Breaking Through (15 page)

"I am sorry, Mr. Muse," I said as we walked back to school. "I was so nervous, but..."

"Yes, you were," he said, interrupting me.

"But I didn't know I had to speak," I responded, trying to justify my poor performance.

"I didn't either," he said apologetically. "Don't worry about it. Forget it."

I tried to forget it, but I could not. Every time I relived that experience, I got angry with the president of the Rotary Club.
He should have asked me ahead of time,
I thought. I dreamed about that lunch often and when I did I was glad to wake up. In one of my dreams I gave the talk entirely in Spanish. It was clear and smooth. That time I was sorry to wake up.

At the beginning of the second semester of my senior year, many of my classmates were excited about going to college. They talked about it in the library, the cafeteria, and study hall. Some were going to the University of California at Santa Barbara or UCLA. Others got into Fresno State but were waiting to hear from Berkeley. I did not share their enthusiasm. I had to stay home and continue helping my family. Whenever they asked me what college I was planning to attend, I told them Cal Poly San Luis Obispo. I did not tell them when because I did not know.

On Wednesday, February 17, I was called in to see Mr. Robert Penney, one of the counselors for the senior class. As soon as I walked into his small, clean office, he stood up behind his desk and introduced himself. He was a tall,
thin man with sparse black hair, a wide forehead, large blue eyes, and perfect white teeth.

"Let's take a walk to the cafeteria," he said, picking up a folder. I followed him, trying to keep up with his quick, long strides. "Would you like some coffee?" he asked as he poured himself a cup.

"No, thank you, I don't drink coffee."

"Good for you," he responded. He took several sips, refilled it, turned around, and headed out to the parking lot. "Follow me," he said.
This is strange,
I thought. He went up to a white Volkswagen van, unlocked it, and asked me to get in. He started the motor and picked up a tobacco pipe from the dashboard, packed in fresh tobacco, and lit it. "I've got a few errands to make," he said, handing me the folder. "We can talk on the way. I hope it's okay with you. He shifted to high gear and drove down Broadway.

"Sure," I said. I had no idea what he had in mind.

"What colleges have you applied to?" he asked as he parked in front of the Bank of America.

"None."

"You're joking." He took a puff and placed the thick black pipe on the ashtray.

"I am not," I said sadly, looking out the window. "I can't afford it."

"Sure you can," he assured me. I have a few scholarship applications for you to fill out. They're in this folder.
Take a look at them. I am going to the bank. I'll be right back."

I opened the folder and leafed through the pile of applications: the Madrinas Club Scholarship, Bank of America Scholarship, Lions Club Scholarship, Santa Maria Valley Scholarship. I gulped when I saw the one for the Rotary Club. I pulled it out and placed it at the bottom of the pile. I continued looking through them until Mr. Penney returned.

"I consulted with your previous counselor, Mr. Kinkade," he said, sliding into the driver's seat. "We agreed you have an excellent chance of getting some of those scholarships. Now, let's talk about colleges." At this point I wanted to explain my situation at home, but Mr. Penney kept on talking. I did not interrupt him because I knew it was bad manners. "The application deadlines for some have passed, but I'll check when we get back to my office. You'll also need to take the SAT. I've signed you up for it." He paused for a second, chuckled, and added, "You have a lot of work to do!" At this point I felt tired and discouraged. He looked at me from the corner of his eye and said, "What's the matter? You don't seem happy."

"I appreciate your help," I said. "But even if I get all these scholarships, I won't be able to go to college. My family needs me."

"I know your family will miss you," he said sympathetically.

"No, I mean, I have to support them," I said. Mr. Penney looked surprised and confused. I felt uncomfortable telling him about my home situation because Papá had taught us to keep our family life private, but I thought he needed to know. After all, he was going out of his way to help me. I finished my story back at his office.

"I had no idea ... it's quite unusual," he said, scratching his forehead with the stem of his pipe. "But I am sure we can figure something out." He canceled his next appointment and wrote me an absence excuse for my next class, which was California history. He paced his office, holding his pipe in the palm of his left hand and rubbing it with his thumb. "What about your younger brother, the one you said sometimes helps you at work, what's his name?" he asked, looking out the window.

