by Anne Schraff
A look of pain and sadness came over Naomi’s face. Ernesto wanted to tell her to be strong, just to ignore the note and the roses. But he knew it wasn’t his place to say such a thing. He had an ulterior motive. He wanted Naomi for himself. But to himself he whispered, “Girl, be strong. Don’t weaken . . .”
Naomi stood there, looking at the roses. Each one was perfect. “He must have spent a fortune,” she remarked in a broken voice. “Oh Ernie! This is so hard .. .”
CHAPTER TWO
By the time Ernesto got home, he had a message on the home phone’s answering machine. “It’s just too soon,” Naomi said in the message. “Thanks for asking me, and it woulda been fun. But I think it’ll be easier for me and Clay to get over our relationship if we don’t hook up with anybody else for a while. Sorry, Ernie.”
Badly disappointed, Ernesto plopped own on the sofa in the living room. His grandmother was watching a nature special on television with Ernesto’s sisters, eight-year-old Katalina and six-year-old Juanita. Ever since Abuela came to live with Ernesto’s family, she and the girls were inseparable. Abuela’s spending so much time with the girls freed Mom up so that she could finish her children’s book. Now that it had been sold to a publisher, she had time to text back and forth to the illustrator about what the pit bull and the cat in the book would look like. As the illustrator made rough drafts, Mom looked at them on her computer. It was such an exciting time for Ernesto’s mother. She loved being a wife and mother, but never until now was her personal life so compelling. Ernesto was happy for her.
But he felt really bad about Sunday. Ernesto drifted outside, to the yard.
Dad was sitting outside on a redwood bench, going over tests from his classes. As the natural light faded, he put the tests away and admired the starry skies. “I’ve finished grading my American history tests, and now I can admire the constellations,” Dad told Ernesto with a smile.
Ernesto sat down next to his father on the bench. “You know, Dad,” Ernesto confided, “me and Naomi were planning to go to that festival in the park Sunday. But when I brought her home from school today, she found a dozen red roses and this big, drippy note from Clay. He wants to get back with her.”
Dad frowned and commented, “I hope she ignores it.”
“No,” Ernesto sighed, “she cancelled Sunday. She got this real sad look on her face when she read Clay’s note. Then she told me how hard it was to break up with him. I think she’s weakening, Dad.”
“You can’t do anything about it, mi hijo,” Dad advised. “I know you care about the girl. I know you’re worried about her, but it’s a decision she has to make. Of course, it’d be a terrible mistake for her to go back with a boy who punched her in the face. But you’ve got to remember the family she comes from. Her father doesn’t treat her mother with respect, and that’s how Naomi has grown up.”
“Naomi talked to me about that, Dad,” Ernesto replied. “She said her father is rude and sometimes unkind to her mother, but he never hit her. That’s what Naomi told me. She said that was one of the reasons she split with Clay. She said she didn’t want to live in fear.”
Dad looked away from the sky and pressed his fingers into his closed eyes. Then he looked at Ernesto. “What she told you was not entirely true, Ernie. She may think it’s true, but it isn’t.”
“What isn’t true?” Ernesto asked in alarm.
“That Felix Martinez never hit his wife,” Dad explained. “It was before we moved to Los Angeles, around Christmas, when all the neighbors got together for a party. Felix had been drinking a lot. I don’t know what triggered the argument, but he hit Linda. They called Padre Benito from Our Lady of Guadalupe Church. He arranged for Mrs. Martinez and the children to go to a shelter for a few days. Then Linda came home with the children, and they reconciled. Naomi was too young to remember, but the older boys remember I’m sure, Orlando and Manuel.”
Ernesto felt sick. “Why did she come home?” he asked.
Dad sighed. “Breaking up a marriage when there are four children. Ernie, Naomi’s mother never worked. She was very young when they were married. Felix has always supported her. She was frightened to be on her own in the world with the niños.”
“I wonder if he ever hit her again,” Ernesto asked.
“I don’t know, Ernie,” Dad admitted. “I’m sure he’s come close. Orlando, the oldest boy, left home when he was seventeen after some big argument. He hated his father, probably because of what was going on in the house. He got out of there as soon as he graduated high school.”
