by Kate Banco
Papá doesn’t let go for a long time. Paco comes out from the kitchen to say goodbye. “Compadre, vaya con Díos. If you need anything don’t hesitate to give us a call. If you have car trouble between here and Tijuana please give me a call. I can come and get you, no problem.”
“Gracias, muchas gracias,” Papá tells his friends.
“Hijo, do you have Paco’s phone number?” He asks me.
“Sí, Papá. Paco gave me the number here and his cell number. I’ll keep it safe.”
“Time to go, go get Abuelita and tell her we will leave in a few minutes,” he tells me.
I turn to shake Paco’s hand to say goodbye and give my thanks, and he pulls me into a hug. I can feel his tears on my shirt. My mother’s death has made other people sad as well. He passes me off to Teresa and she gives me an even bigger hug. Their concern for our safety and well being leaves them weak.
I leave and go upstairs to get Abuelita. I know the good byes will continue while I’m gone. If I have to give more hugs today, I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold in the tears. I find Abuelita asleep on the sofa. She wakes when she hears the sound of the door closing.
“Ya?” She asks.
“Sí, Abuelita. We are leaving now. Do you have everything prepared? How can I help?” I say.
“Hijo, you are such a great help to us. I don’t know what we would do if you weren’t here. Your Papá needs so much help, and that need will continue when we arrive in the United States. We all will depend on you a lot.
I help Abuelita in to the car. Papá tells me to sit in the front seat with him, so I can show him the map and I can also see better.This gives Abuelita and Memo more room in the back seat to stretch out.
This morning when Paco gave me directions, he also gave me some money. He told me he’s not sure Papá understands it may cost us money to cross the border. He told me to hang on to the money in case we get in trouble. He also gave me a cell phone to hide. He said I might find myself in a situation where I have to make the decision whether to call him or not because he’s afraid Papá won’t call and ask for help. The charged phone has enough minutes to call for help or to get a tow truck, but not enough to have long conversations. He told me to save the phone for emergencies only.
I have the directions and the phone in my pocket and hope my father doesn’t find out. It would make him angry to know his friend gave me money.
Paco told me to take the Transpeninsular out of town in the direction of Ensenada. I should tell my father the highway is the only way to Ensenada. I hate lying to Papá, but we need to get north and if we continue on back roads it could take us forever. I tell Papá to take the highway and he doesn’t ask why. He continues down the main highway and looks a little relieved to have someone tell him which road to take. I look back and see Memo and Abuelita have already leaned back and closed their eyes. Each one cuddled into their corner. Memo looks so calm, and I hate the thought of him getting the bad news about Mamá. I wonder how long we can postpone giving him the news.
We are only a few kilometers away from Ensenada when I start to see toll road signs. I know Papá doesn’t want to pay for tolls so I ask him to pull over while I look at the map.
“Can we stop somewhere we can see the ocean?” Abuelita says.
“Hijo, look for a place to stop where we can see the ocean.” Papá says.
I have no idea where that would be. I look at the map and try to find a different road to take. ”Let’s pull off at the next gasolinera and ask. It will be easier. The map only shows the major highway.”
“We need to get gasolina, good idea,” Papá says as he slows to take an exit with a gasolinera sign.
Chapter 11
La Frontera
We exit the Pemex station with instructions from the attendant there. He looks at us with disbelief when we say we don’t want to stay on the Transpeninsular. He tells us we will be in Tijuana in no time if we stay on the highway. I try to explain to him why my father doesn’t want to travel on the highway, but he still walks away shaking his head. He finally agrees to give us directions to get to the coastal route to Puerto Nuevo.
We drive until we see a sign that reads, Recinto Portuario, or commercial harbor. We wind past the center of Ensenada on our right and see a big white wall on the left. Behind the wall is the commercial harbor where cruise ships and large cargo ships dock. On my right I see some of the shops beckoning to tourists with their blankets, Mexican flags and beach toys. It would be nice to stop and walk around the cobblestoned streets of Ensenada. I know I need to focus on the map and help get us to our destination in Tijuana, no time for fun today.