"José Francisco, but we call him 'Trampita.'"

"Could Trompita take over your job?" he asked, mispronouncing my brother's nickname.

"I hadn't thought of that!" I exclaimed. "I think Trampita can do it. He's been helping me a lot already and Mike Nevel likes him."

"Who's Mike Nevel?"

"My boss, the owner of Santa Maria Window Cleaners. I need to ask him." I then remembered I also had to ask Papá. My excitement slowly faded. Who knew what Papá would say? "I have to discuss the idea with my family and get my father's permission," I said. "It's not going to be easy."

"I'd be happy to talk with your father," he responded. "He doesn't speak English," I said. "Do you speak Spanish?"

"No, I don't. Look, talk to your family about this. Meantime, take those applications, fill them out, and bring them back to me during your study hall class next Monday."

That afternoon I went to work excited and hopeful. I finished cleaning the gas company and went home, happy but anxious.
I hope Papá is in a good mood,
I thought. As I walked in the door, Mamá greeted me and heated dinner for me. "I need to talk to you and Papá," I said, pushing my plate away. "Is Trampita awake? I have to talk to him too."

"Is something wrong,
mijo?
" Mamá asked. "No, I have to get your permission on something," I said.

"You're getting married," Mamá said jokingly. We both laughed. Papá came out of his room.

"What's all the noise about?" he grumbled.

"Panchito has something to ask us," she said cheerfully. "I'll go get Trampita. He and Torito just went to bed."

Papá sat at the kitchen table, lit a cigarette, and asked me to bring him a glass of water and two aspirins. I knew his mood was not in my favor. Mamá returned
with Trampita. My brother sat at the table next to me, facing Papá and Mamá.

Papá puffed on his cigarette and stared at his right hand with the missing finger. "Okay, what is it?" he snapped, breaking the silence.

I hooked my feet around the legs of the chair, locked my hands together underneath the table, and began telling them the plan Mr. Penney and I discussed. I avoided Papá's eyes while I talked and focused on Mamá's smile. When I finished, Papá grumbled, "Let's think about it." He bit his lower lip and shifted his body to the side, away from me.

"I can do it," Trampita said proudly.

"It's a wonderful opportunity," Mamá said.

"Didn't you hear me?" Papá shouted. "I said let's think about it!"

Blood rushed to my head. My knuckles turned white and ached, just like my jaw. Anger swallowed me and I could not escape it. "Think about what!" I cried out. "It's my only chance!"

"Your chance?" Papá fired back. His eyes pierced right through me. His lower lip bled as he bit into it. "It's your chance to shut up.
Eres un malcriado!
Don't they teach you respect at school, ah?"

Trampita excused himself and ran back to his room. Mamá signaled for me to stop, but I could not.

"It's my only chance!" I repeated, trying to hold back my tears.

Papá winced as he stood up. His face was as white as a ghost's. "Shut your mouth, Pancho, or I'll shut it for you," he said, shaking.

"Please,
viejo,
" Mamá said, moving closer to him.

"You stay out of it!" he yelled, pushing her away. He lifted his hand, threatening to strike her.

"Don't! Leave her alone!" I shouted instinctively. My anger turned into fear. Papá turned around and slapped me on the side of the face with the back of his right hand. I was stunned. My face felt like it was on fire.

"Stop, for God's sake!" Mamá cried out at Papá.

Papá gave me a pained look, hobbled to his room, and shut the door. I rested my head on the table and wept. Mamá sat next to me and put her arm around my shoulders.

"Are you okay, Panchito?"

I nodded. "Why can't he understand?" I said, wiping my tears and my runny nose on my shirtsleeves.

"He does,
mijo,
but he doesn't want to lose you too." Tears rolled down her face. "Your Papá wants the family to be together. He doesn't want his children to leave. First, Roberto left when he got married. Now, if you go to college, you'll leave too. It hurts him. It hurts him too that he can't support the family. His dream to earn and
save enough money and eventually to return to Mexico with all of us is gone."

"I think I understand, Mamá. But what about my dream?"