“Where’s Orlando now?” Ernesto asked. “Maybe he could talk to Naomi and convince her she’s making a big mistake to go back with Aguirre.”
Dad shook his head no. “Orlando has been estranged from his family for a long time. We weren’t here when he took off. But Emilio Ibarra told me the boy was forbidden by his father to ever come near the house again. It was a pretty big thing. Felix Martinez calls him ‘my evil son.’ There’s another boy too, Manuel. He’s about nineteen. They kicked him out of the house. I understand he’s hanging around the barrio somewhere now. It’s a tragic situation for families to break up like that.”
“It’s just that Naomi is such a great girl, Dad,” Ernesto said. “You should have seen how she was helping Yvette today. She was a regular little mother hen. She deserves a decent life. If she takes Clay back, then she’s like walking in her mother’s footsteps. And that makes me feel so bad.”
“Yes,” Luis Sandoval acknowledged, “Linda Martinez has let herself be mistreated. The saying goes that what you allow you encourage. Linda has encouraged Felix to be unkind.”
“Dad,” Ernesto asked, “suppose you were in my place and you cared about a girl like Naomi. Would you just give up on it or would you keep on trying?”
“Mi hijo,” Dad answered softly. “I confess to you that I am answering as a father who wants the best life for his son. You are perhaps harming your own future by persisting. You are becoming involved with a girl who has already permitted herself to be rudely treated by a young man. I feel sorry for her as you do, but your happiness is more important to me. I think being with Naomi will only cause you pain”
“Well, thanks for being honest, Dad,” Ernesto said, getting up.
In the late afternoon on Saturday, Ernesto found Dom Reynosa and Carlos Negrete painting their mural under the supervision of Ms. Polk. He stopped to admire the beautiful colors that were emerging. “Great job, you guys!” he told them as he approached them. Ernesto’s father had gotten the boys to paint the mural on the blank wall of the science building. He did it because they were taggers and potential dropouts, and he wanted to keep them attending Cesar Chavez High School. The mural had given them a reason to stay in school. Ernesto’s father struggled daily to keep kids from dropping out of school and from being sucked into the hopelessness of the streets.
“Yeah,” Dom nodded, “thanks.”
As the boys worked, another boy came down the sidewalk and stopped. “How come you dudes’re painting pretty pictures here at school when you could be makin’ money on the street?”
“Hey Damon!” Carlos greeted the boy. Carlos turned to Ernesto, “This is Damon Benes. He’s a homie. We had a few business deals goin’.”
“Good luck, suckers!” Damon called over his shoulder, laughing and walking on.
When Damon was gone, Dom made a comment. “Gotta admit one thing. That dude always has plenty money.”
“He used to go to Chavez, right?” Ernesto asked.
“Yeah,” Carlos responded. “He dropped out when he was a sophomore. Know what, Ernie? Lot of the homies are ticked off at your old man. They’re mad ’cause he’s always walking around messing with the street corner deals and stuff. They’re sayin’ teachers should stay in the classroom and leave the streets to home boys.”
“When my dad was a kid around here,” Ernesto explained, “he had two really good friends. They ended up bad because nobody cared enough to save them. One went to p
rison, and the other overdosed. Dad doesn’t want that to happen to other kids if he can do something about it.”
Then Ernesto asked the question he’d come over to ask. “You guys ever run into Manny or Orlando Martinez around here?”
Carlos and Dom looked quizzically at each another. Dom replied, “I never heard of no Orlando, but Manny is a wannabe gangbanger.”
Ernesto felt the pit of his stomach turn cold, as if a lump of ice had fallen into it. Nodding his head in a silent thank-you, Ernesto headed over to Hortencia’s restaurant and tamale shop. His father’s youngest sister ran the restaurant, a successful business. Ernesto didn’t feel like eating anything, but he wanted a soda. After greeting his aunt, he sat down on one of the stools. Then he recognized a familiar face next to him.
“Hey, you’re Oscar Perez, that great singer I heard at Carmen Ibarra’s party,” Ernesto said.
Perez was a handsome six footer with long, curly, black hair and flashing eyes. He grinned and looked at Tía Hortencia. “You hear that, baby? I’m great. The boy here just said so.”
