EL BARRIO

Continuing on with the best day of my life, Esperanza takes me to her house in El Barrio - and there I begin my education.

As I ponder this fascination with blinking lights, long forgotten memories of growing up in Brooklyn arise hazily from the corners of my mind. Blistering July and August days, so humid there would literally be steam rising up from the black tar streets, hanging out on the front stoop, gasping for a drop of wind, or air. Then sure enough, Victor Menendez and his little brother Gee-Gee, who lived in the apartment next door, would break out the wrenches to open up the ‘Johnny pump’ out front. Instantly, there would be all of us, a bunch of happy kids, jumping around gratefully in the torrent of gushing water. The force of it almost knocking us over until, inevitably, the Fire Department would arrive to shut it down. Amidst, of course, groans and shouts from the crowd. The old Italians would always complain about the “spics”, but, hey, they were the ones sweating.
The memories comfort me in a way, and I relax into them, the anxiety of being a stranger in an alien world, slowly dissipating. Turning off onto a deserted side street, we pull up into the driveway of a muted purple two-story house, which, although it could use a paint job, isn’t half-bad. In fact, this neighborhood seems almost suburban, I muse, as we get out of the car and head over to the front door. Esperanza takes out this clump of keys from her pocketbook, and proceeds to open up a number of locks. We enter a darkened hallway, the strong smell of Mr. Clean stinging my nostrils and watering up my eyes. We hop up the stairs until we reach another door, where this time, she unlocks, like, fifteen different locks. The door creaks open to a dimly lit room, and I immediately jump back. I’m startled by this, like, life-size Crucifix dominating the wall directly in front of me, and an equally life-like Jesus staring down from it. Blood pouring from his puncture wounds! Holy shit, that looks too real! For a minute, I feel like I’m Pontius Pilate on Judgment Day. It’s so bizarre. Right below the cross is a kind of altar. An imposing figure of the Virgin Mary, rosary beads dangling from her outstretched hands, standing there. A row of prayer candle votives cast spooky shadows over the paintings and statues of various other saints. I gaze around the room tentatively. It’s cluttered with all types of religious paraphernalia. An involuntary shudder creeps over me.
“Abuelita?”
Esperanza calls out over the din of a Spanish soap opera, blasting from a TV somewhere in the darkness. I follow Esperanza blindly, as she picks her way through this obstacle course of relics crowding the room. Finally, she reaches a small black and white Zenith, which is definitely looking worse for the wear.
“Abuelita?” she repeats, as we come upon an oversized Gothic-type armchair, from who knows what time period. I do a double take, then a triple take. I am astonished to find this tiny, brown-skinned old lady…easily the most ancient looking person I have ever seen, settled into it. I mean, she could be Miss Jane Pittman’s grandmother. Her face looks like a baked potato that has been left in the refrigerator for a year. An oversized pair of magnifying glasses, grey shawl, faded print dress, and crusty old house slippers complete the ghastly outfit. I stare at her with a mix of horror and fascination. Mainly because I can’t tell if she is alive or not.

THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE

THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE

It's the day after I've brought Esperanza to my school to show her the mural I've painted of her in the artroom, and after a long kiss from her - I am filled with confidence!

