Olga Dies Dreaming(56)

He laid the needle on the record and Olga immediately recognized the piano opening of “Mi Debilidad.” Matteo cleared a coffee table from the center of the room and they began to dance.

“Tú siempre serás mi debilidad,” he sang along to her.

“Ha! Do you even know what you’re saying?”

“Mami, I’m very, very fluent in Spanish. Shit, I bet my Spanish is better than yours.”

Olga smiled, knowing this was likely true. The song changed and she collapsed on the sofa. Matteo lay down next to her and she rested her head on his chest as the music washed over them.

“Papi loved this record. We used to have these amazing dance parties when I was little. It was just my family getting together, but I was a kid, so they felt like parties. My dad would put on music, maybe take out his congas. It was the best part of growing up, for real. Before it all changed.”

“What happened to the records?”

“Why,” she asked playfully, “growing your collection?”

He pinched her stomach, lightly. “Har, har. No, I just meant, he left them, but what did you do with them?”

Her hand had been tracing Matteo’s stomach, but now she stopped.

“I broke them,” she said, taking a breath. “After he left them, Abuelita put them in the basement. No one felt like playing music much in those days. But when he died, after the funeral, I missed him real bad. I kept thinking of all the times I’d see him in the streets, high, and would cross so he wouldn’t see me. I felt so ashamed of that. And mad that I couldn’t see him again. You asked how I felt about my dad being a junkie? I guess I felt pissed off about it, too. At him for using, at my mom for giving up on him. At my brother for enabling him.

“So I went downstairs to just listen and remember. And at first I was crying, but then, I just felt … rage. And I took the record off his record player—it was Still Bill—and I just threw it across the room.”

“Damn, you did that to Bill.”

“It felt so good to break something. I could never have hurt him or his feelings—he was too gentle—but it felt good to hurt these things he loved. And so, I just kept going and going. Just smashing them all. My grandmother heard me and she came down to try and stop me, but Tía Lola held her back. I think my grandmother was angry. Actually, I know she was. These were the only things my father never sold for drugs. And I fucking destroyed them.

“Records don’t shatter, you know? They just end up in these big pieces. So after, I’m seeing all these pieces, remembering how he liked this song, or my mother loved that song. And I realized that I won’t be able to visit those memories again, because I destroyed them. And I was even more pissed off now, but with myself. I cried until it hurt my insides and I pounded my fists on the basement floor until I bled. I guess eventually I tired myself out. I actually don’t remember. I just know that I never really cried again. Not since. I had let out all my tears for a lifetime.”

Matteo rolled on his side to face her, caressing her face. He was silent for a moment.

“You know what?” he offered softly. “I bet I’ve got a lot of what he had here. You tell me titles, and I’ll pull them out for you. I have at least one other record player. We can take it all over to your place, and you can sit and remember whenever you want.”

Olga pondered this for a second, warmth filling her insides.

“Okay.” She sat up and smiled. “I’ll tell you titles, but you know what? Let’s leave them here. This is a nice room to listen to music in.”

“Oh yeah?” Matteo asked.

She nodded. For the rest of the night, until day broke, she called out record titles and he found them on his shelves and played them for her. Some they listened to quietly, others would spark a story or memory too big not to share. Sometimes, they just danced.

“I have to tell you,” Olga offered up during Earth, Wind and Fire, “you really are a good dancer!”

“Do I lie?” he offered up with a laugh.

For a moment she imagined what it would be like to spend a whole night dancing with him. To show up to a family affair with a real date. To have someone to sit with that she might actually want to talk to without biting their head off. Someone who might actually make her laugh. She wondered.

“Listen,” she said as the song wound down, “do you, you know, have a suit?”

“Oomf! That hurts,” he said, putting his hand over his heart. “I’m a pack rat, not an animal, girl. As a matter of fact, I own many suits! And they’re not some Men’s Warehouse joints, either. Zegna’s my shit, for your information. Sometimes, I wear one for closings…”

“Sorry! My bad! Of course you own a suit. You worked on Wall Street, for fuck’s sake.” She inhaled. “I was just wondering because, ugh, well, I’ve talked about my cousin Mabel?”

“The one you don’t like.”

“Is it that I don’t like her?” Olga asked, to herself as much as to Matteo. “She pushes my buttons, you know? So, sometimes I avoid her, and sometimes I like fucking with her. Typical family shit. But we grew up together. Like, really grew up together. And now she’s getting married.”

“Do you like him?” Matteo asked.

Olga thought about this. She had never considered whether she liked Julio before, he just was. “He’s fine. Lazy. But she’s happy, so, I’m happy for her. More than anything, we haven’t had a party in a while, my family. We see each other all the time, and it’s always a little crazy, people get a little loud, but we don’t just do this—like we just did—anymore. I’ve been acting whatever about it, but I’m excited for Mabel’s wedding.”