Ernesto couldn’t believe Oscar Perez was addressing his aunt, but there were no other girls around.
“Yeah baby!” Tía Hortencia chuckled. “Don’t I always tell you you’re great?” She leaned over and planted a kiss on the young man’s cheek.
Ernesto was stunned—Tía Hortencia and this singer? Ernesto remembered his Abuela scolding her youngest daughter that she was in her early thirties and not yet married. Hortencia did say something about having a boyfriend who was a musician. But Oscar Perez—who was creating a buzz all over southern California?
“You’re coming to the festival tomorrow, eh dude?” Oscar asked Ernesto.
“I was figuring to, but my girlfriend changed her mind, so now I don’t know,” Ernesto answered.
“Ah,” Oscar laughed, “get another girl-friend!”
Hortencia added, “Oscar, this is my nephew, Ernesto. He’s my brother’s child.” Ernesto and Oscar shook hands, and Oscar added a hand grip.
“Ernie, you gotta come,” Oscar urged him. “It’s gonna be so much fun. Carmen will come with you. You call her up, muchacho.”
“Maybe,” Ernesto replied, finishing his soda. He bid good-bye to his tía, said “It was nice meeting you” to Oscar, and walked out of the shop.
On his way home, he felt happy that his bright, bubbly tía had found such a cool guy. But he didn’t feel like going to the festival if Naomi wasn’t with him. He didn’t even think it was fair to call Carmen. He liked Carmen as a friend. But she might think he liked her more than he did if he called her. It wasn’t fair to use her just so that he could go to the festival.
In spite of what his father or mother had said, Ernesto could not get Naomi off his mind. He couldn’t accept the fact that she would get back with Clay Aguirre. Clay wasn’t right for her. If Clay was a good guy and Naomi just liked him better than she liked Ernesto, that would be fair enough. Ernesto wouldn’t be happy, but he could accept her decision. But Aguirre was no good for Naomi. He was no good for any girl unless he changed a lot, and Ernesto didn’t believe Clay could change in any way. Ernesto didn’t think people changed all that much. As the saying went, “The leopard can’t change its spots.”
On his way home, Ernesto noticed a bunch of guys outside the deli. He didn’t recognize any of them by name, but he’d seen them around. He used to see Carlos and Dom hanging with them sometimes. So he figured they were taggers, maybe gang wannabes, or—worse—gangbangers.
“Hey,” one of them shouted, “you Sandoval’s kid?”
The guy who yelled was tall with a shaved head. He was one of two guys with shaved heads and a lot of tattoos on their arms and shoulders. They probably thought that made them look tough. It did, Ernesto thought. Several Sandoval families lived in the barrio, including Dad’s two brothers and their families.
“Which Sandoval?” Ernesto asked.
“The teacher,” the tall guy answered.
“Yeah,” Ernesto admitted.
“Listen, man,” the tall guy advised, “you tell your father to keep his nose out of where it don’t belong. We don’t need him snooping around, you get my meaning?”
Ernesto didn’t want to mix it up with these guys. For one thing, there were four of them. For another, they looked like they probably had switchblades or even guns. It seemed as though every punk on the street had a gun.
Ernesto didn’t say anything. He just kept on walking. Then one of the guys called out to him. “I seen you with my sister.”
Ernesto turned sharply. He stared at a gaunt young man with a haunting resemblance to Naomi, especially in his eyes. “Who’s your sister?” he asked, afraid he already knew the answer.
“Naomi Martinez,” the boy replied. He still looked vulnerable. He was still a kid. Maybe a year from now he’d be as hard and cold as the others, but right now he was still a boy. “She your chick man?”
“No,” Ernesto responded, “but she’s a friend.”
“She won’t have anything to do with me,” Manny Martinez explained. “Our old man sees to that. But she’s a good kid. Listen man, next time you see her, tell her Manny says ‘Hi,’ okay? You tell her that her brother says ‘Hi.’”
Ernesto nodded. He wasn’t surprised that Felix Martinez had a kid like Manny. It was sad, but not surprising. There was not a lot of love in that house. That Naomi was as she was, that was the surprise. That was the miracle.
