Breaking Through (13 page)

"I am too," I said. "You'll make a great treasurer."

"No, I mean, you should run for office," he insisted.

"I barely have time to do my homework now," I said. "I can't take on more."

"It won't take a lot of time. We'll work together and..."

"If elected," I said, interrupting him.

"You're right. I might not get elected," he said, giving me a sad look.

"I don't mean you," I responded. "I was talking about me."

"Don't be such a pessimist," he said.

"A what? I am not a pest," I said. Paul shook his head and smiled.

"Look, you have a good chance of winning. People know you. Junior Scandals made you famous!"

"Get out of here!" I said, imitating him. We both laughed.

Paul glanced at me from the corner of his eye, smirked, and said, "If elected..." He paused, turned around, looked straight in my eyes, and continued, "I mean,
when
elected, we'll have fun. And it'll help us get into college."

"It will?" I asked, perking up.

Paul gave me a puzzled look. When he saw I was serious and waiting for an answer, he said, "Yep, colleges like it when students do extra stuff at school, like running for student body office."

The bell rang. We cleared the table and picked up our books. Before heading for our separate classes, Paul said, "Go get your petition. I want to be the first one to sign it."

"I'll think about it and let you know when we come back from Easter."

During Easter break I did not think about running for student body president. I spent the little free time I had reading Walt Whitman's
Leaves of Grass
and memorizing a poem for English and keeping up with current events by reading the daily newspaper for my history class. I wrote the poem on an index card and memorized
it while I cleaned the gas company. After I finished cleaning, I quickly scanned the newspaper. An article on sit-in demonstrations in the South caught my attention. I read about racial segregation and black students fighting for equal rights. I heard more about it on the car radio on the way home that evening. I felt angry that blacks were not allowed to sit with whites in bus stations. During Easter Sunday Mass, I kept thinking about it.
How can this be happening if we're all equal in the eyes of God?

On Monday morning, the day after Easter, I felt very tired. My shoulders ached. I finished cleaning the Western Union and headed for school. As I approached the school grounds, I remembered my promise to Paul. I had to make a decision. I parked the car and walked across the campus to my P.E. class. On the way I ran into Manuelito Martínez, whose family worked in the fields and lived in Bonetti Ranch. We had known each other since we were eight years old. "Hey, Panchito," he said. "I hear you're running for student body president. That's cool."

"Who told you?"

"Tu
amiguito
Paul, a few minutes ago," he responded. "
Órale,
that's cool, man."

"
Gracias,
Manuelito. I am thinking about it," I responded, slightly upset with Paul.

"Don't think about it, man. Do it. Everyone in Bonetti Ranch will be proud."

I knew what Manuelito meant. Like my family, most
residents of Bonetti Ranch were Mexican or Mexican American field laborers. We lived near Santa Maria but we were far apart from it.

During P.E. the coach asked us to run laps around the track. As I ran I thought about Manuelito and the experiences I shared with him and others in Bonetti Ranch; I thought about racial segregation in the South and about Paul's remark about college. I slowed down to catch my breath and then continued running, cutting through the thick, cool morning fog. At the end of the period, I quickly took a shower, got dressed, and rushed to the main office to pick up a petition. At lunchtime, Paul asked me if I had made a decision.

"I forgot all about it," I said, trying to keep a straight face.

"Get out of here!" he exclaimed. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, I am not," I said. "If I run and win, I'd have to study more in the evenings after work, sleep less, and skip some school dances."

Paul's smile disappeared. He nodded and said, "I understand, man." He pulled out a piece of paper from his worn-out binder. "Here's my petition. I want you to be the first one to sign it."

"I won't sign it," I said.

"Get out of here!" Paul said, taking off his glasses and staring at me.

"Not unless you sign mine," I said, pulling out my petition and handing it to him.

"You had me going!" Paul cried out. "You'll make a good politician." We laughed, shook hands, and signed each other's petitions.

