Smokey and I got along well except when it came to sports. He read the sports section of the newspaper thoroughly and faithfully every day of the week and had heated debates with Pat Hall, Jim Brodlow, and Tony Lizza, our next-door neighbors, about what teams and players were the best. The debates often turned to yelling matches, each stubbornly defending his opinion as if his life depended on it.
Sports were like a foreign language to me. Whenever these matches took place, I would pick up my books and run off to Varsi Library or take a leisurely walk in the Mission Gardens. My indifference to sports troubled Smokey, but what really upset him was my absence at Santa Clara games. He often tried to convert me into a sports fan, but I resisted like a mule. One of those times was Friday night, the second week of November, a few days before Thanksgiving break. We had just gone through midsemester exams and I felt tired and tense.
"You don't have any school spirit," Smokey complained. "Don't you care about our Santa Clara teams? Why don't you support them? Do you care at all?"
"I do care, but I came here to learn, not to attend games."
"You can do both. You need balance in your life!"
"You're right; it's my life," I shot back, "so let me live my life; you live yours, I am tired of having this same argument over and over. Why don't you leave me alone?" I had never spoken so harshly to him. Smokey was stunned. He stared at me as though I had grown three heads.
I was as surprised as he was. We had had this disagreement before, but I had never lost my temper. At home I had learned to control my emotions, especially in front of my father. My hands trembled and my face felt as though it were on fire. We stood facing each other in dead silence. I could see in Smokey's face that I had hurt him. His eyes looked like those of a wounded deer. He shook his head and sat on the edge of his bed.
"I am sorry, Smokey," I said, after calming down a bit.
He looked up and said, "Because you're my roommate and I care about you," he said. "That's why I won't leave you alone. I want you to enjoy life, to have fun." His tenderness and honesty calmed me down completely. He sounded like my older brother, who always looked out for me. I missed Roberto more than ever at that moment.
"I'm really, really sorry, Smokey," I repeated, struggling to find the right words to tell him how bad I felt.
"It's okay." He stood up and adjusted his cap. His tall, lanky body towered over mine. "Look, let's compromise. You like dancing; I like sports. You come with us to the Santa Clara-St. Mary's basketball game tonight and I'll join you at a dance next weekend. Deal?"
"Let me think about it," I said, glancing at the pile of books on my desk.
"It's going to be a great game." He tilted his head to the side and raised his eyebrows. "We just went through midterm exams—let's treat ourselves. Come on."
"Okay, deal."
"Great! Now all we need is a way to get there."
"Isn't the game here?" I asked. Traveling took time.
"It's downtown in the San José Civic Center. We'll ask Tom Maulhardt for a ride. He never misses a game." Early that evening, Tom, Tony Lizza, Pat Hall, Smokey, and I piled into Tom's white Volvo and drove to the game. It was one of the few basketball games I had ever attended. The old Spanish-style auditorium was in the north end of the city, about four miles from Santa Clara. The main entrance was jammed with students who pushed their way in. We squeezed our way through and managed to find seats on the Santa Clara side, facing St. Mary's students, who sat on the opposite side of the auditorium. They rooted for the Irish Warriors. We cheered for the Broncos. As both teams came onto the court, the noise from the stands grew louder and the stomping of feet made the bleachers shake. It felt like an earthquake. Both teams played well, but at the end the Broncos conquered the Irish Warriors. All of us, even I, left the game feeling excited, full of energy, and proud. As we drove back to campus, my classmates continued cheering. "Let's celebrate," Smokey said, "Why don't we stop by a liquor Store and get some beer?"
"Are you crazy?" Tom, said, slowing the car down. "We're not twenty-one."
"So? I'm sure all of us have drunk before," Smokey responded. "Or did you mean who's going to buy it?"
"I haven't drunk before," I said.
"You got to be kidding!" Smokey exclaimed. "Don't tell me you're—"
"I am not joking," I said, interrupting him. "My father would never allow it." They all laughed. Bur I had not meant it as a joke.
"Okay, well, it's time you did," Smokey said. Tony volunteered to get the beer. Tom pulled up to a corner liquor store that had iron bars on its two small front windows. Tony got out and waited outside for a potential customer. As one approached, Tony stopped him, exchanged a few words, and handed him money. The man nodded his head in approval and went inside, A few minutes later he came out carrying two large brown bags and handed one of them to Tony. Tony rushed back to the car, looking all around like a fugitive.
"Mission accomplished," he said, sliding onto the front seat and passing the bag to Smokey in the back seat. Tom parked the car near a dark, empty lot on Alviso Street, a few blocks away from campus, Smokey handed each one of us a can of beer and passed around the beer can opener.
I wanted to belong. And I wanted to see what drinking was like and to make it up to Smokey for having yelled at him. But I felt nervous.
"Here's to the Broncos," Pat said, raising his can. "To the Broncos," we all repeated, taking a drink. The beer had a skunky smell and tasted like cardboard. I held my breath and gulped it down. I don't feel anything, I thought. We quickly had another round. I guzzled the second can. Suddenly, I began to feel lightheaded and giddy. I laughed at everything my classmates said even though I did not understand everything they were talking about. As time wore on, my giddiness turned to sadness. I started thinking about Tiger Town, a rough neighborhood in Santa Maria, where I had cleaned windows. It had rundown bars and liquor stores that stretched for several blocks on both sides of Main Street. The sidewalks were littered with cigarette butts, crushed cigarette packs, and broken beer bottles. I had to scrub the windows extra hard to loosen the globs of dried spit glued to the glass. Mexican music blasted through the front doors of the bars and a rancid odor filled the air. I liked the music, but the men inside made me sad. Some were braceros, temporary farm workers from Mexico, who came to Tiger Town from the local labor camp on Sunday afternoons when work was scarce. They sat at the bar, listening to ranchera music playing on the jukebox and drinking beer and staring into the mirror behind the counter. They were all tar away from their families in Mexico, just as I now felt far away from my family in Santa Maria. I started to cry.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Smokey asked. "You start out as a happy and silly drunk and now you turned into a crying drunk."
The only recollection I have after that is holding on to Smokey and Pat as we walked back to the dorm before our curfew at one o'clock in the morning. I plopped onto my bed, dizzy and sleepy.
That night I dreamed I was washing the front windows of a bar in Tiger Town. In the dream the clear sky suddenly darkens like a black curtain. There is thunder and lightning and torrential rain. My bucket quickly fills with water, overflows, and spills into the entrance of the bar. The water slowly grows and gains strength until it turns into a rapid and forceful stream, carrying me away, encircled by beer bottles and cans, and dumps me into the Santa Maria River. As I struggle to keep my head above the murky water, I spot a woman dressed in white with long, flowing black hair. She glides along the riverbank, reaching out to save me. I desperately try to grab her hand, but she disappears.
I woke up in a cold sweat. For a few seconds I did not know where I was. My heart was pounding and my head felt like it was in a vise. I took four aspirins and crawled back into bed. Then I remembered what had happened the night before and felt ashamed.