I knew if I spent New Year’s Eve with Lorenzo and toda la familia Mesa it would be way better than the boring holidays at my house. My mom and dad fall asleep by 10:30 and my sisters hog the TV to watch reruns of Sally Salinas Superstar.
“I don’t know, Raymond,” my dad had said at first. “The Mesas live near the shoe factory, right? I hear illegal fireworks get crazy in that part of town.”
I wanted to say, how would you know? You fall asleep every New Year’s Eve by 10:30! But I knew the backtalk would give him a quick reason to say no. So I said, “Lorenzo’s family keeps the party inside the house. It’s just his family. If I’m there, he’s got somebody to talk to. Nothing bad’ll happen. You already met his mom and his Uncle Tavo, remember?”
At the Christmas concert Dad had met Lorenzo’s uncle, Gustavo Mesa, and found out both of them won two hundred dollars in a Super Bowl pot—same game, different pot. Later he told me Lorenzo and his family seemed nice. And I reminded Dad again having friends in the neighborhood didn’t happen if you went to a charter school that took students from all over the city.
What I had forgotten about until I walked through the door of Lorenzo Mesa’s house was every tía, prima and Mamá in the house were all too happy to kiss me. It happened last time I came over like I was the mi’jo who had just come back from the army or something. And since Lorenzo never bothered to introduce me, everybody guessed I was related too. That’s what happens in a big family when everyone parties for no other reason than someone brought the beer and a brisket’s cooking in the pit. What’s one more guy to feed? Or kiss?
At the Mesa’s New Year’s party, there was enough food to feed a starving country. There were also more family than chairs, way too many babies, and some skinny guy showed up with two mean Chihuahuas. Lorenzo started teasing them with a tamal shuck. As soon as one of the dogs gripped it in its pointy teeth, Lorenzo jerked it away. One time, the little white dog held on tighter and Lorenzo lifted up the shuck with the dog like he had caught a fish on a hook. Man, it was funny.
Then Skinny Guy yelled at Lorenzo, “Leave the dog alone!” and he let it drop. That runt ran off with the shuck still in its mouth. It hid under a chair by the front door and kept chewing on it.
“Hope it gives him diarrhea,” Lorenzo said. Then he told me, “Usually René and his primos fire off some awesome firecrackers they buy in Mexico. Let’s see what they got this year.”
“Sure, I’m up for that.” I didn’t know who René was, but I knew it was almost midnight and I didn’t want to get trapped in a house with way too many kissing Mesas and a mean little black dog that bit my ankle when I stopped by the door to put on my jacket.
It was cold like a freezer when we stepped out on the porch. A slap of cold wind made me wish for a ski mask only two guys walking down the street in ski masks looked bad. I was buttoning up my jacket when Lorenzo said “What’s up” to the three men on the porch huddled together and smoking cigarettes because Mrs. Mesa didn’t allow it inside.
“Where you going?” one of the men said. He wore a black hoodie pulled up over his head. It took me a second to realize it was Uncle Tavo.
“We’re heading to Rene’s to check out his firework stash from Mexico,” Lorenzo answered. “Laters!”
“Wait up!” Uncle Tavo grabbed both of us by one arm. “You don’t need to go down the street to find good fireworks, Renzo, I got some great fireworks right here.”
“You got nothing, Uncle Tavo,” Lorenzo said. “Probably some wet firecrackers.”
“Naw, I bought good ones! They’re in my car. Come on!” And since he had hold of both of us, we stumbled down the steps beside him. Once we were on the sidewalk, I jerked my arm out of his grip and so did Lorenzo.
I started pounding my hands together to keep warm as we followed Uncle Tavo to this nice-looking Chevy. Even though a porch light and some street lights were the only way to see outside, I could tell it was a new car and he kept it really clean. So when he opened the trunk, I was surprised to see how junky it looked: empty soda cans, a few plastic bags from the grocery store and a rusty-looking tool chest. He reached behind the bags and pulled out a torn brown paper bag with paper tubes sticking out of it.
“What you need for midnight? I got it all.” Uncle Tavo said.
Lorenzo reached for the bag. “Thanks, Uncle Tavo—”
His uncle suddenly pulled the bag up to his chest. “Wait a second! You think I’m giving up the fun for nothing? Twenty bucks!”
“If you spot me ten, it’s a deal,” Lorenzo said, cool as a paleta.
“For ten bucks, I might as well shoot them off myself, cabrón.”
“Come on, Raymond, let’s go,” Lorenzo said to me, and turned away from the car.
“Wait! I got something else. Something you won’t see down the street,” Uncle Tavo said. He pushed the brown bag into my hands, and started shoving boxes out of the way.
I looked at Lorenzo and he gave me a wicked grin. He also nodded like he’d be interested.
Uncle Tavo pulled out a thick black tube wrapped in cellophane. He walked us around the trunk, closer to the porch light. I read the words La Cucaracha in bright orange letters. I saw an orange fuse coiled like a spring and small orange strings hanging off the tube like centipede legs. I’d never seen any firework like it, but then I came from a family who went to Sea World to watch fireworks. What was it like to actually be the guy who lit the fuse?
As if Uncle Tavo knew he had a rookie pyromaniac standing beside him, he turned to me and said, “Light this sucker up, and you’ll see something way better than what they shoot at Disneyland! Forget Mexico! This one came all the way from China!”
I looked into the brown bag I was holding and saw a handful of skinny tubes. I just bet firing them all together wouldn’t have the power and colors of the thick black tube Uncle Tavo held in his rough hands. Before I knew it, the words popped out of my mouth. “How much?”
“Forty bucks!” he said.
“We’ll give you ten,” Lorenzo said like a pop.
“Twenty-five,” Uncle Tavo replied just as fast.
“Fifteen!” I spoke up without even knowing if I had any money with me.
