MEMORY FROM A PRE-Y2K VALENTINE'S DATE

As the world was raging toward the "new millennium", I was working full time as as an associate editor of a free trade magazine while freelancing as a neighborhood reporter for the Miami Herald and teaching ESL a few nights a week to Cuban refugees in Little Havana. I was loving the life I'd made for myself but I was perpetually broke and desperately trying to date above my pay grade in a fairly expensive international fashion destination, filling up quickly with the most beautiful people in the world.

My rent on a tiny art deco ocean front condo was about $1000 a month all in, which was a lot 25 years ago. But the location was primo and the place had charm for days. It was the kind of vintage locale with a bed that drops out of the wall, with mirrors paneling all four walls, bringing in the sunshine and scenery from outside, making it look way bigger than it actually is.

North Beach at the turn of Y2K

There was a beachfront amphitheater right outside the window, too, where there would be dance classes and live concerts throughout the week, mostly traditional Caribbean and Latin pop artists on the rise. Nearby Collins Avenue was lined with shops, bars, cafes, groceries, bakeries, restaurants, and little import shops run mostly by Argentines.

I loved my NoBe neighborhood, but my go-to date spot was Papillon, a boutique restaurant on Lincoln Drive in South Beach where you could get an outdoor table along the potted palms and order two entrees (salmon or steak) with a bottle of wine for only 20 bucks. I picked up the tab, even though my date definitely had more cash than me (he was living on his dad's money and made extra cash under the table as a model). He called me an "hombre hecho a sí mismo", a self-made man.

Dinner was followed by drinks, a drag show at 12th street, and dancing at Twist. Then we took a stroll out to the beach, stopping along the way to see our friends, a couple of "chicos fiesteros", or "party boys", who could usually be found out front at the Adrian Hotel.

I still remember it was the night of the New Moon, and so it was one of the darkest nights I had ever seen on the beach. We sat there on the sand, looking out to the ocean, and I remember him telling me how different it feels to be in the northern hemisphere on a February night like this.

Just then, like magic, he pulled a joint out from behind his ear. We lit it up, and once relaxed we laid back together and gazed up at the sky. It was then that we both realized how the darkened moon made the stars shine brighter than ever. Breathless. We spoke with no words. We just laid there, enjoying the romance in our minds as we connected our thoughts to the sky and felt the vibration of the universe beyond and the earth below.