MONTY: The Way Our Hearts Beat Story

Author's Note

Hello everyone! I am excited to release my first chapter to this story! Have you guys ever seen a Latin American soap opera before? They’re dramatic, sensational slice of life stories ranging from romance to the criminal underground. This one here is on the romance side of the spectrum. If there’s one thing I love, its music. It has the power to change people, the power to make moments feel magical, the power to allow people to fall in love. I have a playlist for you all today. It’s not necessarily meant to follow along with the story beats, but they were heavy inspirations for this story. Do you guys recall songs your parents used to put on? Did their taste in music ever rub off on you? Music is heavily engrained in culture, so without a doubt, it’s a community thing. I don’t think I have to explain why I put these tracks together.

The story does take place around the late 2000’s, so a lot of the tracks come from that time or before. However, as you’ll notice, there are some songs that are much newer than that. Well, it’s because those songs still capture some sense of nostalgia to the older days by imitating older genres, or they’re meant to match the story’s tone/mood. Either way, I hope you all enjoy the music as you read along. Enjoy!

The Story

CARLOS

Warm, golden light from the afternoon sun washed over the spring, lush city of Guadalajara, yet none of that brightness or warmth bled through Carlos’ window; the layers of curtains with colorful patterns clotted every ray of hope from outside. He hadn’t even gotten out of bed. The thoughts in his head didn’t allow him to fall back asleep either. He just laid there, staring blankly towards his nightstand by the door, where his mom had left the chicken empanadas she made him. He couldn’t muster the appetite to reach for them, not when life kept beating him down. Every day that passed felt like a gut punch that shut his stomach down and stole his breath.

The lingering smell of corn flour and the citrus stench of jalapeño permeated from the kitchen into Carlos’ room. He assumed his mother, Imelda, was going about her daily routine of fixing up the kitchen and house after making lunch. As she kept herself busy with house chores, she’d crank up the living room speaker to the max so she could hear her favorite music from any room, nook, or cranny she was tidying up. Carlos could hear the crescendoing of trumpets, percussions, and piano in an all too familiar rhythm- He could make out Marc Anthony’s powerful and muffled voice even from inside his room. The intensity of the trumpets, the pain in the singer’s voice, the minor chords used to bring out the heart-wrench, all while the melody wrapped itself in a beautiful swaying rhythm of salsa- the song reflected the turmoil festering in Carlos’ heart. Marc Anthony’s wails in his song “Ahora Quien”- Carlos could feel the strain and hurt in his own vocal chords, as if he was channeling his rage through the song he was hearing behind a closed door. Before his emotions got to a boiling point, the music’s volume was suddenly replaced by knocks coming from the front door.

“I’ll be right there!” He could hear his mother shout in response to the continued knocking. Carlos tossed and turned in his bed. He imagined how his mom, who’s probably in the kitchen, would hurry around the peninsula counter, shuffle through the dining area, and pass by her Virgin de Guadalupe shrine to answer the door. Eventually, Carlos heard the locks to the front door slide and twist open, followed by the door itself.

“Oh, I’d recognize that curly hair anywhere! My goodness! How are you?” Imelda sounded so enthused by the visitor, it left Carlos curious as to who it could be. He waited for whoever it was to respond so he could make out who the voice belonged to. However, the curly hair his mom mentioned kind of gave it away.

“Buenos dias, Doña Imelda.” The visitor was a man with a choppy way of talking that made even kind words seem aggressive. Carlos recognized the northern dialect of Monterrey, and could only associate it with the only person he knew that spoke that way- his childhood best friend, Omar.

Part of Carlos was surprised that Omar came to visit them out of the blue, but he could also understand why. After sulking under the covers like a bear hibernating in its cave without contact with the outside world, it’s no surprise Omar would eventually stop by to see what’s going on. Carlos threw a pillow over himself and buried his face into it, hoping it could help him vanish. He knew what was coming. He hoped Omar would just go away and let him sulk alone for just another day.

“It’s buenas tardes, actually. It’s already afternoon, haha. Oh, you’ve gotten so big! I can barely hug you!” Imelda chuckled. Carlos’ mom only managed to reach five feet tall, while Omar had a crazy growth spurt back in high school, making him a whopping 6 ‘2”. Carlos wasn’t as genetically gifted as far as height went. Here they were now, in their twenties, and every once in a while the two friends would throw jabs at each other- Carlos towards Omar, about his height and how women preferred tall men, and Omar towards Carlos, about how his looks and musical talent would catch the attention of women more than height ever would. But it’s been some time since they’ve talked, mostly because of work. Of course, what had happened recently made Carlos disappear and retreat into his room these past days.

“Haha, yeah.” Omar laughed off Imelda’s remark, even though he’s probably heard it over a thousand times from her. “But hey! You’re still young and very capable of having a growth spurt tomorrow!”

“Oh, stop it, you! The older I get, the more I seem to shrink instead!” Imelda fired back, giggling at her own joke. After her laugh, she exhaled with a reminiscent sigh.

“Ah, I remember the two of you when you became friends. Oh, you two were so small and adorable… To think so much time has passed since then… Oh, my! And how’re your parents?”

“Oh, they’re doing well. I’ve been working full time now, so I haven’t been seeing my mom or dad as much. Mom’s been mostly taking care of my little sisters now. And my dad always works during my days off, so I don’t really get to see him.” Omar replied. He spoke so loudly, Carlos could hear him a lot better than his mom from inside his room.

