The day Roberto brought his girlfriend Darlene home to meet my parents, I knew he was serious. He had been dating her for over a year but had not brought her home before. My parents somehow knew Roberto had been going out with the same girl on a regular basis, but they never talked about it. This was normal. We never talked seriously about girls and sex at home. But my brother and I always shared our feelings. He told me about her the day after their first date. We were cleaning A. J. Diany, a construction office, and he was whistling and singing like a canary. “Qué te pasa?” I asked. “Did you eat birdseed?”
“Darlene is beautiful,” he responded, swirling the mop like a dance partner. “Wait till you meet her. She’s smart and looks like Elizabeth Taylor.” He glowed as he talked about her. I thought he was exaggerating, until I met her. She did look like Elizabeth Taylor. She had large green eyes, olive skin, and long, jet-black hair combed back in a ponytail. I knew they really loved each other because they continued to date even though her stepfather did not like Mexicans. He used to call Roberto “pepper gut” behind my brother’s back just to upset Darlene. He tried to discourage Roberto from dating her by insisting that she be home by midnight. My brother never told her stepfather how happy this made him. He brought Darlene home by eleven-thirty because he had to be home by midnight too.
My brother’s face was white as a ghost’s and his thick lower lip quivered as he introduced her to our family. Papá and Mamá shook her hand and bowed. Papá signaled to my smaller brothers and sister to leave. They excused themselves and went outside to play. Roberto and Darlene sat across the kitchen table from Mamá, Papá, and me. “Se parece a Dolores del Río,” Papá said. Darlene smiled nervously and glanced at Roberto.
“Papá says you look like Dolores del Río.”
“She is a pretty Mexican movie star,” Mamá said, noticing Darlene’s puzzled look.
“Thank you,” Darlene said, turning red and looking down.
Papá folded his hands on the table and stared at Roberto, waiting for my brother to break the long silence. Roberto glanced at Darlene, looked up at me, swallowed, and said, “Papá, Darlene and I are getting engaged and we want your blessing.”
The words shot out like bullets. I was sure he had rehearsed them many times. Papá and Mamá looked at each other in surprise. Papá cleared his throat, ready to respond, but Mamá quickly placed her hand on Papá’s right hand and burst out, “Of course you have our blessing.”
Papá bit his lower lip and nodded in approval. Roberto sighed in relief and smiled. Darlene understood the answer.
My whole family, especially Mamá, got excited whenever Roberto brought Darlene home to visit. Even Papá, whose moods continued to get darker every day, cheered up when she came. Her visits were like a tonic for him.
At the beginning of the summer before my senior year, Roberto and Darlene got married with her mother’s approval but against her stepfather’s wishes. My family was happy for them, though worried about how we were going to make ends meet. My brother was concerned too, so he got an extra janitorial job to help us out, but he could not continue beyond the first month. He needed the extra money to attend night classes at Hancock Community College and to pay the medical bills for Darlene, who was expecting a baby. He took a wood shop class to build needed furniture for their one-room apartment. Darlene also worked part-time washing dishes at St. Mary’s Hospital.
Without Roberto’s help, my family struggled even more to make ends meet. Papá became more depressed and often went into the shed, staying there for hours, like a prisoner in a cell. Mamá tried to comfort him. “God will provide; you’ll see, viejo,” she would say. She prayed in front of the faded picture of the Virgen de Guadalupe, which hung above their bed. I worried too and began to get headaches. “You’re just like your Papá, always worrying,” Mamá said when she saw me taking aspirin every morning. “I am sure we’ll make it.” She was right. Torito and Trampita got jobs picking strawberries for Ito; she took care of babies of working families living in Bonetti Ranch and did ironing for them; I increased my hours at Santa Maria Window Cleaners, working from six in the morning until midnight. In the early morning I cleaned the Western Union and Betty’s Fabrics. During the rest of the day I helped Mike Nevel clean houses—doing windows, washing walls, stripping and waxing floors. In the early evenings I did my regular chores at the gas company and late evenings I worked with Mike cleaning the Standard Oil Company, which was located on the outskirts of Santa Maria.
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.