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.