That morning he was humming to me because I very much wanted to go back to sleep but couldn't. His house was strange to me, yet he was not strange to me. I probably would have fallen asleep in his arms if it hadn't been for the strange creature that appeared before us - a boy dressed in green pajamas with footsies, yawning and speaking in Spanish. He rubbed his eyes and looked at me with a puzzled look. "Hola abuelito...quien es?" was all I caught. My Grandfather's response wasn't clear until he told me in English to wave "hi" to my cousin, Omar. He had brown skin, long, black hair that covered his eyes and a funny smile.
Omar and his family lived in my grandparents' 3 story, yellow house in Woodside, Queens. Everyone in the house spoke Spanish except for Lisa and I. But instead of absorbing the language, I proceeded to correct Omar whenever he said things "the wrong way."
"Mira, you no see?"
"It's can you see..."
It turned out that Omar and I were supposed to be born on the same day in September of 19__. But he came two weeks early and I came about two weeks late. Despite his limited English, I looked up to him in every other way. He could play outside without asking anyone's permission. He had cool toys that moved if you pushed them. He was the only boy cousin our age!
When we got a little older, Omar introduced me to skateboarding. He was Tony Hawk and I was - well, absolutely nobody as far as skateboarding went. He taught me all he knew and somehow convinced my Grandpa to get me my own skateboard. We'd race each other, spin each other around, and dare each other to accomplish dangerous feats.
The "Dead End" - believed to be called that because of its steep decline into a brick wall at the end of my grandparent's block - was my biggest challenge. Omar could ride the skateboard down the hill and swerve away from the wall before hitting it. I was determined to do the same.
I stood at the top and watched him do it a dozen times. He waited at the bottom of the hill and watched me skateboard down. I lost my confidence within seconds and jumped off the board, rolled onto the sidewalk, and watched as it plunged into the brick wall. Omar was there to help me up, but as soon as I saw the blood on my knees I began to cry.
"What did you do to her?" My Grandpa yelled at him. Omar explained what happened, but it didn't stop the crying. Grandpa sat me on top of the bathroom sink and cleaned up my skinned knee. He dabbed the scrape with alcohol (which made me scream) and then gently applied a band-aid. Omar was sent upstairs and I was given some soup.
In the summer Lisa and I stayed over my grandparents house often. We'd get our other cousin, Stephanie, to stay over as well. Lisa was the "baby," 9, Omar and I, 11 and Stephanie 12. Our sleepovers were interrupted sometime around 10pm when Mr. Softee came around and blasted his ice cream tune. "Stephanie, ask grandma if we can go outside for ice cream" we'd ask her to translate. Grandpa spoke some English, but Grandma spoke none. "You ask!" Stephanie would reply, but no matter who eventually asked, they always let us go.
The three of us girls would meet Omar outside and we'd sit on the steps an hour after the ice cream was gone. "I bet you can't jump from the top step all the way down to the bottom" Omar challenged me. He did it like an olympian so I had to try. There were about 5 brick steps down to the concrete walkway. I took a deep breath and jumped. What was the point of this challenge? Of course I would hit the bottom! But then I fell forward and scraped my hands and knees.
"What did you do to her?!" Grandpa yelled in Spanish. He had been sleeping so to hear me cry must have really irritated him. But he didn't yell at me! Omar was sent upstairs to his family and I got another band-aid.
When we got into our teens, Omar was not always home. Or if he was home, he was on his way out. He'd come downstairs with nice clothes on and lots of cologne. He'd give us a kiss and say "I'll be back soon." He would get to go out by himself, but we had to stay in because it wasn't safe. We weren't allowed to go to the park. We couldn't ride the subway or go to the mall like Omar did. We weren't allowed to cross Queens Blvd!
Until we begged and begged to be allowed to go with him. Lisa and I followed Stephanie and Omar all around Queens. We were trying to go to the movies but for some reason we couldn't find one that would let us in (maybe because it was rated R and back then people actually checked to see if you were over 17?). We rode the subways, passed the park, stopped in the mall, and tried another theater. Omar jumped over the turnstiles so smoothly it looked like he magically walked through it. He didn't need to hold on to anything as the subway zoomed and stopped. He knew which sneakers were "in style." I don't know if we ever got to see the movie or not, but I had so much fun anyhow. We got home pretty late for my grandparent's standards - the sun was about to set.
"Where have you been?" They yelled. I didn't understand everything they were saying, but it ended with Omar being sent upstairs and Stephanie not being allowed to sleep over. I didn't cry, but I wanted to.
We four fought a lot, but we had so much fun too. Whether it was playing in this tiny turtle pool grandpa had, or playing "The Black Hole," or sitting at grandma's table laughing so hard that things came out of our noses that shouldn't, it wasn't the same when one of us was missing.
Today is Omar's Birthday and although I probably won't get to celebrate with him, I hope he knows how much I love him! Thanks for letting me follow you around!!! And for letting me play Super Mario Brothers...and transformers... :)
