Breaking Through (17 page)

All summer, I marked off the days on a calendar that hung on our kitchen wall. The calendar had a picture of a colorful Aztec warrior standing guard over an Aztec princess whose eyes were closed; both were dressed in plumed and colorful costumes. One morning I asked Papá and Mamá if they knew the story behind the picture.

"Vaguely," Papá said. "I think the warrior thought the princess was asleep, but she was dead."

"No, she wasn't dead," Mamá said. "She was asleep and the warrior protected her while she dreamed." I liked Mamá's answer better and I wondered what the princess dreamed about. For each day I crossed out, my excitement and anxiety grew stronger.

The day I had been waiting for finally arrived. It was Sunday of the first week of September. I woke up at dawn feeling excited about making the trip to Santa Clara. This was the first time in my life I did not feel sad about moving. I quietly got up and went in the shed to bathe in the aluminum tub. Soon I would be taking hot showers in college, just like I did in my P.E. classes in high school. By the time I had finished getting dressed, Mamá was already preparing breakfast and the lunch for our trip. I went back to my room and began sorting and folding my clothes, trying not to disturb Torito and Rubén, who were still asleep. They slept together in the twin bed next to mine, which I had shared with Roberto when he lived
with us. Mamá walked in with Rorra and woke up my brothers. "Time to get up,
flojos,
" she said, pulling the blankets off of them. "Look, Rorra is already up." My sister stood next to Mamá looking smug. The boys moaned, rubbed their eyes, and pulled up the covers. "Come on,
mijos.
You've got to get going if you want to come with us to take Panchito to Santa Clara." Torito and Rubén jumped out of bed.

"Rubén looks like a chihuahua dog in underwear," Torito said, laughing and pointing at my youngest brother. Rubén made a face and stuck his tongue out at Torito.

"
Ándale, malcriado,
" Mamá said, chuckling and pinching Torito's behind. He leaped like a rabbit and ran to the kitchen. Rubén and Rorra ran behind him. Mamá picked up one of my shirts and began folding it. She was quiet and pensive until she heard Papá.

"
Vieja! Vieja!
" he shouted from his room.

"Yes,
viejo,
I am coming!" Mamá hollered, placing my shirt in the box. She smoothed it with her right hand and sighed. "Papá needs help getting dressed," she said. "I'll be right back." Rorra followed her like a shadow. A few minutes later, Mamá returned carrying a bundle of new clothes. Her eyes sparkled and she was smiling from ear to ear.

"What's this?" I exclaimed.

"I bought you some new clothes," she said excitedly. "I wanted to surprise you,
mijo.
"

"Thank you!" I said. My eyes watered. Mamá tried to hold back her tears as she handed me the clothes: two pairs of pants, one navy blue, one black; a couple of short-sleeved shirts; three pairs of white underwear; and a pair of low, black, pointed boots.

"You like them?" Mamá asked hopefully.

"Of course," I said, "but..."

"How did I pay for them?" she said, anticipating my question. "
Ay,
Panchito,
como eres Preguntón.
You've always been nosy; always asking questions, even when you were a little boy," she said, chuckling. "You're worse than your father." She paused, thought about it for a moment, and added, "Okay, I'll tell you. I've been saving a little bit every week from groceries. But don't worry,
mijo,
they didn't cost much. J.C. Penney had a good back-to-school sale."

"Thank you, Mamá," I said, giving her a hug.

At that point, Trampita came into the room. He had just returned from cleaning the Western Union and Pat's Pets.

"Thanks, Trampita," I said. "I wouldn't be able to go to college if you didn't take over my job."

"Don't feel bad," he said, trying to cheer me up. "I get to keep your car. Now, if you gave me those
nice
boots, we'd be even," he added.

"What's wrong with my boots?" I said.

"With those sharp toes you can kill cockroaches in corners!" he said, snickering.

I picked up one of the boots and threatened to throw it at him. He flew out of the room, laughing. Mamá went back to the kitchen to check on my brothers and sister. I continued folding my clothes and putting them in the box. After I finished packing, I wrote a note to Trampita to thank and surprise him. I placed it underneath his pillow, along with my copper pyrite rock for good luck. I then carried the box out to the car and loaded it in the trunk. The cool fog caressed my face. I took a deep breath and went back inside the house.

Mamá grabbed me by the arm and took me aside. "Papá is in a really bad mood," she whispered. "He hates to see you go. But don't let it get to you. Be patient with him like you've always been."

"Don't worry, Mamá, I understand."

Papá sat at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette and staring out into space. Once again, he looked haggard. His eyes were puffy and red. I greeted him and sat across from him to eat breakfast. He glanced at me and feigned a smile. Mamá stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes. She kept shifting her weight from one leg to the other, trying to ease the pain from the swelling of her varicose veins.

"
Ándele, viejo, coma algo,
" she said tenderly, trying to get Papá to eat something. He finally drank a glass of milk
and ate cottage cheese with bananas. He liked to eat dairy products because he said they helped ease his stomach pains.

Everyone was ready to leave. We secured the front door with a padlock and stood outside by the car, waiting for Roberto, Darlene, and Jackie to arrive to say good-bye. As soon as I saw them, I felt a lump in my throat. My brother parked his car behind ours. His eyes turned red and watery as we approached and hugged each other. We were silent. Each one of us knew what the other was feeling.