“Ah, that’s a shame. That’s the unfortunate business of being a grown up- there doesn’t ever seem to be enough time to do the things you want to do. Even seeing your parents. That’s why I always used to tell Carlitos and his older brother when they were little to enjoy the time they spend with me as much as they can, because when they’re older, there may come a time where they’ll miss my presence more than they could ever imagine…”

“I understand, Doña Imelda, and you’re right, but don’t speak like that, please. I hope to see you live a long life. I hope you make it to at least a hundred years old!” Omar livened the conversation.

“Oh, please- at that age, I may be asking God, the Virgin, and the holy spirit to take me with them. But I appreciate the kind words. I do hope Carlos and Mauricio get to have me in their lives that long.” Imelda replied.

“Speaking of which, I’ve been meaning to come visit Carlos. Do you know where he is? Is he working today?” Omar asked.

Oh no. Here it comes.

“Well… he’s here, but he hasn’t come out of his room. I had to bring in and leave him some empanadas that I made, but he didn’t want to even answer me when I tried talking to him. I don’t even know if he ate.” Imelda paused for a moment. “Please, mijo, can you get him out of there? I don’t even know what’s going on. He hasn’t talked to me in days! He’s been shutting me off…”

Here it comes. Any second now…

“Don’t worry, Señora.” Omar started to say with his aggressive dialect. “I’ll take good care of him for you, I’ll get him out of there. Just give me a second.”

Carlos could hear heavy footsteps getting closer to the door of his room. Great. What would Carlos even say to him? Omar knows when his friend is full of crap and doesn’t hesitate to point it out.

A loud knock at his bedroom door made Carlos flinch. He didn’t answer. He hoped that if he pretended to be asleep, his closest friend would just go away.

“Hey. Hey Carlos!” Omar called out to him from the hallway.

Carlos still refused to respond.

“It’s unlocked. Just open his door.” Imelda shouted out to Omar from the hallway. Damnit! That’s right! Carlos regretted not locking the door earlier. Just great!

The door knob twisted and Omar made his way in through the opened door. When he walked in, the corn-flour and jalapeño smell was replaced by a strong earthy smelling cologne. Carlos looked up at him. The jig was up.

His friend wore a checkered black and white buttoned shirt, black jeans, and his nicest looking sneakers. Omar looked as if he were ready to go to a night club. Carlos wondered whether that was his friend’s plan for him today. It took a while for Omar to notice where he was, and Carlos had been silently staring back at him from under the pillow. The room was much darker compared to the outside lighting, so Omar was struggling to adjust. Carlos, on the other, could see his friend clearly.

“Oh, hey there, compa! And just what the hell do you think you’re doing sleeping this late?” Omar took a shot in the dark, starting with his antics. He looked around, studying the dark room as if he was looking for something. He kept his eyes narrow- it was still tough for him to make out any details in the room.

Carlos rose his head from the pillow covering him. He tried playing it off as if he just got woken up. “Hey… What are you doing here?” He tried his best to imitate a yawn.

Omar ignored him and kept looking around. His hand kept trying to feel around the wall next to him for something. “Where the hell is your light switch?”

If it wasn’t so dark, Omar would’ve seen Carlos’ eyes roll. Carlos reached out his hand and pointed to the wall space above the night stand. “It’s over there.”

Omar’s right hand fished for the switch, and once he found it, the fan-light fixture in the ceiling illuminated the room.

“Alright, c’mon. Time to get up.” Omar turned his attention back to Carlos, clapping his hands loudly in the process.

“Hey, hold up-” Before Carlos could respond, Omar had moved to peel open the Mexican-patterned curtains and allow the sunlight to flood the space. Before Carlos could even begin to process what’s going on, Omar had moved to the edge of his bed, clawing at the blanket.

“Hey… Hey, what are you doi- Hey STOP!” Carlos protested as Omar stripped the blanket away.

“Nah, nah, nah. I ain’t havin’ none of that! You’re getting your ass out of bed whether you like it or not!” Omar replied just as loudly.

Carlos was left exposed in his jammies. The audacity of his friend to pull a stunt like this in his own home absolutely baffled him.

“DUDE! What the hell is wrong with you?!” Carlos complained.

“What’s wrong with me?! What’s wrong with you?!” Omar retorted. “No calls, no meet up, no word- güey, you ghosted me!”

The aggressive response made Carlos stop dead in his tracks.

“Just where the hell have you been all this time? Huh?” Omar kept pushing. “Have you just been home this whole time? Is that why it’s so musty in here?” He snorted and scrunched his face after he said that.

Carlos didn’t respond. He didn’t know how to excuse his absence and lack of communication.

“I’m assuming something happened?” Omar got Carlos’ attention with that question.

Carlos paused. “... It’s complicated…”

“Yeah, I’m sure it is. You can tell me when we’re out. Alright, well, c’mon! Get yourself ready, ‘cause I ain’t going anywhere ‘til you come out of this room. You better not make me come back in here.” Omar scolded him. He left Carlos’ room and closed the door only halfway.

“Hey, mijo- would you want some empanadas?” Carlos heard his mom ask Omar as he joined her back in the living room.

“Yes, please! I appreciate it, Doña Imelda.” Omar responded back. The switch up from his aggressive tone to such a kind one was jarring.

CONT....

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