Read Sammy and Juliana in Hollywood Online
Authors: Benjamin Alire Saenz
And one more thing I remember—Gigi’s arms around me and she kept kissing me on the cheek. “We won! We won! Sammy, we won! God, Sammy, can you believe it?”
Yeah, Gigi, I can believe it. We won. We won.
When I went home that night, I sat on the front porch. Mrs. Apodaca came over and told me I smoked too much. I nodded. Then she shook her head and said that she didn’t agree with what we’d done. “You think you’ve done something? Dressing disrespectfully? You think that’s a good thing?” She started to walk away, and then she turned around. And she had a huge grin on her face. “It feels good to win, doesn’t it?” Before I could say anything, she’d disappeared across the street.
I found myself talking to Juliana.
You should’ve seen it, Juliana. It was all so beautiful.
I had this
dream, clean, soft, like dew in the morning light. In the dream, I was sitting on my porch, and everybody I knew was walking by, everybody, and there wasn’t any difference between the living and the dead. That was the good thing about dreams. So, everyone is passing by, waving, Hi, Sammy, Hi and the sun is soft and I’m happy just to sit there and watch. God, I’m happy. But there aren’t any sounds, no sounds at all. It was like I was deaf. Maybe I was dead. Maybe that’s when you’re really happy—when you’re dead. And the people passing in front of me, they were the ones who were alive. My mom, she passed by and waved. And she was walking toward my dad, who was up the road. She looked so beautiful, my mom, the same way she looked before she got sick. Mrs. Apodaca, she passed by, and she was wearing a hat like she was going to church. Juliana passed by, too. And she was happy, and when she waved at me, it was like there wasn’t any more sadness in her. I thought she was as pure as anything I’d ever seen—but just when I was about to reach out and take her hand, she disappeared. And then Elena and Gabriela, those two little girls, they came wandering by, and they were holding hands, and when they saw me, they waved. Hi, Sammy. I could see their lips moving.
And the last one to march by was Pifas. He looked the same, his fine black hair falling into his eyes, the way it always did. He wasn’t wearing
a uniform, just a pair of jeans and a white shirt. God, his shirt was white. White. And when he waved, his smile disappeared, and then he had this look, this awful look, and then he looked at his hands.
Pifas, he looked at his hands—and they were gone. And there was blood everywhere. Blood.
I woke up sweating. Staring at my hands. In the dark.
In the morning, when I woke, I forgot about my dream.
I’d never left home before. Not ever. Staying out of the house all day—that didn’t count. Watching the sun rise over the Organ Mountains from the river after having stayed out all night—that didn’t count as leaving home. Didn’t count. I knew that. I remember that afternoon—clear as an empty bottle of Pepsi. Clear as Mrs. Apodaca’s voice praying a novena. Clear as the look on my father’s face when he looked at me.
I sat there, thinking about home. Hollywood, that was home. Las Cruces, this house I’d lived in all my life. My room no bigger than a monk’s. Home was everything that could fit in my room. A bed, a desk, that’s all that fit. More like a big closet, really. But it was all I’d ever known. Part of me wanted more. But part of me could have stayed in this house forever. I could still smell my mom in this house. I swear I could. My dad, he’d saved some of her clothes in his closet. Maybe that’s why her smell was still in our house. My dad didn’t know—that I knew about my mom’s clothes.
This was home.
I wondered what it would be like to leave, what it would be like to be homesick. Maybe I was thinking about home and about leaving because I was holding a letter of acceptance in my hand. A letter from a university, a real American university. Not that it mattered. I wasn’t going.
I knew that, but damnit it felt good to get accepted. But it felt bad, too. I don’t even know why I’d applied, a waste of time. Maybe I sometimes had these demons of optimism that just took over my body. But then, life, well, life just sort of exorcised those demons. And I was back to my serious, get-real-you’re-just-a-guy-from-Hollywood attitude. That’s what you needed to survive. Otherwise you’d break. Like Reyes. Maybe that’s why he did heroin—because his dreams were too big. And the only way he could get at those dreams was through shooting some stuff up his veins.
I put the acceptance letter away. Before my father saw it. He’d just get upset. Get mad at himself for not making more money. I didn’t want that. He had enough to worry about. And he hadn’t been feeling well. Not that he said anything. I knew him. Just like he knew me. I knew him.
There were two other pieces of mail I got that day.
