Breaking Through (14 page)

Every day that went by, I felt more and more worn-out. One night while I was cleaning the Standard Oil Company, I felt completely exhausted. I had a hard time keeping my eyes open. I went in the men's bathroom and
splashed cold water on my face and arms. I looked in the mirror. My face was haggard and full of blemishes. I had dark circles under my eyes. My pants felt loose around the waist, so I tightened the belt another notch. My reflection reminded me of Papá. I understood for the first time how he must have felt in his darkest moods. I dropped to my knees, buried my face in my hands, and cried.

Monday morning, the first day of school my senior year, I could not get out of bed. I had no energy and every joint in my body ached. For a moment I thought I was still asleep because I often dreamed that my legs were too heavy to move. I cried out for help. Mamá rushed in, wiping her hands on her apron, which was covered with white flour.

"Something is wrong with me," I said, trying to hold back my tears. "My whole body aches."

"Calm down,
mijo,
" Mamá said. "
Es una pesadilla.
"

"No, it's not a nightmare, Mamá," I responded. "Everything hurts!" Mamá sat at the edge of the bed and gently placed her hand on my forehead.

"You don't have a fever," she said. "Let me feel your stomach."

"It's not my stomach," I said. "It's my joints; they hurt when I move."

"When you were little, the skin on your stomach peeled off like it had been burned. You looked like a skinned rabbit," she said worriedly. "I want to make sure it's not that again." She pulled back the blanket and lifted my T-shirt. "No, it's not, thank God," she added, sighing in relief. Papá walked in, holding on to the door frame. His sunken eyes were bloodshot and his hair was disheveled. He looked like he had not slept in days.

"He's sick,
viejo,
" Mamá said sadly, glancing up at Papá. "He's been working too hard."

"He has," Papá answered wearily. "This life is killing us all." His eyes watered. He bit his lower lip and walked away.

I felt worse when I remembered that I had to clean the Western Union and be at school on time to welcome the incoming freshmen at the school assembly. "I have to get up," I said. Holding on to Mamá's arm, I slowly stood up. I felt dizzy and weak. I took a few steps but had to stop. I could not stand the pain in my joints and muscles. Mamá helped me back to bed.

"What about the Western Union?" I asked.

"Trampita and I will take care of it," she said, tucking me in. She brought me a glass of water and two aspirins. "You need to rest," she said.

I slept off and on that day and night, and the following afternoon, Mamá drove me to Santa Maria County Hospital.

"I believe you have mononucleosis," the doctor said after examining me.

"Mono
qué?
" Mamá asked, frowning and looking at me. I shrugged my shoulders. I did not understand what he meant either.

"It's a viral infection commonly known as the 'kissing disease,'" he added.

Mamá gave me a funny look. The doctor noticed her and chuckled. "It's called that because the disease can be transmitted by kissing," he said. "It doesn't necessarily mean your son acquired it by kissing." I smiled gratefully at the doctor.

"There's no treatment for mono," the doctor continued. "Get plenty of rest, eat well, drink a lot of water, and take aspirin for your body aches. You should also eat more. You're underweight."

I had a hard time staying in bed and resting. I kept thinking about school and work. I hated missing classes and falling behind. I was afraid to lose my job even though Trampita, Roberto, and Mamá had covered for me. Still feeling worn-out and achy, I dragged myself out of bed Friday morning. I took a long time to get ready. Pain shot up my legs when I moved quickly. I finished cleaning the Western Union after it had opened and was late for school. In study hall, I received a note to go see Mr. Ivan
Muse, the assistant principal in charge of student activities. I figured it had something to do with my duties as student body president. I entered his office, feeling anxious. "Frankie, what happened to you?" he said in his Texas drawl. His dark brownish green sport coat matched the color of his eyes. His receding hairline made him look older than he was. Before I had a chance to answer, he added, "Why weren't you at the freshmen assembly?"

"I've been sick," I answered.

"I can see that," he responded, looking me up and down. "But why didn't you call to let us know?" he added, raising his voice.

"I didn't know who to call. Besides, we don't have a phone." I felt embarrassed. "I am sorry."

