How To Love a Latin Man
A cup of black coffee, can’t find the sugar. Grab the salt shaker used to salt the salmon the night before. But it’s speckled brown. Clearly something is off. Come to think of it, the salmon tasted sweet and cinnamony. But the concoction makes for exotic coffee.
This is what loving a Latin man is like. You grab for one thing you haven’t been able to find, you get something else really good, but you’re not sure it’s what you really need—and you know it won’t last. Eventually, you’ll go back to salt or enroll in Tango for life.
He loves fish, Latin Soccer, Makers Mark Whiskey (the same that his father drank), and he reveres the Latin writer, Borges. His apartment is filled with Catholic kitsch. Little plastic Virgin Mary’s staring at you as you pee. His living room? All bed.
How to love a Latin man?
If you, like he, wants dark things: the world of fishes, mute, passive, sensual, take the words “I love you” stick them inside a sock somewhere, enjoy the bed. Hey, it covers the whole living room. That’s a lot of real estate, it must account for something!
He can be talking about the convicts in community theatre reform program or how he loves the nervousness of your lower lip, but he’s always seducing. He’ll swish each word around like the Whiskey in his mouth. He’ll say things that you hear the next day in the light of day that will seem so corny (your hair smells like cinnamon and the dirt that rises from the earth after a good hard rain.”) and TV-ish it will make you laugh out loud.
And you realize that he could be saying, “I used the new silver to scrape out the gunk off the bottom of the spaghetti pot” in your ear in that special way with his eye cocked, wearing those black leather boots and it sounds like “I can’t live without you.” So…
How to love a Latin man? Tango as much as possible. Enjoy the dance. Don’t fall.
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Excerpt from The Steel Episodes — fiction by Niya C Sisk