I should have known there was something amiss when I entered the Caribe Adventure restaurant and saw only two old women wrapped in rummage sale shawls smoking like fiends from long cigarette holders, like something from a Casablanca bazaar scene. Hunched over, sneaking glances at me suspiciously like I was Peter Lorre looking to stash his letters of transit. The guy behind the counter, a Hollywood casting foreign evil type, actually twirled his mustache, I swear, as he sized me up, an actual customer… make that victim.
I ordered a pork something that soon arrived with curry yellow rice and dark brown sauce slopped on top. The proverbial “ …on a shingle” delicacy came to mind. One bite and I knew there were going to be serious consequences down the road. But being a Latino man I figured I could weather it. I was wrong. Later, I thought, maybe dead wrong.
That night, as the stomach cramps doubled me over, I reasoned if I could survive the rest of the day, I’d be okay. The next day with the cramps coming and going at will, and no food, I was torn between dragging my sorry body to my doctor or dusting off the Bible for a little belated faith in the Almighty. By the third day when I still hadn’t had a bowel movement or even a hint of wanting to go and the pain was ebbing and flowing, I retreated to my bed, sucking my thumb in two-two time, electric blanket on high, in the fetal womb position. Let’s face it we all want to go back. By then I knew I was in deep trouble, especially when I couldn’t even finish a beer, the ultimate barometer of your health. Did I mention that I had chills and muscle ache? Finally, something stirred in my lower region and I rushed to my throne, hoping my nightmare was about to end. I knew this was not going to be a silky smooth passing of a slippery stool through a velvet passageway. And I was right. Think of an 18-wheeler trying to get through a toy tunnel and you’ll get the idea. After straining and pushing for fiffteen minutes and near tears, I was finally able to push it through. Two neural synapses went through my brain at that instant. One, an incredible relief like wanting to run through the street yelling “Isn’t life wonderful?”, and two, a deep curiosity to see what all this pain had produced. This was something like approaching child labor so I felt I deserved something for my ordeal. I mean I knew a nurse wasn’t going to bring it to me in a cute little blue and white puffy blanket, cooing “how cute”. Besides this mother I was sure was much bigger then a normal sized baby. Curiously, I didn’t remember hearing a splash, a plop sound or anything and when I looked down there was just a bowl of serene blue toilet water, like nothing had ever happened. They must have seen the sucker coming and parted waves like the Red Sea, go past go and do not collect $200, right on through to the Atlantic at warp speed. This was the ultimate persona non grata leper with ten-foot pole marks all over it and, let’s face it with little chance of ever getting adopted anyway.
I’m already missing it.