The Epic Fail of Arturo Zamora: Chapter 23–Epilogue

For appetizers, we made plantain chips, crispy yucca fries, and bacalao fritters.

Chuchi came dressed like she was at a gala.

Her eyes were bright with flecks of honey color in them—almost like a radioactive beehive.

“You should run for student council next year. I could use a tenacious spirit on my team.”

“These groups all live for good old-fashioned advocacy.”

Camp is pretty cool. Lots of interesting people. Mostly they’re from Georgia and North Carolina and north, north Florida. Like the panhandle.

I looked at my shirt and saw the splotches of water that had soaked through.

We didn’t plan to stop there, but there was a lot of commotion on the lot, so we took a detour to investigate.

My dad was about six-foot-two, and while he was probably the least violent guy ever, he could look pretty imposing.

There was a table that curved out to face residents, and two podiums positioned to face the board members.

The other six members flanked him on either side, and I heard each of their names as a lady at the far corner of the table called roll into the microphone.

“Land Developer Wilfrido Pipo of Pipo Place submitted an additional amendment concerning the property on 426 East Main Street and the adjacent half acre of city-owned property....”

My mind wandered while Chairman Mondalla’s voice droned on.

I learned from Vanessa that the council members must “represent the interests of their constituents.”

Wilfrido strutted back to his seat.

She shuffled her notes, and the sound of rustling paper echoed throughout the chamber.

“After an early successful restaurant venture called La Ventanita,” she began, “Veronica and Arturo Zamora (the first) moved here and built a new restaurant on Main Street. For nineteen years this restaurant has grown with the people of Canal Grove...."

“La Cocina de la Isla belongs to the neighborhood. By building into the lot, we will be a destination for even more people. There is an opportunity to continue to serve the community we love and attract tourists who want to experience Miami beyond South Beach. If this week’s closure is any indication, we are still as relevant as ever.”

“La Cocina de la Isla belongs to the neighborhood. By building into the lot, we will be a destination for even more people. There is an opportunity to continue to serve the community we love and attract tourists who want to experience Miami beyond South Beach. If this week’s closure is any indication, we are still as relevant as ever.”

“People want new! People want exclusive!” Wilfrido interrupted again. “People want a VIP experience, not dusty décor and uninspired recipes.”

“We are financially viable, and we have returned some of those profits to you in a number of ways. This is a matter of community. I would like every person in this room to think about what kind of neighborhood they want to live in. Because Wilfrido is right. His vision for Canal Grove is very different, and it would only be the beginning. Thank you.”

“It’s just nice to come home after being around kids all day and have amenities like that,” she said.

Stephanie ended by saying that Abuela’s cooking—La Cocina’s cooking—literally nourished the community.

“According to my research, Pipo Land Holdings, LLC is offering premium rates to residents. However, the average income of residents of Canal Grove is well below the rates intended for Pipo Place. I would like Mr. Pipo to explain what he means when he says Pipo Place is for the community? What community is he referring to?”

Carmen motioned for me to get up. Clearly, she also felt I could ride this momentum.

But Eddy Strap’s mom beat me to it and explained how Pipo Place would bring couture boutiques to Main Street.

Wilfrido watched me intently as I turned to my mom and smiled.

In the silence I hear a melody.
In the ocean of solitude
I sail on a ship to shore where you no
longer are.

You nurture and teach.
You bring hope when hope is lost.

My mission had been to deliver a speech that would win our case. Instead what I delivered was Abuela’s eulogy.

“The council has decided to deliberate further and postpone the verdict until tomorrow.”

A collective “Ahh!” echoed through the chamber.

“Clearly, that sign is a hazard,” he said, and promised Wilfrido would be issued a citation.

A sour taste suddenly nipped at my tongue.

“And Abuelo’s romanticism, Mr. I Blush Every Time Carmen Is Near. Eh? Eh?”

“You did it, Papa! You finally posted something on your own.”
Uncle Frank smiled triumphantly.
“I am officially social-media savvy.”

After lunch the family dispersed while a few of us, like Martin and Mari, stayed behind to prepare for dinner service.

After hearing the community, the city council voted and a new ordinance was passed.

“Don’t get hyst—”
“Don’t say it!” everyone yelled in unison before Brian could finish.

Vanessa was accepted to Junior Leadership Summit in Washington, DC, and she said her first order of business would he to change the design of the organization’s logo because she said it was offensive to indigenous peoples.