I was sitting there studying the other two pieces of mail. Mail for Sammy. Sammy Santos. That’s what it said on both of the envelopes. A letter from Jaime, and a letter from Pifas. They, they knew what it was like to leave home. Not that I was envious. Not really. I mean, I didn’t want to be in Nam and I didn’t want to be in Jaime’s shoes. I mean, both of those guys had bigger troubles than I did. I mean, Jaime had been sent away because of what he held inside. “To protect him,” that’s what my father said. I thought maybe it was the other way around. Maybe it was us who needed protecting. From people like him. That’s how people acted anyway. And Pifas, Pifas was fighting a war. Getting shot at. God, I thought of him every day. My Dad and I, we watched the news every day—and the war didn’t look good. Made me want to cry. And who in the hell would want to go? And who could blame all those guys for burning their draft cards? And me? Hell, I wouldn’t be eighteen until
September. By then I’d be in college. At the local college. Oh yeah, poor Sammy, disappointed because he didn’t have enough fucking money to go to Princeton or Stanford—B.F.D. Big Fucking Deal. No, I didn’t have troubles, I didn’t. Didn’t stop me from feeling sorry for myself.
My only real problem. Which letter to open first. Which one? Not that it mattered that much. I guess I just wanted to enjoy the moment. Hell, I never got letters. Never. I poured myself a Pepsi over ice. I lit a cigarette. I stared at the two letters on the kitchen table. Two letters. Both of them for Sammy Santos. I closed my eyes. I opened them. So finally I decide to read Jaime’s letter first. Because it was from California. Because Jaime’s handwriting was neater. Because, hell, I don’t know why.
Dear Sammy—
Sorry I haven’t written. I’m not much of a writer, guess that’s more your bag. Anyway, my mom gave me your address so I thought I’d drop you a line just to let you know I’m doing okay. Not great, Sammy, but okay. I live with my uncle. His house isn’t all that big here in East L.A. And I have to share a room with two of my cousins. I get along with them all right. They’re a little younger than me. They keep asking why I came to live with them. My uncle tells them that I got into a little bit of trouble. He makes them think I’m running from the law or something. Makes me look like a tough guy. Not that I haven’t gotten into my share of fistfights. And my uncle’s just trying to help. I guess that’s okay. He’s cool, my uncle. He told me not to say anything. He said just keep my mouth shut about everything. He says no one can tell the way I am by the way I act. He says that’s good. He’s real nice to me. Real nice to his kids, too. Lot nicer than my old man, that’s for fuckin’ sure.
But I miss my mom. She’s a good lady, and I think, well, hell, I don’t know what I think. I miss her, that’s all. I’m going to school and working part-time at a taco/burrito place. Don’t laugh. I mean, it’s a job and I’m saving money, and school’s okay. Not too hard. I have to go to summer school and then go to school next year—at least through the fall semester if I want to graduate. That’s cool. I don’t really care. I just want to finish. Save money. Get my own place. I mean, what else is there for me to do? My uncle says I can stay here until I graduate. He promised my mom. But after that, I’m on my own. It’s hard for him, I know. Small house. An extra kid. And I’m queer. Yeah, well, it’s true. You probably don’t want to hear it. That’s cool. And maybe my uncle just doesn’t want me around after I graduate. He’s doing this for my mom. I know that. Not that he’s not nice to me. He is.
It’s real different here than Las Cruces and Hollywood. I guess I never really realized what a small town Las Cruces was. And hell, Hollywood is so small it wouldn’t even qualify as a neighborhood here. But I miss it, Sammy. It was home. And I can’t go back there, I know. Not ever. I guess after I graduate sometime next December or whenever, I guess maybe I’ll move out, maybe go to college. My grades are pretty good and I always wanted to go to U.C.L.A. So who knows? The world’s a big place. Just find your place in it. That’s what my mom said.
So how’s it going in Hollywood? When I tell people that the barrio I grew up in is called Hollywood, everyone here laughs their ass off. I guess I don’t think
it’s so funny. But they do. Listen, I guess I don’t have all that much to say. I’ve written to René but he hasn’t written back. Written him twice. Gigi wrote. God, she’s really great, huh? If you hear from Pifas, tell him I said hi. Tell him I moved to California, but don’t tell him why. He doesn’t need to know. No one needs to know.
I haven’t heard from Eric. I’ve written to him a bunch of times. Maybe his aunt is intercepting his mail. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll never hear from him again. I guess I should just forget about him. I think probably that’s a smart thing to do.
Listen, take care of yourself, Sammy. Not that I need to tell you that. If anyone’s ever going to make it—it’s going to be you. Everybody’s always known that.