Mr. Muse looked me in the eyes and after a long pause said, "I see." He softened his tone of voice and continued, "Well, we waited and waited for you to welcome the freshmen and when you didn't show up, we asked Ernie DeGasparis to do it. He did a fine job."

"I am glad," I said. "I am sure I couldn't have done as good."

"As
well,
" he said, correcting me. He must have noticed my face turning red because he quickly added, "Of course you could have done as well."

"Thank you," I said, feeling less uncomfortable.

"Let's get together next month to discuss the agenda for our first meeting with the delegate assembly," he said.
He stood up behind his desk and shook my hand. I was glad our meeting was over.

At the end of the day, I grew more and more tired and listless. I was behind in every course. In my P.E. class I suited up but sat on the bench because I did not have the energy or strength to work out. To make things worse, I did not see Paul Takagi all day. After school I went straight to the public library to study, but I could not concentrate. I kept worrying about all the homework I had to do and the little time I had to do it. At four-thirty I drove home to pick up Trampita. He was excited to help me clean the gas company and not have to work in the fields. Every few minutes I sat down to rest. As I watched him work I thought about how I took care of him in our
Carcachita
when he was a baby while Papá, Mamá, and Roberto picked cotton.

As days went by, I could not keep up with my classes. My midterm grades went down and so did my spirit. I dropped my physics class. I became frustrated and angry. "Perhaps Papá was right when he said he was cursed," I told Mamá one day when I felt like giving up. "Maybe I am cursed too."

"No,
mijo,
" she said firmly. "You mustn't believe that, not for a second. Things will get better for you; you must have faith." When she saw I was not responding, she continued. "Remember Torito?"

"What about him?" I asked impatiently.

"Remember when he was sick? The doctors thought he was going to die, but I never believed it. We prayed to the
Santo Niño de Atocha
for a whole year and..."

"And he got well," I said.

"Right," Mamá said, putting her arm around me. "Now you know what you must do."

I began praying on a regular basis once again. Slowly I began to recover and after four weeks I felt much better. Trampita continued helping me at the gas company and Mike Nevel gave him two places to clean on his own, a coffee shop and a pet store. This brought our family extra income, which we badly needed.

Even though Paul Takagi and I could not study together in the public library after school anymore because he had a job in his church, I managed to bring up my grades and carry out my duties as student body president, which were not many. I met with student representatives to the delegate assembly and tried getting everyone involved in promoting school spirit. It was frustrating at times because students did not want to participate in student government.

The only regret I had about being student body president was having lunch with the Rotary Club at the Santa Maria Inn.

After one of our delegate assembly meetings, Mr. Muse informed me that I had been invited to have lunch at the Rotary Club meeting on the following Tuesday. I had no idea what the Rotary Club was, but I figured it was important because Mr. Muse told me to wear a coat and tie. That evening when I got home from work I told Papá and Mamá that I needed to buy one.

"That luncheon is an expensive event," Papá said, frowning. Mamá's eyes shifted back and forth, looking for a response.

"What did you say the name of the club was?" Papá asked.

"Rotary," I responded.

"
Roto,
" he said, amused. "How can it be important if it's
roto?
"

"It's Rotary," I repeated, chuckling, "not
torn.
"

"We can buy a jacket at J.C. Penney. It's not too expensive," Mamá said. "Panchito should have a nice coat. He'll get a lot of use out of it."

"I will!" I exclaimed, supporting Mamá's efforts to convince Papá.

"He'll have it for a long time. I don't think he'll grow any more," she said, glancing at me and grinning. I pouted, pretending I was upset. We both laughed and looked at Papá.

"Well, if you want to buy it, go ahead," he said. "But it'll have to be on credit."

I went with Mamá to J.C. Penney and tried on different coats. I liked a dark blue one, but when we checked the price tag, Mamá and I convinced ourselves it did not fit right. We finally settled on a dark green and brown checked coat that was on sale. We looked for ties to match and found a perfect one, but I could not tie it because I did not know how. I ended up getting a clip-on. We also bought a white shirt. Tuesday morning when I wore my new outfit, Papá told me I looked important.