“Twenty-two.”
Lorenzo said, “Eighteen.”
“Sold!” And when Uncle Tavo said that, I felt like I just found ten dollars in the street.
That was a temporary high since I needed to find some money fast to get my hands on La Cucaracha. I found three bills in my wallet. Lorenzo had pulled a few dollars out of his coat pocket.
“How much you got?” he asked me.
If it wasn’t for Christmas money from my tía Licha I’d be broke. “Twelve dollars.”
“Cool! I got the other six!” Lorenzo said. “You can light it since you put in the most money.”
“You bet I will,” I told him and thought, thank you, Tía Licha!
And just as we were paying off Uncle Tavo, the night erupted into a smoky, noisy mess. Two boys in thick coats ran past us with sparklers. Crackles of bottle rockets flew over the houses around us. A string of firecrackers went off in the next yard and a crowd of little girls started screaming. Ladies and little kids walked out of Lorenzo’s house hollering from the porch.
“Happy New Year! Feliz Año Nuevo!” Voices screaming and the noise of pops, bangs and whistles surrounded us. We heard a loud whoosh before a cascade of blues, greens and red streaks whistled over a house top across the street. It was like nothing I’d ever seen where I live.
“Come on!” Lorenzo pulled my jacket. “Let’s get this party started!”
I clutched the cucaracha in my hands and followed him to the street. I couldn’t remember when I felt so excited. Maybe standing in line for a monster roller coaster or that time I saw one of the Spurs. But I think this moment was bigger and better.
We walked to the curb and suddenly Lorenzo stopped. “We need matches or a lighter.”
“You go find some. I’ll unwrap this bad bug,” I answered, not ready to let go of it. As Lorenzo ran off, I carefully unpeeled the cellophane wrapper and shoved it in my coat pocket.
As I ran my fingers up and down the orange letters, the little string legs on the tube tickled my hand. Then I slipped one finger through the coiled fuse. I imagined the bang it would make before it broke into glorious colors above the houses on Lorenzo’s street. It would be fireworks that everyone would be talking about for days.
“Borrowed Uncle Tavo’s lighter. It’ll be quicker than matches.” Lorenzo was out of breath as he joined me on the curb. “Word got around about the cucaracha. Everyone’s coming out to watch!”
That’s when I saw Uncle Tavo and the two other men standing together by his car. A group of little kids near the front steps were getting held back by ladies with firm hands on their shoulders. I realized toda la familia Mesa was standing on the porch, on the steps and by the fence line to watch us light the cucaracha. Even Skinny Guy was there, holding both mean little Chihuahuas in his arms. How did everyone come outside so quickly?
Lorenzo was still paleta-cool as he took his time and looked down both sides of the street. Was he looking for a good spot or a police car?
It suddenly hit me that I was clueless about the next part, but I tried to play it cool and just said, “Do we need anything else?”
His hand flipped a cigarette lighter in my direction. “Put it down and light it up, Raymond! Let’s see this bad bug fly.” And he must have had Uncle Tavo’s radar for rookies because he said, “Set it by the curb, Raymond. Right there.” And he pointed at some broken asphalt with a bowl-sized hole.
I pressed the base of La Cucaracha into the ground and stepped back. For some reason, I wasn’t as excited as before, but I knew once I lit the fuse, and stood with my best friend watching an amazing firework, I’d be laughing at myself.
Lucky for me, Lorenzo got a flame on his first try of the lighter. He started laughing as he handed it to me to do the deed. His laugh made me laugh, which helped me ignore the fear rattling in my gut.
The flame on the lighter waved in the cold night, but it seemed to be hungry once it touched the fuse. It fizzled white like a sparkler and burned fast down the coil.
“Run!” Lorenzo yelled. He pulled me away from the curb so quick, the flame burned my fingers and I dropped the lighter in the dirt. But I didn’t stop running until we stood near Uncle Tavo and the others in the driveway. I looked up at all the fireworks in the cold black sky and got back the excitement, waiting for our cucaracha to stand out like a gold nugget in a box of charcoal.
KABAM-BAM-BAM set off car alarms up and down the block. We saw the cucaracha black tube jump two feet before it landed on its side, pouring orange, yellow and purple sparks down its path. The thing whipped down the sidewalk, spitting flares and making popping noises like a wad of firecrackers. It smelled like burning rotten eggs.
And the ladies started screaming, “Ay Dios mío” and the kids were dragged up the steps. The people on the porch started moving back inside the house. Uncle Tavo pushed the hood off his head and muttered Spanish cuss words as this fiery roach from hell crawled up the sidewalk.
“Do something, Raymond!” Lorenzo yelled, shaking my arm like crazy. “What if it explodes on my house?”
So I did something that was brave and stupid at the same time. I ran to the spitting tube and kicked it in the other direction. And as it spun around, it was like someone turned off the switch. The thing went dead, dark and unmoving.
“That’s it?” said the skinny man to the others near the fence. He put down both his dogs and they ran toward the black tube barking and growling.
I didn’t want them to destroy it, so I picked up my dead cucaracha and suddenly howled. It still burned hot and so did my fingers! Ouch! I dropped it fast! If the stupid dogs wanted to chew on a hot bug, let them. It wasn’t like I could take it home for a souvenir. Worse, I was going home without my twelve bucks from tía Licha.
I blew on my burned fingers as I walked back to Lorenzo. He was telling Uncle Tavo, “Worst firework ever! It did nothing but made noise and crawled up the sidewalk.”
His uncle laughed and said, “What did you expect? It was called la cucaracha, not la roqueta.”
I might have laughed too, except my hand hurt. And when I saw my dad and he asked about illegal fireworks, I’d have to play it dumb. Dumb as a guy who buys a Chinese firecracker painted with Spanish words.