I glance at the map and find a small village a few kilometers away and try to search for signs leading us there. We miss the first exit, but I see the next exit is for Puerto Nuevo. I tell Papá to take that exit and hope they marked the road after the exit. We leave the larger city of Ensenada and start to pass a lot of roadside stands with similar items for tourists. This area looks like a nice place to meet new people and especially meet people from other areas. I see so many cars with American license plates. Many young people walk along the streets dressed for the beach. I can’t remember the last time we went to the beach. There are lots of minivans filled with families and cars with young couples. People are here on vacation, not on a trip to move to the United States.
We pass through some small villages with craftsmen along the road. They wait with furniture and Talavera for someone to buy their wares. A parent or grandparent passes the craftsmanship skills of making the Talavera ceramics down to the next generation. I recognize their tired faces and look of despair. I wonder if that look of despair makes people make rash decisions. The same decision my father has made to cross the border to go north to try their luck at making a living as manual laborers or farmworkers. Papá says he thinks he can find work picking fruit or working in the fields and I have no idea what that means. Is it possible that as soon as we cross the border he will find work and our lives will be better?
“¿Hijo, dónde estamos? Where are we? Do I need to turn or keep going?” Papá asks.
“We keep going until we get to Puerto Nuevo, the man at the gasolinera said it is a good place to stop for a rest. It is a small village with restaurants and lots of places with cold drinks. I think Abuelita and Memo will enjoy a rest,” I say.
“Okay, hijo. You know I’m following your directions. You are the only one who can help us get to the border,” he says as he pats my hand.
“I know Papá, don’t worry,” I say. But I think to myself, I don’t want this responsibility. I want to stop at the beach and enjoy this trip. I don’t want to be the only one in the car who can read a map or road sign. I want my mother to be with us on this trip, she would make sure we get there safely. I look out the window to hide my trembling lip, and I won’t cry. I can’t cry. If I start crying now the tears won’t stop and I can’t let others see my grief.
Ahead of us, I see a sign for Puerto Nuevo. The landscape starts to change. Large palm trees sway with the ocean breeze and I start to smell garlic. Why in the world would this village smell of garlic? Then I see the colorful handprinted signs posted on fences telling us to find the best langosta at Pepé’s. Lobster? I’ve never had lobster and I don’t think I will have it today either. The next sign says the cheapest langosta is at Maria’s. Which would you choose, the cheapest or the best? That must be why it smells so strong of garlic here. This village is known for langosta, and brings a lot of Americans to town.
I tell Papá to pull over and we start looking for a parking spot. It’s Sunday and the village seems to be full of families eating dinner together. Large Mexican families, American tourists and other tourists speaking other languages, and I’m not sure where they are from.
Abuelita and Memo stretch as they get out of the car. We have been on the road for an hour. They have no concept of how long it will
take. They want to take every opportunity they can to get out of the car. We walk toward the centro and are all curious and want to stop and look at everything. Memo sees other children with plastic toys and sun hats their parents bought them. He starts to ask Papá if he can get a toy when Abuelita signals him with her finger saying no. Memo looks disappointed and I wonder if I should use some of the money Paco gave me, but I realize we will need it later on.
Papá sees a horchata stand and says, “Let’s get a cold drink, then we can eat some of the food Teresa packed for us. Who wants horchata?”
I see a stand with fresh fruit drinks and say, “I prefer agua de sandia. It costs the same. How about you Memo, what do you want?”
“Jamaica, I want jamaica like what Teresa gave us,” he says with a smile. “Mamá likes jamaica too; if she were here she would order that.”
Papá hands me some coins to buy the cold drinks. I see Abuelita walk behind Papá to the horchata stand and put her hand on his shoulder. She is trying very hard to comfort Papá, but they are both so sad. I ask myself if this grief will ever go away.
