A Long Distance Love

September 17, 1995

It was a hot autumn Sunday afternoon in Northern California.  My sister Gina and I were making our usual rounds at the Fiestas Patrias Festival in downtown San Jose, traveling from stage to stage in order to find the best performers at the event.  The celebration is held annually in honor of Mexican Independence Day.  Still, to this day, I don’t believe most people understand the true meaning of the holiday they are celebrating.  It’s just another day to party it up in the streets of downtown, listen to some live music, put back a few drinks and have a good time with other like-minded folk.  But really, Fiestas Patrias was created to celebrate the end of Spanish rule over Mexico.

But back to my story.  Gina and I were walking down the street looking for a stage with some good music when we passed by a group of attractive Latin men, in their early 20s.  As we moved beyond them I turned around to look back.  One of the men had separated himself from the others and was smiling back at me.  He waved me over so off Gina and I went, not really having any idea what to expect.  Little did I know that this would be the start of a long-lived friendship, and the beginning of a romance with the man I’d consider to be my true love.

His name was Ryan.  The guy that called us over, not the true love.  I’ll get to him soon enough.  Ryan?  That’s not a Latin name.  With his dark skin, brown, wavy hair and big brown eyes, he definitely wasn’t Caucasian.  Ryan explained that he and his band mates from Puerto Rico were in San Jose to perform at the festival.  Puerto Rico, you said?  My ears perked up at those words.  Puerto.  Rico.  Ahh, pure bliss.  We followed Ryan to the front of DeAnza Hotel where the rest of the guys were standing inside the lobby.  One of them, who I would later determine to be Jose, was peering out the window with his light brown eyes and sandy brown hair, watching me.  Weird, I thought.  He was attractive but my attention was focused on Ryan who was talking to us animatedly.

“What’s the name of your music group?” I asked?  Hache Dos O.  OK, I speak Spanish so I can figure this out.  Let me think for a minute.  Hache is H.  Dos is two.  O is O!  I get it:  H2O!  The light bulb went off.  “No way, you’re in H2O?” I ask Ryan.  “Yes, and we’re performing here today so you guys should come watch,” he says in a blend of Puerto Rican and New York accents.  The irony of this experience is that during Christmas the year before, my sister and I were shopping at Tower Records (you know, the days when we used to have real record stores where we actually bought real records) for some of the latest CDs on our lists which were each the length of a child’s Christmas wish list for Santa.  We, of course, were in the Latin music section hunting for some cool finds.  I pulled out a CD entitled “De Otro Planeta” (“From Another Planet”) with five cute guys on the cover, one with long hair, past his shoulders.  He was the “rocker.”  Funny, all you needed to get our attention was to put some cute, tan men on the cover of a CD and we were suckers.  So there it was.  We had a CD from this group we had just met. 

Ryan briefly introduced us to his band mates Jose, Axel (not quite Axl Rose but tall and lanky like him), Carlos and Johnny, who was tall, with pasty skin, jet black hair and beautiful clear blue eyes that could see right through you.  Johnny was delicious but it was Axel who caught my attention and whom I would eventually develop a small crush on (still, not my true love).  We also met the group’s manager, Pedro, who happened to be Jose’s father.  Following introductions, Ryan told us that he was hungry and wanted a hamburger so we took him to this cute, little 50s diner called “Peggy Sue’s,” a staple of San Pedro Square in downtown San Jose, that makes a great burger, fries and shake.  We hung out for a short while until it was time for Ryan to head back to his hotel because it was almost show time.

That afternoon we stood in the sweltering heat to watch our new friends in H2O perform songs from their old repertoire and new.  They were singing to us, smiling at us from the stage above and making us feel like we were the only ones there.  It was in that short-lived time that I decided I was a fan.  I even took a few pictures which have a special place in my photo album.  While the guys were onstage singing and dancing, girls were screaming in the audience.  We were so excited to be there supporting our new found friends.