So, today after school, I call Esperanza from The Fox Hole, brimming with confidence. There’s no interference from that annoying Philly this time, and the call flows free and easy. She tells me over and over again how much she loves the mural, and how she’s so touched by it! We’re going to the Liberty Theater in Elizabeth this Saturday, to see this new double feature, she says. She’s going to take care of everything. All I have to do is meet her at the shop.
Saturday arrives, and I realize I have to convince my father to let me go out tonight. Basically, I’m still grounded from the window breaking incident, and he knows I’m off from work today. So we’re out in the backyard raking up leaves, and talking about the Giants-Cowboys game coming up tomorrow. I come up with this story that a couple of the guys are all going to the ‘big dance’ at Girls Catholic tonight, (there really was a dance, too), and they wanted me to come. There was this girl that I really like that’s going to be there, and it’s so important that I go. I’m so thorough in my storytelling that not only does my father consent to let me go, but actually gives me five dollars - and tells me to have a good time!
Holy shit! I really am a master storyteller, I think to myself. But, I would never tell him about Esperanza, it wouldn’t be what he wants to hear.
I change into my gold outfit, and apply some Jheri-Curl into my hair to give it that wild, wet, curly look. Then I gaze at myself in the mirror.
I chuckle, remembering that Kyla had invited me to go to the movies at Park Theater tonight with that whole gang. Briefly, I fantasize about what it would be like, stepping in there with Esperanza. Man, I’d love to see the reactions on their faces. But I don’t think Esperanza would dig seeing Herbie the Love Bug, which is what is playing there.
When I arrive at the usual chaotic busyness that is the Tijeras de Oro, it’s nearly closing time. And Esperanza is finishing up with her last customer. She looks up at me smiling broadly, and I think I detect a different kind of expression this time, almost, like… I’ve graduated. Or something akin to that in her eyes. Sort of like I’ve moved up a notch, become more esteemed.
“Muy guapo, papi…you look cute.”
“Thanks Esperanza.” I beam back.
As she puts on her coat and we get ready to make our exit, one of the ladies yells out –
“Saltacuna!”
Now all the rest of the ladies are joining in with the same thing, whistling and giggling.
“Saltacuna! Saltacuna!”
Esperanza hides her face in her hands, cracking up, and sticks her tongue out at them through her fingers, as we leave.
“What does that mean - saltacuna?” I ask, as we step outside.
“Nothing papi, you don’t want to know,” she’s still laughing.
“C’mon - is it bad? Tell me, c’mon…it’s bad, right?” I persist.
“Ok, ok, calm down baby…it means…like, um, it means - robbing the cradle. Cradle robber.”
“Oh.”
“Satisfied now?” she asks, smiling.
We hop into her MG Midget, as the blustery night wind howls, and this time she keeps the top down. Cruising through some fairly decrepit Elizabeth real estate, we head towards ‘El Barrio’, Spanish for ‘the neighbourhood,’ where she lives. We whiz down a few more blocks, and now it’s like we’ve entered freakin’ Puerto Rico, man! The posters, the signs, and billboards are all in Spanish, one featuring a super sexy Puerto Rican girl in a super sexy bikini, drink in hand, touting the sexiness of, Ronrico Rum. My eyes fixed on that for a while, even though the sexiest girl in the world is sitting right next to me. I wonder why it’s like that? It doesn’t matter if you’re with a beauty queen, you’re still going to look at another chick, almost no matter what she looks like. Strange. The requisite pulsating lights adorn every awning of every bodega on the street, as well as the rear windshields, and license plates of the jacked up Puerto Rican mobiles speeding by, down the strip. Honking their horns to the tune of La Bamba, or whatever it was, and making kissing noises at Esperanza from the windows. I move closer to her now, as close as I could get

SHE LOVES IT!