Ernesto didn’t know whether he would relay Manny’s message to Naomi. She had enough on her plate. He didn’t look like the kind of a brother who could do her any good. Maybe, Ernesto thought, he’d just let it go.
When Ernesto got home, he texted Naomi. Maybe she’d changed her mind about going to the festival tomorrow. Maybe, by some small chance, those dozen red roses had lost their power by now. Naomi didn’t text Ernesto back. Ernesto thought about asking Carmen, but he didn’t. He decided he wouldn’t go to the festival.
After dinner on Saturday night, Ernesto sat with his parents at the dinner table. He announced, “Did you guys know Tía Hortencia is dating this new singer, Oscar Perez?”
Mom grinned. “She told us. She’s so excited. He’s really nice and down-to-earth. When they go dancing, they do the tango. She wears this beautiful red dress, and they’re amazing.”
“Have you met this guy, Ernie?” Dad asked.
“Yeah, Dad,” Ernesto replied. “I talked to him at the tamale shop. He’s pretty cool. I saw him sing at the Ibarra house, and I really liked him. In person, he’s warm and funny.”
“He’s kind of a big shot,” Dad commented, a look of concern on his face. “He travels around with a trio, and he’s got big plans for the future. His group is made up of Chicano musicians, a little bit like Los Lobos. Los Lobos is iconic now, mixing Mexican and American music. That’s what Oscar does. I hope my little sister knows what she’s in for.”
“Hortencia is a strong girl,” Mom affirmed. “She’s got her eyes wide open. If Oscar Perez is for real, then she’ll give her heart to him. If not, she’ll just go along for the ride and have fun. You needn’t worry about that girl, Luis.”
A moment later, the family heard the crackling sound of crashing glass and a couple of thuds. Juanita screamed, and Katalina came running from Abuela’s room.
Luis Sandoval jumped up and went to the living room. Somebody had thrown a sizable chunk of concrete through the picture window. The concrete lay on the carpet, surrounded by shattered glass. Ernesto’s father threw open the front door and looked down the street. He hoped the culprits were still there, driving or running off, but no one was in sight.
“Luis, be careful!” Mom cried. “Don’t go charging down the street!”
“I didn’t hear a car,” Dad was thinking out loud. “They must have come on foot and pitched the thing at the window, then run off, maybe down the alley. I can’t believe somebody would do this.”
Juanita was crying, and Mom took her in her arms. “It’s a
ll right, baby. It’s all right now.”
Abuela Lena stood in the hallway, staring at the mess on the floor. “We must call the police at once. This could have been a tragedy. What if the children had been in the living room? What if somebody had been hit in the head by the cement? Whoever did this is a criminal, a terrible criminal. They must be punished.”
“Yes Mama,” Ernesto’s father said as he dialed 911. Luis Sandoval was a strong man, but his voice shook as he described the incident to the dispatcher. They said a police unit was on the way.
Mom, still holding a softly weeping Juanita in her arms, wondered, “Who would do such a thing? We have no enemies. We’ve had no trouble with anybody.”
Maria Sandoval thought back to the several serious conversations with her mother in Los Angeles, before the family moved back here to the barrio. Both Luis and Maria had been born and raised in the barrio. Maria’s mother was concerned that it was a dangerous place with a lot of gangs and crime. Mrs. Vasquez, Maria’s mother, had not wanted the Sandovals to return here. But Ernesto’s father had lost his teaching job in Los Angeles during the budget cuts in the district. When he was offered a job at Cesar Chavez High School, they had no choice but to move.
“Dad,” Ernesto asked nervously, “I met some real bad-looking dudes on my way home from school. .. guys with shaved heads and tattoos. They wanted to know if I was your kid. They were ticked off about you going around the neighborhood talking to kids. They figured you might stumble across stuff they want to keep hidden.”
“Well, that probably had nothing to do with what happened tonight.” Dad dismissed the idea. “Anyway, I’m not going to let some sick punks stop me from trying to get kids off the streets and back in school. I won’t be ruled by fear.”
“Luis,” Mom asserted with a sharpness in her voice that Ernesto rarely heard from his mother. “It’s well and good that you want to save kids. But you can’t put yourself and your family in danger!”