When the show was over the boys went back to their hotel to get cleaned up.  Ryan called later so we could have dinner together.  And when he did, we were ready to go.  My sister and I hopped in my white 1994 Volkswagen Jetta carat and drove the seven mile trek to pick them up from their hotel.  When we arrived Johnny was sick in bed.  We took a bunch of pictures around the room, on the bed, in the chaise lounge, sitting at the table.  We were having a blast creating good memories we would later look back on fondly.  When we decided to take the boys to dinner in our quaint little town of Los Gatos Johnny stayed back to rest.

Before heading to Los Gatos we took the boys to our parents’ house so they could meet them.  My parents’ friends were there for dinner (they are from Germany, thick accents and all) and had been drinking wine for a while.  We brought the boys inside but Carlos and Jose just as quickly stepped back out on the front porch.  Carlos didn’t speak English and was uncomfortable being there and Jose was just quiet.  My parents and their friends were amused by these four cultured young men as they laughed and told stories.  Ryan would exaggerate his New York accent when speaking and he and my mother compare theirs (Ryan grew up in the Bronx and Mom was raised in Brooklyn), discussing their hometowns.  It was like our little United Nations summit with Puerto Ricans, Italians and Germans all in the same room.  Ryan and Axel were playing my mom’s three little white toy poodles.  It was adorable.  We couldn’t get enough of these boys.

We squeezed into my sister’s car, a light blue 1989 convertible Mustang.  As my sister sat down in the car a loud farting sound ripped through the vehicle.  As it turns out, Jose is quite the jokester and thinks it’s hilarious to make it appear as if a young woman is farting so he can embarrass her.  The guys were laughing.  I was not.

It was late in the evening on a Sunday night so the roads were empty.  We arrived in Los Gatos in no time at all but most of the restaurants weren’t open so we ate at a local brewery, the Los Gatos Brewing Company.  I’d never eaten there before so it was a first for all of us.  We were immediately seated at a booth and began chatting away about music, Puerto Rico, being in a band and whatever other topics came up.  Axel was different.  He was animated and he wears his emotions on his sleeve so I was gushing over him when I felt a swift kick from under the table.  Ouch!  It wasn’t hard to figure out that it was Jose since he’s the one who had the Cheshire cat grin across his face.  I didn’t think it was funny.  As we chatted about what it was like to be on the road and what their plans were in California, I peered across the table at Jose bending a spoon like he was David Copperfield.  “WOW, this guy’s mature,” I thought sarcastically.  Apparently I didn’t look amused with his magic skills because I felt another kick from under the table.  By this time I was thoroughly annoyed.  Good thing we were done with dinner and it was time to take the guys back to their hotel.  They had to leave early the next morning to head to Los Angeles so they could start recording their next CD, yet to be titled.  Before we drove them back, we exchanged addresses and phone numbers with everyone and promised to stay in touch.

Over the next week Ryan called to tell me how the recording was going and what they’d been doing during their time off.  One of the top vocal coaches from Puerto Rico was there to work with H2O with the recording of the album.  Ryan suggested that we drive down to LA to see them before they had to go back to Puerto Rico.  Enough said!  The light bulb went off inside my head and before you know it, Gina and I were waking up at 4 am to make the long trek to LA.  It was pitch black as we hit the freeway.  Sidebar: We were living with our parents and Dad was always strict so we asked our mother to cover for us and say that we went to the gym early in the morning and that we’d be out late that night.  We have an open relationship with Mom so we gave her all the details of where we’d be and who we’d be with so she didn’t worry.  And off we went!

We made the drive with just one restroom stop in a little sleeper town in Central California.  Still dark outside when we hit a mini mart for a candy fix, we saw something that appeared to be a UFO flying through the air, low to the ground as we were getting back into the car.  Scared out of our minds that we’d be abducted by aliens in a deserted town, we hopped on the freeway as fast as we could and got the heck out of dodge.  We’d later realize that our unidentified flying object was really just a crop duster plane spraying pesticides over the local agriculture.  Guess they weren’t coming for us after all! 

