Long Tail, Short Tale
This is a short tale of 24 hours. Here is the background information. My buddy and I moved into an apartment with a Cuban named Tony. Tony moved onto the couch. We found Maida, an endearing mother figure of 56 years of age to cook a pot of beans on Mondays. The “sopa de sustancia” (soup of substance) that they serve in the school cafeteria is thin and mysterious…and can you think of a more communist name for soup!?
So Buddy and I started talking. The Cuban on the Couch scenario was getting old quickly and for the price, we agreed that he was exploiting us by not leaving (and eating our food to boot). We came home from school on Monday having decided to confront him. Maida was in the kitchen preparing to cook the pot of beans. There was a long frozen tail in the pot, at least a foot long and tapering to a fine point. It was rigid and gray, with coarse hairs missed in a quick shave. She said, “for sustancia!”…mystery solved. I walked back to my bedroom, where I hide from Tony and saw that he had moved a bed into his room. Buddy and I said something about how great it was that he got a bed and would move off the couch. Maida chimed in, “Yes, Cosita (the neighborhood nurse) loaned it to me…so that I can take better care of you!” She was moving in.
It was a friend’s birthday and we were meeting up at the famous chocolate truffles and decadent drinks spot in the mall, “Chocolates de Baracoa”. The menu alone looked good enough to eat. The Birthday girl started, “I’ll have the Chocolate mousse.” Well, she got the only one. From that point on, the 17 year old girl with the prickly personality of a 65 year old diner waitress would respond, “We’re out of that, what else do you want.” Everyone ended up with chocolate milk…the choice was “Hot or Cold.” Buddy said, “It’s so commi! Let’s go get some peso beers!”
I went to the hospital today for my 6th day in a row. I am learning the Physical Exam in the Geriatrics ward. My patient, a 78 year old with diabetes, hypertension and now Dengue was going on her 6th day, too. I assessed her and we talked about the sky, “It looks like it might rain.” I told her she would be going home tomorrow and we would have to say good-bye today. She hugged me and kissed my cheek. “Let me give you my phone number so that you can come and visit me.” She said, “We are poor, very poor, but what we have we give with our hearts.” The old lady with rheumatoid arthritis in the bed next to her agreed. And it is true, Cubans are poor. But where else in the world can you make $20 a month and have your own Rheumatologist?