Your friend,
Jaime
No, not a long two pages but a sad two pages, I think. I read the letter three or four times. Yeah, it was sad. But I thought maybe he was going to be all right in the end. So, he had some problems. Leaving Hollywood didn’t make your problems disappear. And that part about me making it. Well, that was funny. That was real funny.
I finished my Pepsi, then got myself another. Man, I loved drinking Pepsi. Everyone in Hollywood drank Coke, but not me, I drank Pepsi. I lit a cigarette. Then I opened Pifas’ letter. His handwriting wasn’t nearly as neat as Jaime’s but there was something about it—I liked it. There was a raised fist at the top of the letter—hand drawn. And under it, he’d written, “Fuckin’ A, Sammy.” Crazy. The guy was nuts. What in the hell was he doing fighting a war?
Ese Sammy—
Today I was todo agüitado. I mean, I was down. Down, down, baby. I mean, bummed out. Bummed outa my fuckin skull and shit. Maybe it’s because my patrol leader es bien gacho. Sammy, I mean gacho. A gacho gabacho. He’s from Maine. Fuckin Maine—you should hear him talk. Baby, that’s some shit he talks, but it ain’t fuckin English. What an asshole! ¡Híjole! If I get my ass shot, he’s not fuckin gonna cry. Nope. Just one less pfc to take care of. Not that he takes care of me, just fuckin yells at me that Charlie’s gonna shoot all our asses cuz someone like me’s not paying attention. He fuckin laughs. Thinks it’s funny that a Mexican like me comes from a barrio called Hollywood. Fuck him. See what I mean. Today, I’m one pissed off mother. I am, Sammy. It’s just that I’m tired. Damn, I’m tired.
It stopped raining today. Rains all the damned time, Sammy. People in New Mexico don’t know shit about hot. Not till they’ve been to Nam. So it’s not raining today and I have two days R&R unless something happens. Something always happens. And it’ll rain again. God, Sammy, I just wanna sleep. So that’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna sleep. I’m gonna get loaded, and then I’m gonna sleep. Look, I’m not fuckin gonna talk about what’s happening here. I figure you know as much as I do. No T.V.s here, Sammy. All I know is what I’m told to do. And damnit, I do it. Just one thing, Sammy. You go to college, and you fuckin stay there. I don’t want you dreamin blood the way I fuckin dream blood. Maybe someday, you’ll tell yourself, God, I could fuckin kill that sonofabitch.
Killin him ain’t gonna do shit but give you dreams. Some guys here, they dream bad. You ever seen a dog dream? They whine, and they whine, and they tremble like they’re gonna fuckin fall apart. That’s how it is with some of the guys here. They dream like that.
Gigi writes. Man, Sammy, I love that girl. I do. I asked her, I asked her if I made it home, would she marry me. She said she’d think about it. That she’d really think about it. I think that’s a good sign. I mean, if Gigi wanted to, she’d tell me just to go fuck myself. So, I figure that if she’s thinking about it, that’s a good sign.
Don’t you think so, Sammy?
Listen, sometimes I tell myself I’m gonna make it, and go back home, and kiss the fuckin ground. And kiss Gigi and marry her. I love Hollywood, Sammy. I love that place. I never knew I could love a place like that.
Look, if you go out with René and Reyes or Jaime, have a beer for me. And if you run into any of those chucos from Chiva Town, kick their asses for me.
Da le gas. Da le mucho gas, baby.
Pifas
I put out my cigarette. Pifas hadn’t heard about Reyes. That he was dead. He didn’t know about Jaime either. Hell, I wasn’t gonna tell him. Not me. The hell with it. Let him think that everything was just the way he left it. That’s what he needed to think. Why the hell not? A place always stays just the way you left it. Yeah.
I finished my Pepsi.
I tried to picture Pifas in Viet Nam. I tried to picture what he looked like. All I could see was a boy on a bus who looked fifteen. With big hands. Pifas at the bus station. But I couldn’t picture him in a uniform. Okay, I’d seen that picture he’d sent Gigi but it was like he was just playing. It was just a game. But it wasn’t. I watched the evening news with my father. That’s what we did, my dad and me, watched the evening news. And Walter Cronkite, with that kind voice of his, he would tell us how many soldiers had died. But he never told us why. And anyway, they weren’t soldiers, not to me. They were just guys like Pifas. They weren’t all that different from me. Or maybe I was just kidding myself. What the hell did a guy who’d never left Las Cruces, New Mexico, know? I didn’t know jack shit. I kept staring at Pifas’ letter. It’s like I just couldn’t stop staring at his words. It was like I was in love with his words. I was in love with them. And then, I see my little sister standing next to me.