After a four and a half hour journey we finally arrived at the guys’ hotel in Van Nuys.  We immediately called Ryan to let him know that we’d made it safely.  My friend Alex (short for Alejandrina) lived in downtown LA so she met up with us to hang out and meet the band.  Ryan came down to the lobby and shortly after, the rest of the boys arrived, along with Pedro, Jose’s dad.  We sat around, talked, laughed and took a ton of photos until the boys had to head to the studio to meet their vocal coach.  Ryan asked us to meet them there in the afternoon.

Gina, Alex and I drove out to City Walk at Universal Studios to have lunch.  We chatted about our new friends, how cute they were and what a great time we were having.  After lunch and a stroll through the shops to purchase a few gifts for the guys, we pulled out a map to figure out how to get to Soundabout Studios somewhere near their hotel.  This would be my first time at a recording studio.  We spent the next couple of hours watching the boys go in and out of the studios, rehearse their lyrics and nervously accept feedback from the coach, all the while we were flirting with our chosen band mate.

The day turned into night and before we knew it our time with H2O had come to an end.  We needed to get back to San Jose before our father started questioning Mom as to our whereabouts so sadly we said our goodbyes with lots of hugs and kisses (this is how the Puerto Ricans do it) and again we promised to keep in touch.

I was a full time student at a local community college and life was busy.  The next few months flew by but I still managed to make time to write letters to Ryan, Axel and Jose and include a token of my affections, the gifts I had purchased at City Walk while visiting them.  They each received a penny with a shape such as a heart, teardrop or diamond carved out of the center and a small description of the meaning behind the penny.  Three months after we met I received an unexpected phone call in the middle of the afternoon from the person I connected with the least but… Jose called me to say hi and thank me for the present.  That call began a five-year fairytale love affair by phone with the love of my life.

Over the next few years, I would receive weekly, then eventually daily phone calls from Jose.  Oddly enough, he had a girl friend that he was committed to.  I had no idea I would fall in love with the guy that annoyed me with his childlike antics but his persistent phone calls would break down the barriers I had built around me with men.  We would slowly become the best of friends, confiding in each other our relationship problems, issues that stemmed from our childhoods and talk of our hopes and dreams.  We shared a love of music, close family bonds and common values.  His relationship came to an end which opened the door for deeper communication.  When he would have an important decision to make in his life such as signing a solo recording contract he would call me to ask for my opinion.  He would take a job as a music promoter and manager.  I would receive phone calls from him no matter where he was traveling, be it Miami, Panama or South America.  We became dependant upon each other and upon our ritualistic phone calls.  We developed a deep spiritual connection.  I would “know” it was him on the other end of the line when the phone would ring.   I would be studying for an exam in my California history class and would read the name “Jose” in my book and immediately the phone would ring and it would be him.  I didn’t understand it all but I was reveling in the attention.  I almost couldn’t function without him.  He challenged me in ways that nobody had ever done before.  He made me laugh and cry.  He made me angry and we argued.  He confused me.  But he made me feel like I’d never felt before.  He would say the things to me that nobody else dared to say.  And I would listen.  I heard him.  I understood him.  And I loved him.

I had never been shown so much attention by a man.  Jose used terms of endearment like “Baby” or “Mi amor.”  No man had called me such loving names before but it sure did feel good.  One night we were talking about music, discussing Jon Secada’s song “Tuyo” (yours) and he said to me, “Tuya.”  He was mine.  Was this for real?  Another time we were talking on the phone and in the background I heard his best friend Eric say, “Jose’s calling his girl friend.”  My heart leapt.

The years went by and the phone calls continued.  Our phone bills grew with the endless calls.  He called me one night and told me that his phone bill and there for four $30 phone calls to me totalling $120.  We talked for hours.  Time didn’t matter.  Nothing else mattered.  When I transferred to the university I started looking into an overseas study program in Costa Rica.  When I told him about it he suggested I move to Puerto Rico and stay with him.  What did this all mean?  I thought about it often and believed that it would eventually happen.  I loved this man and though he didn’t say it back, I knew in my heart that he loved me too.  We each had strong personalities and both had mood swings.  It was a tumultuous relationship but I always felt the reward.