During the next few days Paul and I drove to his church after school to study and to work on making posters for our campaigns. The church was in the north part of town. It was a large, wooden rectangular building with high ceilings and small, square windows on the sides. The front was simple. It had a lectern in the middle and a piano in the right-hand corner. It had neither statues of saints or Christ nor an image of the
Virgen de Guadalupe,
like the church that my family and I attended when we could. We did our homework in Paul's father's office, which was a small private room in the back of the building. We worked on algebra until four o'clock and then made posters for about half an hour, using school supplies from the church. Before I left for work, we took a break. Paul played the piano while I ate a slice of rhubarb pie, which his mother made and left at the church for us every day. After I left for work, Paul went back to school to put up posters for both of us. I got home much later than usual during that week because I had to make up for lost time. I stayed at the gas company after work until I finished my homework. Papá got angry even though I explained to him why I was
late. Mamá understood and calmed him down every time.

I was upset when I found out I was running against George Harshbarger for president. He had helped me with Junior Scandals, and now I was his rival. I sought him out and told him how I felt. "Don't be silly," he said. "May the best man win."

On the day before the elections, George and I had to give speeches before a school assembly. In the past, candidates for student body president had presented humorous skits before their speech. One rode into the gym on a small tricycle, followed by his friends, who dressed as hillbillies. His opponent rode a mule. I did not feel comfortable putting on a funny skit, so I asked Paul if he would play the piano. He agreed. At the assembly, George was introduced first. He sang with his trio and gave his speech. I was so nervous I did not pay attention to what he said. I went next. My heart raced and my legs trembled as I gave the shortest talk in the history of Santa Maria High School. "I am a man of few words," I said. "Please vote for me." I paused for a few seconds. Then borrowing from the school's motto, "Enter to Learn, Go Forth to Serve," I added: "If you elect me I will go forth to serve all of you." I gave Paul the sign and he played the first parts of "Cielito Lindo" and "When the Saints Go Marching In," the school's theme song. The audience broke out in applause. I sighed with relief. I was glad the assembly was over.

Students voted all day Friday and that afternoon the results came in: Paul and I had won. Ernie DeGasparis, another friend of ours, was elected vice president and Linda Spain, secretary. We were so excited that instead of going to the public library after school to study, we drove straight to Leo's Drive-in on North Broadway to celebrate. Paul and I sat in the car, drinking Coke and talking about the campaign, the assembly, and the election. We relived and savored every moment. I then dropped Paul at his church and I sped home to tell my parents before going to work. I felt like flying. I turned into Bonetti Ranch and passed Manuelito, who was just getting home from school. He yelled out, "Way to go, Panchito!" I waved and smiled proudly. As soon as I drove by Joe and Espy's house, I saw Torito rush out their door. He was crying hysterically.

"What's wrong?" I asked, hugging him. "Why aren't you home?"

"Papá ... Papá hurt himself," he said, shaking and out of breath.

"How? Where is he?" I exclaimed, terrified.

"He cut his hand real bad. Roberto and Mamá took him to the hospital and left me with Joe and Espy." He took a deep breath. "It's my fault," he continued, sobbing.

"What do you mean?"

"I was helping him cut wood for Bonetti on the power saw in the shed. I picked up a board to put it on the saw.
Papá thought my hand was going to touch the blade, so he pushed it away and caught his on the saw." He started crying again.

"It wasn't your fault; it was an accident," I said, trying to calm him down. We got in the car and rushed to Santa Maria County Hospital, which was a few blocks from the high school. We checked in at the front desk and went to his room. Papá lay in bed, white as the sheets. His right hand was bandaged. Mamá sat on his left side, stroking his gray hair and crying. The front of her yellow sweater was stained with blood. Roberto, Trampita, Rorra, and Rubén stood around the bed, heads down and sobbing.

"He cut off his finger," Mamá said, quivering.

My throat tightened like a knot. I approached the bed and kissed Papá on the forehead. "I am sorry, Papá," I said.

He looked up at me and grinned. "I've lost part of my body,
mijo,
" he said. "It doesn't matter; it's old and useless." His voice was weak.

"Don't talk like that," Mamá said. "You know that isn't so."

Papá glanced at her and smiled. He then turned to me and asked, "How are you,
mijo?
"

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and responded, "I am fine, Papá." Trying to cheer him up, I added, "I got good news, Papá. I was elected student body president and my friend was elected treasurer."

"That's good,
mijo,
" Mamá said. Roberto, Trampita, and Torito congratulated me.

"I don't know what it all means," Papá said with a blank look on his face, "but I am happy for you."