I buy the two drinks and take Memo’s hand.
“Let’s walk down to look at the ocean, we’ll give Papá and Abuelita a chance to drink their horchata seated at one of the tables.”
Memo is happy to walk with me to the end of the market to take a look at the ocean. We look out over a cliff and see the beach down below. The life we live is so different from the people down on the beach, they all look so happy and relaxed. I’m not sure we will ever feel that way, but I know it won’t be for a long time.
Memo looks back to see where Abuelita and Papá are and tells me he’s going to run back to sit with them. I look to make sure I can see them and tell him to go ahead. I’m also a part-time mother to Memo. I need to watch out for him now more than ever.
The t-shirt stands and swimsuit stands line the street back to where Abuelita and Papá sit. I try not to look at all of the new clothes and inexpensive souvenirs. Like most sixteen-year-olds I’d like to buy myself something, but know that in a few days I won’t need a shirt with a lobster on it but it would be fun to have a shirt like that.
When I get back to the table, I see Papá has bought a beach ball on a string for Memo. Papá looks sad, but the smile on Memo’s face helps us all realize how much we need to see Memo smile and laugh.
The car sits in the hot sun and we open all the windows before getting back in. Papá starts the car and tries to move it to the shade for a few minutes. Shade is hard to find but he can get out of the direct sun. Abuelita opens up the packed food Teresa sent. The fruit is warm and unappetizing, the tortillas we eat without thinking about it. We ate breakfast only two hours ago. But the idea of eating the lobster or being able to buy lunch at one of the taquerias makes us hungry. We are hungry enough to eat the warm tortillas. We finish our cold drinks, and Abuelita rinses out the cups with water from a jug in the back of the car. The water is already too warm to drink, we will need to get to our destination soon or stop to eat and drink. Maybe Papá can buy an ice chest, but that isn’t on his list of purchases for the day.
The seats in the car are still hot when we decide to continue our journey. There is a breeze from the ocean, but the mid-day sun is scorching. If we had taken the main highway we would be very close to Tijuana now.
The coastal highway is interesting and we can stop along the way.
We follow the road to the next town of Rosarito, another tourist town. It’s like other Mexican towns except it has a large hotel. At the entrance we can see the beautifully tiled building. We don’t stop but I wish we could stay there like the other tourists. The main street in Rosarito has more souvenir shops and taco vendors. On the street, we see tourists walking the dusty sidewalks looking for cool drinks. Many places have signs for margaritas, cervezas and mojitos. I see a lot of girls my age walking in groups of two or three with their shopping bags. They wear sunglasses, skimpy sundresses and silly hats, and this isn’t how the girls dressed in Lazaro Cardenas. Under the dresses it’s obvious they are wearing swimsuits or bikinis. I get a little distracted watching the young girls.
“Ricardo, where do we go now? Do I keep going?” Papá asks.
“Sí, Papá. Straight ahead. From here we need to get back on the highway to Tijuana. It’s the best way that I can see.”
“Hijo, you will have to help me, you know that. If you help me I think I can do it,” he says.
“Claro, Papá. Of course, I’m right here. We can get there together, don’t worry.” I say as I pat his hand.
I look at the map and decide the place to cross in Tijuana is the Port of Entry of San Ysidro. The highway there goes right through downtown Tijuana. I worry we will get lost or Papá will get confused.
“Okay Papá, this is what we are going to do. We will follow the signs to San Ysidro, but it goes right through Tijuana Centro. We need to be careful and follow the signs okay? If we get lost, we will ask for help at a gasolinera. The next exit is what we need to take,” I say and hope I’m right.
The exit from the highway to enter Tijuana is a surprise to me. Along the right side of the highway perched on the hillside, I see small shacks. Outside each casita I see children playing in the dirt. We lived in a small casita on the ranch, but we had more space and more greenery around outside. These houses, which aren’t called houses, they have no space between them and no place for children to play. Abuelita gasps when she sees the children playing. Papá doesn’t see it because he focuses on the highway. I know Abuelita worries we could end up in a place like that. What if America isn’t a better place to live?