"I know what you mean,
mijo,
" she said, stroking the back of my head. "Have faith in God. I'll talk to your father tomorrow when he feels better. Remember, he didn't say no. That's a good sign. Now go outside to get some fresh air and go to bed. You need to rest."

I went outside and looked up at the stars. I felt a pain in my chest. That night I did not sleep and neither did Mamá. I heard her murmuring prayers for a long time.

On Friday morning I had a hard time getting out of bed. I felt tired and depressed. I skipped breakfast and went to work in a daze. The clicking noise of telegraph machines at the Western Union seemed distant. I went from class to class, not paying attention to anything that was said or discussed. After school, I went to the public library but could not focus on my homework. I thought about the night before and wished it had never happened. I took a walk around the library gardens, trying to figure out what to do. I thought about Papá and felt guilty. Perhaps I was being selfish. Perhaps I was not being fair to my family, especially Trampita. I walked back to the library, picked up my books, and headed for the gas company. While I dusted and swept the floors, I kept thinking of how tired and bored I was working for Santa Maria
Window Cleaners day in and day out. I did not want to do this for the rest of my life.

I went home late that evening, expecting everyone to be asleep. To my surprise, Mamá was sitting on the front steps waiting for me. As soon as I climbed out of the car, she ran up to me and gave me a hug. "
Mijo,
I have good news!" she said excitedly. "Your father has agreed!"

"Really?" I exclaimed. "Where's Papá?"

"In his room, asleep. He had a very hard day."

"You did it, Mamá! You did it! Thank you!" I said, jumping up and down.

"
Gracias a Dios y al maestro
Osterveen," she said.

"Mr. Osterveen, the Spanish teacher?" I asked, puzzled.

"He came this afternoon and talked to your Papá and me. He said your counselor..." Mamá hesitated, trying to remember his name.

"Mr. Penney," I said.

"Yes, Mr. Penney. What a strange name ... Why would they name him
Centavo?
Anyway, he asked Mr. Osterveen to talk to us ...
Es buena gente.
We couldn't believe that an important person like him would visit us. He and Papá talked about Mexico. His wife is from Oaxaca, you know, and he lived there for many years. He went on and on talking about college and you.
Habló como perico.
Papá and I didn't understand a lot of what he said about college, but we felt really proud about all the nice things he said about you."

We quietly went into the house. "I think I heard your Papá cough. He might be awake now," Mamá said. I slowly opened the door to his room and peeked in. He was lying on his back, still asleep, with both arms on top of the covers and crossed over his chest. I tiptoed in, kneeled on his bedside, and watched him. He looked haggard. I gently kissed his hands and thanked him under my breath.

That weekend, I filled out the scholarship applications and took them to Mr. Penney on Monday morning during my study hall period. After I thanked him for what he did to convince my father, he gave me some bad news: it was too late to apply to most colleges for the fall. "I suggest you apply to the University of Santa Clara," he said.

I had never heard of the University of Santa Clara. Mr. Penney must have noticed my lack of enthusiasm because he quickly added, "You'll like it. It's a lot like Loyola, my alma mater."

"Your alma mater?" I asked, not knowing what he meant.

"The school I went to in L.A.," he responded. "Santa Clara is small like Loyola. It has a good academic reputation."

"Smaller than Cal Poly?" I asked.

"Much smaller. You won't get lost there. It's a small Jesuit Catholic school."

The fact that it was Catholic attracted me. I knew Mamá would like it too. "Where is it?" I asked.

"Up north, near San Jose. It's only about 250 miles, so you'll get a chance to come home on holidays," he said. I was definitely interested. I did not want to be too far from my family in case they needed me.

"Can I get a job there?" I asked, thinking I could help my family.

"I know where you're heading with this," he said, smiling. "Sure, but you'll need to concentrate on your studies. You won't have time to work and get involved in extracurricular activities like you have here." Mr. Penney picked up his pipe, filled it with tobacco from a small pouch, and lit it. The smell of sweet cherry filled the air. "Are you interested in applying?" he asked, handing me the application.

"Yes!" I said enthusiastically.

"Good! I figured you would be." His eyes twinkled.

I glanced at the application. My heart sank to my stomach when I saw the deadline had past.