As time went on and we lived our lives, each of us developed other relationships.  Jose became involved in a serious relationship and would eventually tell me that he planned to marry the girl.  I was devastated and cried to him frantically on the phone.  I look back at myself and can see how lost I was as a person that I would be heartbroken and unable to let go of him.

In the fall of 1999, I was a production assistant on the set of a music video for the track “Skintight” by The Donnas.  We filmed for four days, working long hours everyday, sometimes into the middle of the night.  I took a break at one point to call Jose to check on him because he had been down from a breakup with his girlfriend and hadn’t been returning my phone calls.  I could tell something was definitely wrong.  The phone rang for what seemed like an eternity and when I heard Pedro’s voice I knew something must be terribly wrong.  He told me that Jose was in the hospital.  My heart stopped.  I was worried beyond belief but he promised me that Jose would be home soon and he would call me upon his return.  And he did.

Over the next two months we would speak on a regular basis.  I had lost my best friend Raul to a brain aneurysm six months prior and my emotions were all over the map.  I was trying to cope with this major change in my life and be there for Jose as well.  In December my father offered to trade in his airline mileage to give Jose a plane ticket to come to California for the holidays.  On the 23^rd of December Jose was on an airplane to San Jose to spend two weeks with my family.  I loved this man with all my heart but hadn’t seen him in four years.  Was I crazy or just in love?

My mother and I drove to San Francisco International Airport to pick up Jose and my father, who ironically enough was flying in an hour after Jose.  Security wasn’t as tight as it is now and the gates were accessible to visitors.  I waited anxiously for the doors to open and passengers to come off the plane.  When I finally saw Jose walk out in his black and green sweater, ready for winter, my heart skipped a beat.  It was wonderful and awkward all at the same time.  He was subdued which made me uncomfortable but I was happier than I’d been in a long time.  At the baggage claim area we didn’t say much.  We watched and waited as all the bags moved down the ramp but his luggage never arrived.  We filed a claim with the airline and were told to come back the next day to pick it up.

We waited inside the Red Carpet Club for my father’s flight to arrive.  I told Jose I had to go to the restroom and ran straight for the pay phones where I called my friend Angel to fill her in on his arrival.  As I was talking to her he rounded the corner and caught me in my little white lie.  I quickly got off the phone and followed him back to where he was sitting with my mother.  We met my father, got his luggage and then drove back to San Jose in a silence-filled car.  As soon as we got to the house I set Jose up in my room and he went to bed.

After making the trip back to the airport to pick up Jose’s luggage on Christmas Eve morning, my family and I slaved away in the kitchen in preparation of the Italian-style dinner that would be taking place at our house.  The cioppino was cooking on the stove and the house smelled of sauce.  Jose started to relax and get comfortable around us.  My aunt and uncle were told there would be a “special guest” at dinner and were surprised to see Jose.  They had been hearing about this mystery man for four years and were starting to believe that he was a figment of my imagination.  Surprise, surprise… he was real.  My sister, her husband Javier and my niece Giovanna arrived shortly thereafter along with Javier’s sister and her husband.  Dinner was filled with conversation and laughter.

After a few hours and many bottles of wine, my sister asked us to join them at Javier’s family’s house for their celebration at midnight.  We piled in the truck with all the gifts and headed off for the 20 minute drive to Fremont.  Jose fit in right away.  Javier’s family is Guatemalan so there was plenty of Spanish speaking and salsa music along with cervezas y tequila!  A few hours and many shots later, everyone was inebriated except for Gina so she sleepily drove us home as I cuddled with Jose in the backseat.  Jose’s time here started off well.

