The Queen of Patagonia

I can’t imagine that prison walls look much worse than mine did. They were in dire need of a paint job, so I called Jose. I’d worked with him and his crew twice before. Last time, he was in the middle of painting my living room a soothing seafoam green when I landed in the hospital. He stopped working, leaving all of the furniture pushed into the center of the room. A week later when I returned home, Jose came back. He carefully painted around me while I lay on the couch, hoping for my body to start generating its own blood cells. It did. That was four years ago. Jose has been there, even in the worst of times.

Jose showed up and gave me a bear hug. “I wasn’t sure if you made it,” he confessed. “Here I am,” I replied with outstretched arms. As this new job commenced, I’d wisely planned to escape the paint dust, off-gassing and inconvenience by getting out of town, hopping aboard my friend Julie’s plans to attend a meditation retreat in the nearby desert. 

Noticing the logo on my lime green jacket, Jose’s face lit up. “Patagonia! You’ve been there?” he asked. I informed him that I hadn’t been to the actual place in South America, but that I frequented a store with the same name that sold cool outdoor gear. Earlier that day, I’d packed a lot of Patagonia stuff - rain jacket, hoodie, down vest, zip up fleece, calf-length down coat, and my favorite pants – the Happy Hikers. I handed Jose a key, informed him I’d be off the grid, and trusted him to take care of the place until I came back. 

“He thought Patagonia was only an actual place!” I blurted out to Julie on our drive. I was a shoe-in for Overheard LA. I reminded myself to be grateful for all the pricey tech gear I’d been collecting for years, even if I do wait for the annual 50% off sale. 

Hours later, I wasn’t in the wilds of Patagonia, but the wilds of Lucerne Valley. Gusts were blowing so hard against me I could barely walk. I decided to hike anyway. Though slapped with painful sideways raindrops, I had the gear – a waterproof hoodie that’s great for wind. That night, there was no rain, but an explosion of stars and an orangey blood moon. Fellow retreatants watched from the cozy cafeteria. Instead of hiding indoors and staying warm, I decided to face the frigid gales. I suited up in a hat, fleece gloves, and the knee length down coat. When it was balmy, I donned the down vest. The Happy Hikers? I was one, walking in those joggers every morning after breakfast. There were opportunities for every tech fabric and feather of down I’d brought along. I had as many wardrobe changes as Cher in Vegas. It wasn’t Patagonia, but I was prepared with the gear.

When I returned to LA, the true climate for Patagonia-sporting moms like me, Jose was wrapping up the job. The place looked amazing. As I wrote his check, he shyly whispered, “Can I ask you something?” his face dappled with white specks of Benjamin Moore Chantilly Lace. “Sure,” I replied. “You’re a lesbian, yes?” He pronounced it “yez-bi-an” in the cutest El Salvadoran accent. “My daughter’s one too,” he confided. 

Jose and I sat on the front step talking for a long time, the pungent house cool and damp from wet paint. I answered his questions. “Are you from a religious family? How did your parents react? Did a relationship with a man cause this? Would you choose to be different if you could?” I loved his honesty, and that he felt safe to ask me. “I like my life just the way it is,” I told him. “It’s messy. I have plenty of problems, but my sexual identity isn’t one of them. I like my unique perspective. I wouldn’t change a thing.” 

I had two questions for Jose. “Do you love your daughter just the way she is?” I wondered. “Of course. I just don’t want the world to be hard on her,” he worried. “Keep loving her, Jose,” I told him. “Just the way she is.” 

I kept the second question to myself: “Are you still gonna charge me extra to replace the hinges?”