Joey finally makes it to the school to show Esperanza his mural of her - when -

My blood goes frigid, my heart surges up, and nearly jumps out of my freaking throat. The good feeling, the pleasant trance, is smashed to pieces. God. I’ll look like a total asshole if I bring her all the way down here for nothing!
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Frantically, desperately, I pound the door.
“Somebody open the door!! Somebody open the door!! It’s not four o’clock yet!! It’s not four o’clock yet!!” I shriek, in a sustained blood curdling mania.
I keep banging like that for about a minute, until the bound of heavy footsteps come thumping down the stairs inside. The door crashes open, and the burly figure of Hoss, the security guard, fills up the doorway. His eyes flash with rage.
“What the hell is wrong with you boy?! Are you crazy?!” He rants in his deep southern drawl.
“Hoss – Hoss – listen - I gotta get in, man - please! It’s real important!”
“I said the damn school is closed!!
“But – but –“
“I don’t want to have to tell you again!”
Now, Esperanza appears before him, sashaying sexily up the steps.
Hoss’s eyes light way the fuck up. His attitude does an instant and complete 180, as he just gawks at Esperanza. He’s totally mesmerized.
After about thirty seconds, he regains his composure.
“Well, well now! Why didn’t you just say you had such a beautiful young lady with you, son? Now, that’s a horse of a different color.” he coos in his best Southern gentleman manner, opening the door, and practically bowing.
A horse of a different color? What? Had Hoss just watched The Wizard of Oz, or something?
“Come in, come in - watch your step there now, Miss.”
He takes her hand as he leads her in.
“Archibald Dawkins at your service, ma’am, but you can call me Hoss.” He kisses her hand, as Esperanza steps into the building.
“Hi Hoss, I’m Esperanza,” she giggles flirtatiously.
“Miss Esperanza, if you don’t mind me saying so, may I declare that you are the finest young lady I have ever had the pleasure to lay my eyes upon.” Esperanza titters. I can’t believe she’s tittering at this bullshit.
“Oh, thank you, Hoss, that’s very nice of you.”
“Mmm-mmm, yes indeed”.
I have never heard Hoss say much of anything before, let alone get all fluffy like this.
“We need to go up to the art room, Hoss, OK?” I cut into the hypnosis.
“Sure! Sure, not a problem, young man. Not a problem at all! Come on up.”
His eyes are laser-focused on Esperanza. We bounce up the stairs, Hoss following. His gaze is cemented on her ass, as he is whistling softly to himself.
As we approach the art room, he detaches the ring of keys from his belt loop. Searching for the correct one, he never averts his eyes from Esperanza, a permanent smile creasing his face.
All my hopes, aspirations, and intentions are locked up in my breath, right before we enter. This is the proverbial moment of truth. He opens the door, we glide in, and he turns on the lights.
“Um…there it is, Esperanza,” I choke, as I point to the mural in the back. She looks up at it and stares, her face going completely blank. I’m panting, trying to figure out what she’s thinking.
“Do…do you like it?” I question hesitantly.
“Boy’s a fine artist, Miss Esperanza, a fine artist, yes indeed.” Hoss cuts in.
Suddenly, she just breaks out crying! I mean, really bawling, as she puts her hands up to her face. I stand there paralyzed. Confused, not knowing how to react, and not understanding anything.
“There, there, now, Miss Esperanza, it’s alright, it’s alright.” Hoss offers her the handkerchief from his pocket, and puts his arm around her, comforting her! She melts into his chest, burying her head, weeping, as he continues to console her.
What the fuck?! What the hell is going on here?!
“Es – Esperanza…what’s the matter?”
“Oh papi!” She pries herself away from Hoss’s arms, and now hugs me tightly, sniffling as she talks.
“Oh my God…nobody…nobody ever done anything like this for me before,” she sighs deeply, and begins kissing me all over my face.
“Oh, Dios mio, you are the sweetest thing…”
“You…you like it then?”
“Oh baby, I love it!”
Now she kisses me right on the lips! Sticks her tongue in there, and we are frenching away, for, like, I don’t know, maybe five minutes! I feel like I’m going to faint, and have to make a tremendous effort to steady myself. She recognizes it, and holds me tightly.
Hoss stands there in the background, probably stunned, definitely wishing he was me right now! Now this is the best moment of my life.
“It is so beautiful, baby…thank you, thank you, thank you…”
She alternates from kissing me, to wiping her tears away with the handkerchief.
“I gotta give you another trim, papi,” she says as she gazes at me, running her fingers through my curls

A FANTASY?

It’s second period in Silverstein’s art class now, the next morning, and my heart is heavy. I’m suddenly dissatisfied, disillusioned with my mural. I’m staring up at it. Noticing every imperfection, every mistake I made.

This is shit! She’s gonna hate this! I can’t show her this!  It takes all the strength I have to avoid a full-scale breakdown. I tell Silverstein I have to go to the bathroom, and then pace the halls frantically the next fifteen minutes, trying to breath.

       Three o’clock finally arrives, and I dash out of the school to catch the #59 up to Broad Street. We gotta get back here before 4 o’clock, when they lock the doors. On the ride up I’m anxious, wondering if she’ll even remember I was up there yesterday. If she even knew what was going on at all. I’m supposed to be at work at The Fox Hole by around 4. I’m really putting this whole job in jeopardy. I don’t even know what kind of a state she’s going to be in today.  I hop off on Broad Street at 3:22. We can still make it if everything goes right!