I left the hospital and went to work that evening feeling full of both joy and sorrow. By the time I finished cleaning the gas company, I was emotionally exhausted. I felt like a bird caught in a storm.

The day Roberto brought his girlfriend Darlene home to meet my parents, I knew he was serious. He had been dating her for over a year but had not brought her home before. My parents somehow knew Roberto had been going out with the same girl on a regular basis, but they never talked about it. This was normal. We never talked seriously about girls and sex at home. But my brother and I always shared our feelings. He told me about her the day after their first date. We were cleaning A. J. Diany, a construction office, and he was whistling and singing like a canary. "
Qué te pasa?
" I asked. "Did you eat birdseed?"

"Darlene is beautiful," he responded, swirling the mop like a dance partner. "Wait till you meet her. She's smart and looks like Elizabeth Taylor." He glowed as he talked about her. I thought he was exaggerating, until I met her.
She did look like Elizabeth Taylor. She had large green eyes, olive skin, and long, jet-black hair combed back in a ponytail. I knew they really loved each other because they continued to date even though her stepfather did not like Mexicans. He used to call Roberto "pepper gut" behind my brother's back just to upset Darlene. He tried to discourage Roberto from dating her by insisting that she be home by midnight. My brother never told her stepfather how happy this made him. He brought Darlene home by eleven-thirty because he had to be home by midnight too.

My brother's face was white as a ghost's and his thick lower lip quivered as he introduced her to our family. Papá and Mamá shook her hand and bowed. Papá signaled to my smaller brothers and sister to leave. They excused themselves and went outside to play. Roberto and Darlene sat across the kitchen table from Mamá, Papá, and me. "
Se parece a
Dolores del Río," Papá said. Darlene smiled nervously and glanced at Roberto.

"Papá says you look like Dolores del Río."

"She is a pretty Mexican movie star," Mamá said, noticing Darlene's puzzled look.

"Thank you," Darlene said, turning red and looking down.

Papá folded his hands on the table and stared at Roberto, waiting for my brother to break the long silence. Roberto glanced at Darlene, looked up at me, swallowed,
and said, "Papá, Darlene and I are getting engaged and we want your blessing."

The words shot out like bullets. I was sure he had rehearsed them many times. Papá and Mamá looked at each other in surprise. Papá cleared his throat, ready to respond, but Mamá quickly placed her hand on Papá's right hand and burst out, "Of course you have our blessing."

Papá bit his lower lip and nodded in approval. Roberto sighed in relief and smiled. Darlene understood the answer.

My whole family, especially Mamá, got excited whenever Roberto brought Darlene home to visit. Even Papá, whose moods continued to get darker every day, cheered up when she came. Her visits were like a tonic for him.

At the beginning of the summer before my senior year, Roberto and Darlene got married with her mother's approval but against her stepfather's wishes. My family was happy for them, though worried about how we were going to make ends meet. My brother was concerned too, so he got an extra janitorial job to help us out, but he could not continue beyond the first month. He needed the extra money to attend night classes at Hancock Community College and to pay the medical bills for Darlene, who was expecting a baby. He took a wood shop class to build needed furniture for their one-room apartment. Darlene also worked part-time washing dishes at St. Mary's Hospital.

Without Roberto's help, my family struggled even more to make ends meet. Papá became more depressed and often went into the shed, staying there for hours, like a prisoner in a cell. Mamá tried to comfort him. "God will provide; you'll see,
viejo,
" she would say. She prayed in front of the faded picture of the
Virgen de Guadalupe,
which hung above their bed. I worried too and began to get headaches. "You're just like your Papá, always worrying," Mamá said when she saw me taking aspirin every morning. "I am sure we'll make it." She was right. Torito and Trampita got jobs picking strawberries for Ito; she took care of babies of working families living in Bonetti Ranch and did ironing for them; I increased my hours at Santa Maria Window Cleaners, working from six in the morning until midnight. In the early morning I cleaned the Western Union and Betty's Fabrics. During the rest of the day I helped Mike Nevel clean houses—doing windows, washing walls, stripping and waxing floors. In the early evenings I did my regular chores at the gas company and late evenings I worked with Mike cleaning the Standard Oil Company, which was located on the outskirts of Santa Maria.