Ambientes: New Queer Latino Writing

Arturo, Who Likes to Shave His Legs in the Snow

196 Arturo, Who Likes to Shave His Legs in the Snow   Arturo at thirty-four years old filled out his bronze body with defined muscles. Despite his strength, he still had a delicate appearance, like one too beautiful to pick strawberries in the California heat—just like his abuela. El jefe, his pink cheeks glowing in the excitement of finding one so beautiful, took her hand as she prepared to jump down from the bed of the truck that had brought her and her husband to the fields that first morning, their brown arms pressed against other brown arms, swaying and jerking with the rocks and potholes in the road. El jefe took his abuela’s hand and led her into the office instead, gesturing for her to remove her wide-brimmed straw hat and sit, sit down, please. Her graceful fingers gripped at the brim as she held the hat over her stomach and pelvis and stood unmoving, praying silently behind pursed lips and tightened jaw: Por favor, no me moleste. Por favor. Por favor, señor, déjame sola. Arturo looked up from the notebook where he’d been frantically trying to capture the images as they spilled out of his brain, fingers scrambling to keep up. He stood and passed his palm slowly across 197 frosty glass that’d seen winters just as cold as this for more than eighty years. He saw the flakes like tiny down feathers starting to fall. His flesh immediately puckered with a chill, but still he lingered, palm on the window, for a moment before turning away for the pinktiled bathroom. It would have made a lovely photograph, the palm against the frosted window, the arm slightly relaxed into an aesthetically pleasing line to the chest, shoulders pulling the body into a relaxed but regal posture, smooth slope of the nose dark against the outside light. The thick pile of the white rug between Arturo’s bare toes contrasted with the hardwood floor, and the radiator blew warm air over his goose bumps, relaxing him as he rummaged in the medicine cabinet. The shaving cream and razor sat lined up on the sink as Arturo let the soft track pants, smoky charcoal gray, drop to the tile and pulled his white T-shirt over his head. He gazed into the mirror, squinting his eyes as if trying to spot something in his reflection. So different without clothes, he thought, turning away from the mirror slightly so that he could see the elegant lines of muscles crossing his back. Such a delicate balance, trying to find the right clothes to wear. When browsing through burgundy and forest-green sweaters or stark button-downs with muted ties, sometimes his mind wandered, and when he looked down, he found his fingers resting against smooth velvet or cool satin. It startled Arturo to realize he’d somehow moved from the men’s section and into the women’s. The textures of their clothes were so beautiful, comforting even. His sybarite nature clashed with the standards expected of a successful businessman like himself, and so he would make his way back to the men’s section, sighing quietly. Arturo grabbed a soft towel from the cabinet and inhaled the fresh scent of laundry detergent before gathering up the rest of his supplies and headed out the front door, scanning the yard for the tree stump that kept him company from his desk. It was already covered in a layer of white powder from earlier snows. By four o’clock, about two inches had accumulated, and by then Arturo could no longer resist the teasing little flakes on his skin, the dry cold air that promised to hug his body. The hairs on his leg popped out as goose bumps covered his entire body, and Arturo shivered. He propped his left leg up on the friendly tree stump. The shaving cream felt warm in contrast to the frigid air as he covered his leg from ankle to knee. The never-changing ritual soothed the cold from his mind as he ran the razor first from knee down to ankle all around until he’d finished the entire lower part of his left leg Arturo, Who Likes to Shave His Legs in the Snow 198 like a lawnmower, leaving perfect rows of almost-smooth skin. Adding more shaving cream, he then repeated the...