At the end of the last class before lunch, I headed for Mr. Muse's office. I was to meet him there to go with him to the Rotary Club luncheon at the Santa Maria Inn, which was right across the street from the high school.

"You look very nice," Mr. Muse said as I walked into his office.

"Thanks," I responded, focusing on his beautiful dark blue suit. I noticed his tie was not a clip-on and wondered how he tied it.

"What's the Rotary Club?" I asked, remembering Papá's comment and chuckling to myself.

"It's an international club for business and professional people, like the mayor of Santa Maria and the president of Bank of America," he responded. The thought of having lunch with so many important people made me nervous. As we approached the inn, I noticed colorful flowers, shrubs, and ferns all around the building. Mr. Muse buttoned his coat as we entered. I buttoned mine too. The lobby was full of men dressed in suits or sport coats standing in small groups, drinking, talking, and laughing. The noise got louder as more men came in. Mr. Muse excused himself to say hello to a friend. I put my hands in my pant pockets and walked around, admiring the stained-glass windows and the paintings on the warm wooden walls. I then went out to the patio. It was filled with sun and shade. The gentle sounds of water cascading from the fountain reminded me of the creek that ran behind our cabin in the cotton labor camp in Corcoran. I went back in the lobby and looked for Mr. Muse. I spotted him standing by himself. I walked up and stood by his side. "We'll be called pretty soon," he said, glancing around the room. Then a short, pudgy man ringing a cowbell bolted out from the middle of a crowd.

"Time to eat!" he shouted. "If you're not in the dining room by the time I count to ten, you'll have to pay a fine." Laughter and hoots filled the air. The men moved quickly to the dining room. Mr. Muse and I lined up behind them. "One ... ten!" the man with the cowbell yelled in Mr. Muse's face.

"It's not fair. You didn't count to ten," Mr. Muse said, laughing and turning red like a tomato.

"You owe me two bucks," the man hollered. "One for being late and another for talking back!" Mr. Muse took out his wallet and gave him two dollars. The man went around the dining room making up reasons for fining people. Everyone thought it was hilarious, but I did not understand it. I thought important men were supposed to be more polite and mannerly.

Mr. Muse and I sat at a table with two other men who talked about business. Mr. Muse mostly listened and peppered their conversation with brief comments. Once in a while they glanced at me and smiled. I nervously smiled back. I looked at the table setting and was confused when I saw two forks, one smaller than the other. I waited for Mr. Muse to start. He picked up the small fork. I did the same. I followed every move he made, hoping he would not notice. When the dessert came, I sighed. I knew the lunch was soon to be over. I looked out the dining room
window into the courtyard and watched a man pulling out weeds on his knees. His face was dark and weather-beaten. He reminded me of Papá. I felt a knot in my throat. The ringing of the cowbell pulled my attention back inside. Everyone's eyes focused on a man behind the podium who identified himself as the president of the Rotary Club. After making endless announcements, he welcomed visiting Rotary Club members from other cities and began introducing invited guests, who stood up as their names were called. As soon as I heard my name I jumped up, and, before he finished introducing me, I sat down again.

"He's the student body president at Santa Maria High School. Come up and say a few words, Frankie," he said, motioning with his hand for me to approach the podium. "Tell us something about your school." I was shocked, terrified. I did not know I had to speak. I sat petrified, wishing that I had heard wrong.

"Go on," Mr. Muse said, giving me a gentle shove. I slowly walked up, went behind the podium, and grabbed on to it. I felt dizzy and had a sudden pain in the side of my stomach. I could hear my heart pounding as I glanced up at the audience. My mind went blank. I could hear my own silence. My face felt on fire and my legs trembled uncontrollably. Words slowly began to come out of my mouth, but I had no control over them. Spanish words wove with English words like braids. I knew I was not
making any sense when I saw Mr. Muse frowning and staring at me as though he were seeing an animal with two heads. I finally managed to stop myself from babbling. I caught my breath, said a few words about student government, and rushed back to my seat, wishing I could disappear.