I did not have a lot of free time to make close friends and do things with them on weekends. Papá allowed us to go out only once a week, and we had to be home by midnight. I did meet many nice classmates at school, and some of us hung around together at lunchtime in the cafeteria. Most of them bought their lunch, but I always brought mine from home. I asked Mamá not to make taquitos for my lunch, because a few guys made fun of me when they saw me eat them. They called me “chile stomper” or “tamale wrapper.” I pretended not to get upset. I knew that if they saw me get mad, they would make fun of me even more. So Mamá made baloney sandwiches instead. I ate jalapeño chiles with my sandwiches to give them flavor.
I also made friends, many of them girls, at school dances, which took place after football or basketball games. Because we had to work, Roberto and I usually skipped the games on Friday nights and went only to the dances. They were held in the school cafeteria, and like the Vets dances, the girls stood on one side and the boys on the other. I thought it was strange that some boys drank to get the courage to ask girls to dance. I spent more time on the girls side, dancing one song after another. The faster the song, the more I liked it. Listening to music and dancing made me forget my troubles.
At one of the dances, I saw Roberto standing on the side, next to a girl who was slightly taller than he was. I did not think anything about it. The room was warm and stuffy, so I walked out to cool off and to get a drink of water. When I returned, my brother was dancing a slow dance with the same girl. I watched him as they danced past me. He caught my eye and moved his cheek away from hers. As they swirled around, I saw that he had his eyes closed. At the end of the song, they strolled across the floor, holding hands, and stood on the side, away from the crowd. I did not want to lose sight of them, so during the next fast song, I purposely moved closer to them, swung around, and bumped into Roberto. “Sorry!” I said. He gave me an annoyed look. The girl I was dancing with did too. As the song was about to end, I quickly walked my dance partner back to the girls side, thanked her, and raced back to the boys side, where Roberto and the girl were standing, holding hands. “What do you think you’re doing, Panchito?” he whispered, placing his left hand on my left shoulder and digging in his fingers. His large hand felt like a vise.
“Nothing,” I said, wincing. “I just lost my balance.” Roberto sneered at me. The girl stood behind him, looking around the room, pretending not to pay attention to us. She was slender and had short brown hair, large, droopy brown eyes, a small mouth, and thin lips.
“Well?” I said, gesturing to him to introduce me. Roberto let go of the girl’s hand and moved to her side.
“Susan, this is my brother.”
“Hi,” she said softly.
“You and my brother are good dancers,” I said. She smiled and blushed.
Roberto continued dancing with her until we had to leave. The next day I saw them together at school between classes. On our way home from work he told me that he had asked her out to the movies for next Saturday. “That means you won’t be going to the dance Saturday?” I was disappointed. Roberto and I did everything together. I did not like the idea of being apart.
“Don’t worry, Panchito. I can drop you off at the dance before I go to the movies.”
“Wouldn’t you rather go dancing?” I insisted.
“No! I am going to the movies with Susan,” he said sharply.
I was so upset with my brother that I decided not to go out at all. I stayed home that Saturday night and tried to study, but I did not get much work done.
Roberto was happy all day at work on Sunday. He whistled and sang while we cleaned offices. “You must’ve had a good time last night,” I said, still feeling hurt because he did not go to the dance.
“I did. And I think I am in love!” he exclaimed.
“Sure, after one date! Are you crazy?”
“I know it’s weird,” he said, “but I have this strange feeling; it’s hard to explain.” He placed his right hand on his chest and added, “It’s like nothing I felt before. I can’t stop thinking about her!”
I liked seeing my brother happy, but I was upset that we were not going to dances together anymore.
Roberto continued going out with Susan once a week. Eventually he asked her to go steady. She wore his jacket at school as a sign that she was his girl. But it did not last.
One rainy Monday evening when Roberto came to pick me up from work, he looked weary and sad. “What’s wrong?” I asked as we drove home.
“Susan’s parents don’t want her to go out with me anymore,” he said, teary-eyed.
“Why?” I asked, putting my arm around him.
“Because I am Mexican,” he said, raising his voice and hitting the steering wheel with both hands.
“Because you’re Mexican! What do you mean?”
Roberto took a deep breath and explained. “Well, Susan invited me to dinner at her house last Saturday. She said her parents wanted to get to know me. I was very nervous, but once we sat at the table and started talking, I felt better. During the conversation her father asked me what my nationality was.”
“Why did he ask you?” I said, recalling the time I met Peggy’s parents.
“He wanted to know where the name Jiménez came from. I told him.”
“You didn’t tell him . . .”
“No, I didn’t tell him I was born in Mexico,” he said, anticipating my question. “But when I said I was Mexican there was dead silence. After a while we continued talking, but they seemed uncomfortable and less friendly. I thought it was strange, but I didn’t think much about it until Susan told me today at school. She couldn’t stop crying. I felt terrible.” Roberto choked up. “Her father even promised to buy her a car if she stopped seeing me. Can you believe it?”
Then, like a flash, it became clear why Peggy stopped seeing me. I felt angry and insulted, but most of all, confused. I could not understand why anyone would not like us because we were Mexican. Mamá told us everyone was equal in the eyes of God and Papá told us we should respect everyone.
“What are you going to do?” I asked after a long pause.
“She still wants to go out with me, but doesn’t want her parents to know,” he responded. “I don’t feel right doing that.”
Roberto went out with Susan a few more times, but it was not the same. My brother picked her up at her friend’s house, where she told her parents she was spending the night. He did not like her to be sneaking out, and when her father found out she had been lying he did not allow her to go out at all. Eventually she started seeing someone else. My brother stopped dating for a long time.