Several years ago I was living in one of the larger cities in the central valley of California while working for the Department of Agriculture. Most of the people living there were Latino, and most of those were Mexican. I found them to be a warm and friendly people. My neighbors had accepted me into their community although I never hid the fact I was gay.
The people in the house next to the one I was renting rented out rooms and a converted garage to migrant workers. Over time one of their tenants was a young man named Diego. He was about five seven in height with a slim hard body. In my opinion, he was cute, but the great thing about him was his vibrant personality. He was always in a jovial mood, cracking jokes and full of laughter. At that time he was in his mid-twenties, but because of his boyish looks appeared to be younger.
We met one day when he was pushing a bicycle with a flat tire down the street. I stopped and offered him a ride to a shop to get the flat fixed. We clicked and over the next few months became friends, despite our age difference.
He was from a village in a western Mexican state and came from a very poor family. He told me about living in a hut made of sticks with no windows, and his mother cooking outdoors over an open fire. He talked about not ever having a girlfriend because he was way too poor.
Approximately two years after we met things had gotten very bad in the valley because of a prolonged drought. Someone told Diego about work in eastern Washington picking apples and he decided to try his luck.
For weeks after he left I found I missed him. I missed his bright outlook, his joy in life and his friendship. Ten months passed, and one Friday around mid-day Diego knocked on my door. He was returning from an extended visit to his home in Mexico and was on his way back to Washington.
We talked and then he asked if he could leave his things at my place while he went and looked up some old friends. I, of course, said yes. It was after eight that evening when he reappeared. I asked if he was hungry but he said he had eaten dinner with the family he used to rent from. He asked if he could take a shower and took clean clothes into the bathroom.
When he came out I asked if he wanted to spend the night at my place, and he gratefully accepted, as he had no other options. I then suggested we go out on the town. I had recently discovered a popular Mexican bar with great music and a really nice clientele.
We went there and started kicking back beers. After five I decided since I was driving I’d better slow down, but Diego was having a good time and kept on chugging them. By closing time he was pretty wasted so we headed home.
In my living room there is a sofa sleeper, so I pulled that open and made it up with fresh sheets while Diego was in the bathroom. I had earlier warned him that my living room was flooded with light at night with the street light in front of the house and the two big windows that fronted the house. I had hoped he would suggest sleeping in the bed with me, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen. When he came out of the bath he sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled off his shoes and socks, and then sat there not knowing what to do or say, waiting for me to give him some privacy.
I bid him goodnight and retreated to my bedroom. It took me a while to fall asleep, and then an hour later I awoke and couldn’t get back to sleep. I fitfully tossed, tearing up the bed, until the bed became intolerable.
