to love you forever and do whatever it took to keep you safe. I know I haven't always been a perfect father, but I love you more than anything, and I wouldn't trade you for the world.”
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I listened to Papi’s story in silence, tears dripping down my face. I snuggled up next to him and listened to the steady rhythm of his heart. I was overwhelmed by the amount of love he held for me. Caring for me was no easy task, but he never once complained. He was always there for me, holding my hand through every doctor's appointment and hospital stay. I was so grateful that he was willing to take a chance on me, despite my illness. “te amo, papá.”
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He placed a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Yo también a ti.”
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As I lay in my father's arms, thinking about everything he sacrificed to keep me happy and healthy, I realized I owed it to him to live my life to the fullest instead of wallowing in self-isolation. “Papi, I’ve made up my mind. I want to go to Jesse’s party tonight.”
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“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel pressured into doing anything you don't want to do.”
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“I’m sure, Papá. I think I’m finally ready to forgive Jesse and move forward.”
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Papi smiled down at me. “I’m very proud of you, son. It isn’t always easy to forgive the ones who hurt you.” Papá got up and fetched a bag of my emergency medications and a tray of farm-fresh blueberry muffins.
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“You can head over to the house without me,” I said. “I promised Jesse I’d meet him by the garden gate.”
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…
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I tiptoed into the garden with Scout scampering behind me. My playful pup let out a howl of joy when he saw Jesse leaning against the fence.
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“Hey, stranger,” I said.
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When he spotted me, his face lit up brighter than the fireworks illuminating the night sky. “Ángel! You’re here!”
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I smirked at him. ”Was there any doubt?”
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“Yeah, a little bit, but I'm so happy you came! Does this mean you're done being mad at me?”
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“For now.” I winked to let him know that I was joking. “I’ve been thinking a lot, and I’m ready to wipe the slate clean between us.”
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“I'm so happy to hear that. Can I ask what changed your mind?”
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“A lot of things. You’ve worked so hard to rebuild our relationship, and you’ve been so thoughtful, but most importantly, I missed my best friend.” 94Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡp9rbIVm139
“Thank you for giving me another chance.” Jesse leaned in and pulled me into a tight hug. At first, I was caught off guard by his sudden display of affection, but I quickly reciprocated his warm embrace.94Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡp4QdLWyPRN
“Promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll always be my best friend,” I said, my voice reduced to a small, delicate whisper. 94Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxZtI0Phbtt
Jesse patted me on the back softly and said, “Of course, it’s an honor to call you my best friend.”94Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKpmdoyVOYd
We sat on the grass together and watched the fireworks illuminate the night sky, as fireflies circled around us. From that moment on, I knew he’d stand by me forever.
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