The "Love Seat"

I decided to couch surf in Guatemala city, and the moment I saw Jhonatán Cejas's couch I realized that no human being, barring some of the most diminutive members of remote bush tribes in Africa, would be able to sleep on the thing without coming away with severe and permanent scoliosis.   The furniture in question was what see-the-silver-lining types would call a love seat, but I saw it for what it was: a sophisticated instrument of nocturnal torture.  I can see it in my mind's eye, its sardonic cream color that seems so inviting until you see the sadistic armrests waiting to wrack the skeletons of weary travelers.  I was busy contemplating which Parisian cathedral I would spend my hunched over future in after sleeping on the thing, when I was given a second thing to think about.  Jhonatán wouldn't mind, in fact he would prefer, well really he insisted eagerly that I share his bed with him. 

Jhonatán, a slender and affectionate 24-year-old, had come to pick me up when I arrived on a bus from Joyobaj.  I had been on couchsurfing.com in Joyobaj, which has a feature that lets you see other travelers in the area who are also on the site.  I was looking for someone who would host me in Guatemala City when a message from Jhonatán popped into my couchsurfing inbox.  "Hey I see you're in the area; if you need anything just give me a call."  With characteristic cynicism I thought, "Why is he so friendly... what does he want from me? " I snooped around on his profile, which said he preferred hosting males.  Then I looked at his reviews from other surfers, all of which were positive and one of which was from an American named John who said, "At first Jhonatán kinda freaked me out but later I realized that was just my problem, he is really just a genuinely helpful and hospitable guy."  Usually it is a bit complicated to find a host, and with John's comment in mind, I decided to go for it.

The chamber that housed the couch in question was a ramshackle cube of sheet metal build on the concrete roof of Jhonatán's parent's house.  The house happened to be a hundred meters from the touchdown end of the runway of the international airport, so every so often a 747 jet would thunder over the room, narrowly missing the roof peak, and setting all the walls a-flapping and a clanging like a one man band whose equipment had got away from him.  For all its apparent dilapidation, inside it was immaculate. The "love seat" smugly occupying the central space along the left wall and Jhonatán's bed, more than a single but definitely no queen, along the back wall.  A plush colorful rug was laid down on the floor and my towel was folded with a bar of soap across the "love seat."  

But from all the darker corners of the room, googly eyes gaped down at me.  Stuffed Elmos stared from the tops of cupboards and foam visors with the gooney cartoon faces pasted on them hung from the bedposts and lined the desk.  A jet flew over and all the faces wobbled grotesquely.  "I used to do a kids show," Jhonatán explained.

I managed to hide my reaction on seeing the "love seat," and Jhonatán welcomed me in to his abode.  "You must be really tired from all your walking," Jhonatán said. "Here. Have a rest on my bed."  He propped up some pillows, put my feet up, and handed me the TV remote.  "Now don't you go anywhere.  I'll be right back."  Thirty minutes later he came up the stairs with a steaming plate of food in his hands and wouldn't let me move a finger to help him with it or the cold beer he opened and gave to me.  "No you just rest.  We got a busy day tomorrow all planned out and you've got to rest up that foot."  I had told him about a foot pain I had developed over my walk.  In handing me a plate of food, Jhonatán had found my weak spot, and I put all worries aside and tucked into the fare.

Dinner was done and the hour was late so I got up and approached the "love seat" as a convicted criminal might approach the execution block.  "Oh no." Jhonatán said.  "You don't have to sleep there. Look, there's plenty of space in my bed."

"Look... errr... Jhonatán, thanks but that's OK, I'll just sleep here on the couch..." I lay down on it.  My head stuck out one side and my legs from thigh down off the other.  I could feel a ninety degree angle already ossifying in my neck.

"C'mon," said Jhonatán, "No one deserves to sleep in that thing. There is plenty of space here."

And so I found myself wide awake at 2 AM, teetering the extreme edge of the bed,  tense as a hunted animal, alert for any sign of movement from Jhonatán's side so that I could flee the room if need be.  A huge jet roared over the roof.  The wind buffeted a loose corner of the tin roof.  The "love seat" sat in mocking repose an arms length away.  The Elmos leered down at me.

The next morning, as promised, Jhonatán had a slate of things to show me around the city, one of which was a new cafe that his friend was opening downtown.  "He's gay though and it's supposed to be sort of a gay hang out, so I hope that doesn't freak you out."

I seized the opportunity.  "And are you gay?"

He looked surprised. "Yes I am, but I don't really tell people unless they ask. How did you know?"

"I have a keen sense of observation," I told him.  The sarcasm was lost on him.

We continued exploring the city and Jhonatán called me his little gringito tousled my hair in a way that made my jaw clench. Every so often he insisted that on getting a bystander to take a picture of us and he would give me the good-ole-side hug and tousle my hair again.  We went into the museum of the history of Guatemalan money and a beautiful docent came to demonstrate how they used to mint money by pounding on the mold with a huge metal hammer. 

"Here you can pound it," she said to me and I slammed the hammer on the mold.  I got to keep the coin that resulted.

"Thanks," I told her.  "And if I accidentally lose this one will you still be here so I can come and get a new one?"  That was for Jhonatán's benefit; it wouldn't do for him to get carried away with the wrong impression of me.

We went to the coffee place his friend was opening– a fifties style diner with pink accents and young waiters in bow ties and tight pants.  It was nearly empty and so we headed to his house.

"I love hanging out with foreigners like you!" Jhonatán told me on the way.

"Oh yeah, why's that?"

'Well I just don't have that many friends here... a few, but we don't hang out that much.  It's hard."

"What makes it hard?"

"Well its just that people here really don't accept gays.  I don't really have anyone to talk about it with."

"And your parents?"

"Well I can't talk about it with them.  They think it is a sin."

"That must be tough."

"Yeah, when I was in high school I always went to youth group and church and prayed hard that God would change me.  When I was first realizing I was gay it was awful and for years I didn't accept it.  I had no one to talk to.  But finally I realized I had to accept it."

"Those must have been some rough years just feeling guilty and trapped."

We got back to Jhonatán's room again, to the Elmos, the jets, the thick concrete floor separating Jhonatán from his family below.  I was resting longways on the "love seat," my legs sticking off the end of course, when Jhonatán got an idea.

"I know what we're going to do," he said.

"What?"

"I'm going to give you a foot massage."

My foot was sore, but not that sore.  "Um,  no you're not."

"C'mon.  Why not?"

"No.  You're not giving me a foot massage.  I hate massages."

"No this has nothing to do with the gay thing.  I just like to treat my friends well."

"Right.  No foot massage."

It was a long night again.  In the morning I said goodbye to my Elmo friends who had kept me company during dark nervous hours.  I took my leave of the "love seat," and the rattling rooftop shack.  I thanked Jhonatón for his hospitality, which had been exceptional, wished him the best of luck, and headed to El Salvador.