The days flew by as we got to know each other again.  It took some time to begin opening up but I fell more in love with Jose in our short time together than I had in the four years prior.  The days and nights were filled with activities.  We spent many nights at my friend Angel’s apartment in Dublin, partied in Monterey, saw movies, went to restaurants and hung out with my best friend Melissa and her boyfriend.  Jose cooked a traditional Puerto Rican dinner (with what ingredients we could find in a California grocery store) for me and my friends, played with my then two-year-old niece, watched football games on TV, and shopped at the mall.  We spent our final day and night together site seeing in San Francisco.  During his time here we experienced our first kiss which I’d waited too long for.  We made love for the first time.  It was the most passionate moment shared between us, like being struck by electricity (in a good way, if there is such a thing).  I had never experienced being with someone I was truly in love with and it took my breath away. 

We had our fair share of arguments and many lapses in conversation.  We were getting to know each other’s personalities in person and learning one another’s inner workings.  I loved every moment of our two weeks together.  The day before we had to say goodbye, while hanging out in San Francisco, we both became quiet.  There was a sadness looming over us along with the dark clouds in the sky.  Jose kept his distance.  We visited Alcatraz, Market Street, Lombard Street, and the wharf.

We had dinner at Planet Hollywood where I had a little too much to drink.  We went back to our hotel on the waterfront and made love for what would be the final time.  The next morning inside the terminal at the airport we would spend our last hour together.  I had turned all my feelings inward and begun to shut down.  I saw the sadness in his eyes as we drank our last beer together. 

When they announced that the plane was boarding he gave me a quick kiss goodbye so as not to show any emotion.  I watched him board the plane until I couldn’t see him any longer.  He never looked back.  Maybe he didn’t want me to see the sadness in his eyes but I was feeling it too.  The second he was out of my view the tears began to flow.  I walked as fast as I could until I reached the parking lot.  I walked in circles for at least 15 minutes looking for my car but it was nowhere to be found.  I could no longer control my emotions and started bawling.  I used my keyless remote to make the alarm sound on my car.  I could hear it but I still couldn’t find the damn car.  I called my father crying hysterically as if he’d be able to jump through the phone and help me find it.  He told me to find security and ask them to drive me around to look for my car.  How the hell could I lose my car?  What I soon discovered was that I was in the right spot on the wrong floor.  I found the elevator and took it up one level.  My car was standing exactly where I had left it hours before.  I spent the hour-long drive on the phone with friends crying uncontrollably as if my dog had just died.  It would take days, even weeks to heal from this.

At first Jose called me regularly upon his return to Puerto Rico but the calls slowed along with the emptiness I was feeling.  After a couple of weeks of silence he called and I could hear a sense of anguish in his voice as he told me he’d been with another woman.  He was going to be a dad.  My world went dark.  In the next few months he would try to communicate but I would respond with anger, we would fight and he would hang up on me.  He told me on more than one occasion, “I don’t understand why you are so angry at me.”  My heart was broken and I was devastated.  It would take more than a few phone calls to recover from this blow.  I asked him to give me time to get through the initial shock.  I didn’t want him out of my life but I knew that things would never be the same between us.  My world had changed with this news.  We didn’t speak again.

And so it would be, the love of my life was no longer allowed to be… the love of my life.  Circumstances took our lives in different directions.  It was time to let go and move forward, never letting go of the love we shared but putting it in its proper place, so I could open my heart again.

It took a few years but finally we would reconnect and reestablish a friendship.  Jose apologized for his behavior and I forgave him.  I was happy just to have him back in my life.  We have tried our best to remain friends.  We exchange e-mails and on occasion phone calls but it hasn’t been easy.  He is married with a step daughter and a son who is the love of his life and I respect that.  I did get to see him in 2005 while I was in Puerto Rico promoting a singer.  He met me at the bar that a friend’s band was performing at where we had the opportunity to talk face to face.  It was the first, and only time, we’d seen each other since our goodbye on that fateful day in 2000.  Through our conversation I was able to heal my wounded heart and say goodbye to what could have been.