"You'll see each other for Christmas," Darlene said, rubbing my brother's broad shoulders with her right hand.

"Where's little Jackie?" I asked, finally letting go of my brother and wiping my tears with the back of my hand.

"She's asleep in the back seat of the car," Roberto answered. His thick lower lip quivered.

Darlene went to the car and brought little Jackie, wrapped in a pink blanket, in her arms. I gave the baby a light kiss, and she opened her eyes and cooed. "That's your favorite uncle," Darlene said to Jackie. "Say hi." The baby smiled.

"
Vámonos, pues,
" Papá said impatiently, motioning to us to get going. Mamá, Trampita, Rubén, and Rorra climbed in. Papá slowly slid into the passenger's seat, wincing and holding on to Roberto's muscular arms. I got in the driver's seat, secured the door, and drove away, waving good-bye. The car bounced up and down as it hit
the potholes in the dirt path leading out of Bonetti Ranch. A pack of stray, skinny dogs followed us, barking at the wheels and waking up the few neighbors who did not work on Sundays.

The sun was beginning to come up over the hills as I turned onto East Main Street and headed toward Santa Maria to catch highway 101. A few minutes later, I glanced at the rearview mirror. Mamá had fallen asleep with her right arm around Torito, Rubén, and Rorra. I fixed my eyes ahead on the long, straight road, which cut through hundreds of green fields that stretched for miles on either side. It looked like a black strip on a plush green carpet. At a short distance, to my left, I saw several men and women picking strawberries on their knees and children playing near old, dusty cars parked at the edge of the field. I glanced at Papá, who winced as he napped on Trampita's shoulder. I felt sad and then angry. I clenched the steering wheel and hit the accelerator. The car jerked and woke up Papá.

"Slow down, Pancho!" he said angrily. "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing, Papá, I am in control." I took my foot from the accelerator and lightly pressed on the brakes.

"In control, nothing," he said, holding on to the dashboard.

"Look, we're almost in Santa Maria," I said, trying to distract him.

"Sure, we'll be in the cemetery in no time, if you keep driving like this," he said.

"What's wrong?" Mamá said, waking up.

"Ask your son," Papá said, annoyed. "He thinks he's in a car race."

"I got distracted," I said apologetically.

"Let me drive," Trampita said. "You must be too tired."

"I'm fine," I responded. "You need to rest; you'll be driving all the way back to Santa Maria."

As we entered the city of Santa Maria and went by a large, two-story brick house, Mamá said, "Look at that house to your left. Every time I go by it, I wonder what it's like to live in it. Actually, I wonder what it's like living in a house, any house. Maybe someday,
si Dios quiere.
"

Papá mumbled something under his breath. Mamá quickly added, "Oh, I don't mind where we live now. It's better than the old garages or tents where we used to live. Maybe Panchito will buy us a house when he finishes college and makes a lot of money.
Verdad, mijo?
"

"Right," I responded, wanting to please Mamá. I had no idea how much money teachers made or how much houses cost.

Driving by Main Street Elementary School brought back memories. It was the same school where I failed first grade because I did not know English well enough and where I had received first prize for my drawing of a butterfly. I felt the same sorrow and happiness I felt then,
even though many years had gone by. At the corner of East Main and Broadway, we turned right. Along the way I saw store windows that I had cleaned for Santa Maria Window Cleaners. As we approached the Santa Maria Bridge, I remembered the pain I felt in my chest every time we crossed this bridge, at the end of every summer, on our way north to pick grapes and cotton in Fresno. But this time I felt excitement, not pain—the same feeling I had as a child when my family and I took the train north from Guadalajara, crossed
la frontera,
and entered California.

I speeded up, crossed the bridge, and headed north to Santa Clara. I was going to college. After so many years, I was still moving.

Breaking Through,
the sequel to
The Circuit,
is autobiographical. It spans crucial years of my young adult life, beginning with the deportation of my family and me back to Mexico. Relying heavily on memory, I selected those meaningful events and experiences in my life that built up to an integrated pattern. I recounted them in chronological order from the perspective of the teenager I was then. I made use of my powers of imagination and invention to fill in small details that I have forgotten with the passage of time. For example, when I could not remember exact words of some conversations, I created dialogue, and I added description to capture my impressions and reactions to particular events and experiences.

In addition to relying on the power of memory, I used other valuable resources to write my book. I interviewed family members and looked through family photographs
and documents, including deportation papers, which I obtained through the Freedom of Information Act. I also made use of my junior high and high school records and read through
The Breeze,
the Santa Maria High School student newspaper, and the
Santa Maria Times.
I also visited the Santa Maria Historical Museum.

I wrote this sequel to pay tribute to my family and teachers and to document part of my own history, but, more importantly, to voice the experiences of many children and young adults who confront numerous obstacles in their efforts to "break through ... and become butterflies." How they manage to break through depends as much on their courage, hope, and God-given talents as it does on the loving, compassionate, and generous people who commit themselves to making a difference in the lives of children and young adults.

 

José Francisco (Trampita) and Roberto, picking plums in Orosi, California

 

Francisco, José Francisco (Trampita), and Roberto, Tent City, Santa Maria, California