Machismo en el Barrio
A
story of a childhood bully whose machismo damages his life and
the lives of the people around him.
by Carlos Manuel
 When I was a child, Pepe was considered the most
handsome guy in the neighborhood. He was indeed el niño
más bonito del barrio. His eyebrows were black and thick,
his eyelashes were long, and his eyes were big, black, and very
intimidating. He had a perfect long nose and his lips were full,
perfectly shaped, and red as blood. He had an incredible way
of charming the neighborhood girls and had developed a pretty
good reputation as a "ladies' man." Girls, beautiful
señoritas, were always asking about him, wanting to know
what he was doing or where he was going. He was our neighborhood's
prince. And while the girls desired him in public, the guys envied
him in silence. And Pepe, who was well aware of his looks and
his luck with the ladies, took advantage of such a blessing as
much as possible.
Although I thought Pepe was handsome on
the outside, I didn't particularly care for him on the inside
because of his attitude-his machismo. He suspected I was QV
and would call me "joto" whenever I'd passed by-or
whenever I'd visit his brother, Esteban.
It was easy to see that Pepe didn't like
me hanging out with his brother and would threaten to "agarrarme
a chingadasos" because he felt I was negatively influencing
Esteban. But Esteban and I were acquaintances. He was equally
handsome to Pepe, but for some reason, he did not have his brother's
enigmatic personality, nor his strong sex appeal.
By the time Esteban and I reached the age
of 14, we realized that we had something in common...something
we both did not understand at the time-our sexualities. As much
as Esteban and I tried to become friends, Pepe made it difficult
for us.
As the days went by, there were rumors
going around town about me and Esteban. We soon became aware
of these rumors, figured out that the rest of the guys considered
us "maricones," and discovered that Pepe was the one
who led his friends to believe that I was the one to blame.
I grew to hate Pepe more and more as he
made my teenage life a living hell, especially with his name-calling
and teasing. Because of his abuse, I couldn't handle being anywhere
near Pepe, and I kept my distance from him. But this distance
also affected my friendship with Esteban. And we eventually stopped
being friends.
One day, I saw Pepe at one of my cousin's
quinceañera parties. In fact, he was one of my cousin's
"chambelanes." I wasn't surprised to see him there
since our town was small, and it seemed like everyone knew everyone
else. Because this party was put on by my family, it was funny
to see how nice Pepe treated everyone, including me.
When my cousin's party ended in the early
hours of the next morning, I decided I would walk home. As I
slowly walked the narrow and dark streets of the town, I noticed
someone sitting on a street corner. At first, I thought it was
someone from the party who was too drunk or too tired to continue
walking. But as I got closer to the figure, it turned out to
be someone I did not expect--Pepe.
"¿Ey, te encuentras bien? Are
you okay?" I asked him.
"Sí. I just don't want to get
home right now," he answered.
"Why not?"
"No sé," he hesitated.
"I just don't forget it." He then quickly sprung on
his feet.
"Well, I'll see you later then. I'm
tired y la madrugada está muy fría," I said
to him as I started to walk away.
"¡No te vayas!" he whispered.
"If you're cold, you can have my jacket."
"¿Estás loco, o qué?"
I asked. "It's cold and it's late. Shouldn't you be going
home, too?"
"I don't feel like going home,"
he responded.
"Well, I do," I quickly answered
back. "Besides, ¿qué vas a hacer a éstas
horas de la madrugada?" I added as I started walking.
"Alone? Nothing," he told me.
"But with you--a lot."
Suddenly, I felt very scared. Here I was
in a narrow, dark street, alone, en la madrugada, with no one
else but the guy, who for many years had threatened to beat me
up. I said nothing and started to walk a little faster.
"Don't be scared, Carlos," he
said. "I just want to talk."
"About what?" I asked without
stopping.
"I don't know--life, me, you, my brother."
"What ever you want to know about
your brother, ask him," I promptly replied.
Then at that moment, Pepe grabbed me by
one of my arms.
"No! A tí! I want to ask you
about that time," he said.
When I heard him say "about that time,"
I felt a chill rushing through my body.
"I don't have anything to..."
"Yes, you do. I just want to know
why? Why did you do that to my brother?"
"I didn't do anything to him,"
I said, trying to show no fear.
"I saw you! I saw you on top of him.
The two of you were naked."
Pepe stood there waiting for me to answer,
but I couldn't. Soon enough, I quickly collected my thoughts
and responded, "Cierto. But I didn't force him to do anything
he had not done before."
"What?" he replied in disbelief.
I then went on to tell him that I had not
"perverted" his little brother, and that I had not
forced him to do anything he had not already done with other
guys--some of them being Pepe's own "macho" friends.
As shocked as he was, Pepe continued listening to me and didn't
move a muscle. It was as though he finally came to the realization
that his brother was QV.
Pepe started to cry, and after a moment,
he wiped his eyes and just thought to himself. Then he gave me
a hug.
We hugged for a while and just as Pepe
was about to walk away, he turned back and did something I didn't
expect. He kissed me on the lips. It wasn't just a small kiss,
but something that felt as if he had been keeping captive for
many years. I was shocked and couldn't understand why he did
what he did. I don't think he was QV, but it was just something
he felt he needed to do.
After our conversation that early morning,
Pepe didn't talk to me for a very long time, nor did he ever
threaten me or call me names again. Even though, I don't think
he fully accepted me or his brother as being QV, his attitude
with us had improved in the sense that he, at least, tolerated
us.
As the days went by, I heard that Pepe
began drinking more than usual and that his "charming"
personality turned into an unbearable one. He became less likeable
and more self-destructive.
Eventually, I moved away to another city and didn't see Pepe
or even Esteban, anymore. Pepe got married to a beautiful woman
from our neighborhood, had some children, and lived near my family.
He had now become "el hombre de su propia casa-the man of
his own house."
Sometimes, whenever I'd return home to
visit my family, I'd run into Pepe as he and I would talk, but
only on a superficial level. He'd ask me about my life, and I'd
tell him I was doing what I've always wanted to do-writing, acting,
and teaching.
I'd then ask him about his life and his
family, and he'd tell me that his children were growing to be
"unos hombres hechos y de derechos" and that his wife
was getting fat and ugly.
He'd then ask me about my family, and I'd
tell him about my lover, and how happy we were, and about our
dog, who's always active.
I'd ask him about Esteban and he'd tell
me Esteban moved to New York doing the thing he always wanted
to do-fashion.
Whenever he would talk about his children,
and how they were growing up to be "real men," I would
listen and think about his son, Jorge. Just recently, Jorge came
out of the closet to my brother, and they've been talking about
his father-and his machismo. Jorge is scared because he knows
that if his father finds out about him, he will throw him out
of the house. And according to my brother, Jorge is going through
a very difficult time where he can't even talk to his parents
about it. So he talks to my brother, who talks to me, and we
advise him.
I realize and have come to the conclusion
that el machismo is nothing else but a cover up for insecurity
and fear. Pepe is too insecure or fearful to understand that
QVs really do exist-in his family and friends, neighbors, or
wherever. He is fearful to face the truth, and his attitude is
driving away a lot of people. Unfortunately, it has already affected
my relationship with him and with his own brother. And if Pepe
doesn't change soon, it will, unfortunately, affect his relationship
with his own son.
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