As the highway curves past the small mountain of houses, we see the city of Tijuana. The first thing that impresses me is how big it is. It is non-stop buildings and streets and in the middle of it is a huge Mexican flag waving at us. I have the feeling San Ysidro is where I see the flag and it is very far away.
Papá slows down when he sees the size of Tijuana. The fear of driving through such a large city is clear on his face. The car slows until others behind us start to honk their horns.
“Papá, you can’t slow down, you have to keep going with the traffic or they will hit us. They aren’t slowing down,” I shout.
“No puedo I can’t,” he says as he pulls the car over to the side of the road.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“You have to drive, hijo. I can’t,” he says as he puts his hands over his eyes. “It’s too much, I can’t do it. You have to drive.”
“Papá, I’ve only driven on the ranchito. I’ve never driven on a highway or in a city. I don’t think I can do it,” I whisper. I don’t want Abuelita or Memo to hear the fear in my voice. They can already see Papá is unable to continue.
“You can do it. I know you can. I’ll help you,” Papá says.
“I don’t know if I can, but I’ll try,” I whisper.
“Let’s switch, you drive and I’ll sit there in the seat next to you and help,” he says quietly.
I take a deep breath and open the passenger door. We are barely off the pavement and the cars whiz by us at a tremendous speed while honking their horns. Papá tries to open his door but has to watch for traffic. We both maneuver our way with difficulty to change seats. He climbs over to the passenger seat while I scoot under him to get into the driver seat. It’s hot and we are both sweaty but we manage to change our places.
I look in the rearview mirror and see the look of horror on Abuelita’s face. I know she didn’t think her sixteen-year old grandson would be driving us through Tijuana. Memo is unaware of any problems.
“Ok, I need to watch for any signs for the US Border, anything you see with an American flag, ok? They must have directions for people who don’t speak Spanish.”
I start the car and put it in gear. I’m thankful this car is an automatic. I’m not sure I could change gears in the middle of
Tijuana. I watch for a lull in traffic and edge my way back on to the highway. I decide if I see American license plates I will follow them. It’s possible they are going back across the border. In the meantime I’ll watch for signs. The flow of traffic suddenly slows and see we are entering downtown Tijuana. Memo starts to get excited when he sees burros on the streets. Some painted like zebras, and they look hot and abused. Their owners hold signs trying to get tourists to pay to get pictures with the painted animals. People walk along the sidewalks carrying shopping bags and school backpacks with small children in tow. It must be lunchtime and the children are being picked up for lunch.
I look to my right and see Papá is trembling. He is almost in tears and I don’t know what to do. The only thing I can do is get us to San Ysidro and across the border. I decide to ignore him since I’m the one who can make it happen. If I stop to comfort him, none of us will make it across the border.
All traffic stops at a red light and I have time to look at the map. It doesn’t help because I can’t see street signs. Ahead of me, I see a car with California license plates. What are the chances they are going home? I’m going to follow them and maybe I won’t have to worry about finding my way. I tell Memo to watch the red car in front of us and to tell me if they turn and I don’t see it. I will see it first but want someone to help me through this. He can watch for the red car and it will keep him busy. Both Papá and Abuelita look totally overwhelmed.
We are in the left-hand lane and I notice the red car’s turn signal is on to move to the right-hand lane. I’m not sure I can follow. I watch how they do it, looking for an opening in the traffic and I try to slide over at the same time. A car behind me blasts the horn but lets me move to the center lane. That wasn’t that hard, but I had help from the car in front of us. I need to follow them. I watch and see the driver put the right-hand signal on again, and I do the same. In the intersection ahead I see the right lane exits to San Ysidro. I knew my plan would work.