I burst into the shop, trying unsuccessfully to make it look like I’m laid back, ready for anything…

Now, she’s the old Esperanza again! The light is back in her eyes - she has life again! And she is so beautiful. I gaze at her hopefully. She smiles at me, and a glow comes up from my heart. It’s radiating onto my face, and now I’m tingling with anticipation.

“Gimme a minute, baby, and we’ll get out of here, OK?”

The other ladies beam at me, calling out greetings as I smile back, and wave. Esperanza slips on her short-waisted white leather jacket, delicately places her shades on top of her head, and grabs her purse. Every move is graceful again.

“Hasta manyaaana, chicas” she draws it out playfully.

We stride outside together, and I head towards the bus stop. She inexplicably sashays to the other corner.

Where is she going?

Then I realize - the parking lot. Uh-oh. I think that she thinks I have a car. Great. I sprint over to catch up to her, ready to apologize and grovel, and feel like a fool, but she keeps going.

“Esperanza – Esperanza - I don’t-”

We’re in the parking lot now, and she abruptly stops right in front of this white MG Midget Convertible. Brand new. Whoa.

It glistens in the fading sunlight, among all the beat up Dodge Darts and Chevy Impalas. She pulls keys out from her purse.

“This is your car?”

“You know there’s no way I be taking that damn bus, honey, mmm-mmm” -

“Oh my God.”

I mean, I’m definitely not one of those trade-school car freaks, or anything, but this ride is jamming.  Could I be any more in awe of her?

She offers me a stick of Dentyne.  

“You want a Chiclet?”

I don’t know why, but Puerto Ricans always call every kind of gum Chiclets, no matter if it’s Trident, Juicy Fruit, or indeed, Chiclets. I stuff it in my mouth, mainly to keep my jaw from being permanently dropped.

She lights up her ever present Virginia Slim, opens the door, pushes a button that brings the top down, and hops in.

“What are you waiting for, honey?”

She pulls her shades down over her eyes. It’s a nice sunny day for November 3rd.

        It’s a two seater with no other room - the Midget is. She grabs the clutch, peels out of the parking lot, and goes screeching down East Grand Avenue, like Mario Andretti. She’s messing with the radio knob, rifling through all these R&B and Spanish stations, until she hits on this acoustic guitar solo that plays on for, like, ten seconds.

“Oh shit! I love this song!” she cries out happily, cranking up the volume now.                        

“Whoa! That’s the Eagles new jam, I think.”

“I don’t know who this be, papi, I just love it!  Aaaay!”

I grin to myself, because, secretly, I really like the Eagles, also. We have something in common now, too. Yeah. The words break in now, and she starts singing along, but she’s getting all the words wrong, which usually really annoys me, but in this situation…

“There she stood in the doorway

With the mission bell

And I was thinking to myself

This could be heaven or this could be hell…”

“Yeah, Hotel California!” Woo! I cry out gleefully.

We’re cruising down East Grand Avenue in Elizabeth, the late day sun setting in our eyes, the cancerous breeze from the nearby Exxon Bayway refineries blowing through our hair - and it’s all perfect.

Suddenly, she’s Ali McGraw, and I’m Ryan O’Neal, and it’s Love Story, and we’re cruising down the Boulevard in Hollywood, the salty breeze off the Pacific Ocean cooling us off.  This is it. The defining moment of my life.

That whole ride to the school is magic, timeless…

I’ve never felt so - free!  The only thing I have to be conscious of, is to catch myself from permanently fawning over her, as I’m taking it all in.

When we get to the Roselle High parking lot, I leap out of the car, practically prancing my way up the stairs to the green door. Like that freaking leprechaun from those Lucky Charms, commercials. I peer up at the clock in one of the classrooms - it’s only 3:50. Excellent! We still got time. I excitedly go to pull open the door - LOCKED!  What the fuck?!  It can’t be, it’s not four o’clock yet!!