The Day I Broke My Mother (or A Tale of Two Ciudades)

I adore my mother. Not in the cliche gay boy sense in that I really enjoy posting Instagrams of us where I look amazing for Mother's Day, I mean it in the sense that she loves me unconditionally, has a remarkable sense of humor, and supports me blindly. For instance, when I told her I wanted to go to a prestigious performing arts school in New York City she didn't say "Jose that is foolish you don't have an ounce of performing arts experience or training" it was more "how do we get you in?" She's that kind of woman. 

Anyways, she spent 5 years in the Congo because she works for the United Nations and returned unannounced with a fiancée from Uruguay named Luis. She's also that kind of woman. I am sorry to report that when I came home from a year and a half in Uganda I did not return with a Hispanic suitor. However, I did return with the knowledge that on one side of the equator water goes down a drain clockwise and on the other side it goes down counterclockwise. A thrilling learning experience. 

Luis was very polite and quiet and we definitely scared him with our complete lack of ability to treat anyone like a guest. He did in fact witness my mother fling potato salad at my sister in the heat of an argument. That might have done it. But what is that saying? If you can't handle me at my flinging-side-dishes-at-my-children you don't deserve me at my brilliant-Latina-career-woman? 

We were to go to Uruguay to meet Luis' quiet, polite family and my mom went first without us, probably to get some alone time with bae, and also to apologize fervently for her very intense children. En route to Uruguay (my mother had already been there about a week) we had a layover in Florida and my sister checked her voicemail. This was many many years ago and I can't remember what phone my sister had but in my minds' eye it's definitely something ridiculous like a Sidekick or a Juke. The voicemail was from my mother uttering five fateful words: "Luis and I broke up."

Our trip to Uruguay evolved into a trip to just dick around in hotels in South America. I think Luis's family paid for the hotels out of crippling guilt and while that was a nice gesture I bet every now and then when they run into financial strife Luis' father will just yell "ITS CAUSE WE SPENT ALL THAT MONEY ON THE USECHES A DECADE AGO!!" 

The trip was fine, I remember being existential AF because I had a bowl haircut and had somehow both gained and lost a potential father figure I didn't even ask for and if you think I wasn't going to milk that to fuel my sensitive sad boy demeanor while in a luxury hotel in a foreign country THAT'S WHERE YOU'RE WRONG. See: privilege. 

The real story begins here. My mom was extra manic (see: failed engagement) and we were changing hotels to go from Montevideo to Punta Del Este. The locations are irrelevant but aren't you impressed with my knowledge of Uruguayan cities? Everyone in the family was assigned a part of the hotel to scan for forgotten items. Sister gets dressers, brother gets under the bed, etc. In the middle of the drive, we had been driving about two hours, my mom asked if someone had done a sweep of the bathroom closets like she had assigned. Silence. No one owned up to having been assigned the bathroom closets. She asked again. "Who checked the bathroom closets?" More silence. A unique sound for a Hispanic family with lots of opinions. It was clear no one had checked the bathroom closets. 

At this moment, my mother broke. Not broke down, broke. I literally think she short circuited. Mind you, the odds were stacked against her. Her proposal had just fell through, her favorite son had a horrible haircut, nothing was right. She pulled over in the middle of a highway, trudged over into what I remember as a field, and as she grew smaller and smaller against the horizon, we saw her throw her hands into the air and release a blood-curdling scream. 

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

She turned around, got back into the car, and we drove in silence to Punta Del Este. 

We later learned that my mom had a small bag tucked away in the bathroom closets that had every single one of her bra and underwear in it. 

Also, I was assigned the bathroom closets.