Everything Begins and Ends at the Kentucky Club

  I wound up at the river—which was everyone’s favorite place to go, a place where you could get drunk or get stoned and put in an eight-track tape and listen to Janis Joplin sing those great songs which were angry and sad and rough and beautiful. Someone else’s pain was always beautiful. And after that tape was done, you could pop it out and put in Abbey Road and listen to it over and over again. I memorized every word of “She Came In Through the Bathroom Window.”

  I parked the car and listened to Janis Joplin. I sat there on the hood of my car and smoked cigarettes and stared out at the water and the sky and I thought that this was as close as I was ever going to get to heaven.

  And then I noticed Brian standing there. It was as if he just appeared. “Hey,” he said, “can I bum a smoke?”

  “Sure,” I said. Like we were friends.

  We sat there on the hood of my car and smoked.

  “She broke up with me,” he said.

  I looked at him. “Bummer,” I said. I don’t think we’d actually ever spoken to each other. We probably said Hi or something like How’s it hangin’. The thing was that I hung out with guys like me—Mexicans who went to school because they had to and who mostly had jobs after school and on weekends. Brian hung out with guys like him—gringos who belonged to the Future Farmers of America and wore blue corduroy jackets and thought they owned the school. They did own the school. So what? They could have it.

  I think he was waiting for me to say something else besides bummer. “So you still like her?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. He sort of laughed. “She’s pretty, you know? But her name’s Beth,” he said.

  I don’t know why I thought that was funny, but I found myself laughing.

  So we sat there and laughed.

  We smoked. We talked, not a lot. Brian wasn’t a talker. I was. I really liked talking. Talking and sleeping, those were my two favorite things. But I didn’t have much to say, not to Brian Stillman.

  I could see the guy was lost. One thing was for sure—he’d lost his ride back into town.

  “So you got dumped.”

  “Pretty much. I think I wanted her to dump me. And it’s not as if I was gonna marry her.” He took a puff from his cigarette. “You still hanging out with Rosie?” I didn’t know he knew anything about my life.

  “Nah. Rosie’s history.”

  “Too bad. She’s fine.”

  Rosie was fine. And she’d been right to give me the highway. What was she doing with a guy like me? I lit another cigarette.

  He looked at his watch. “School’s almost out.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I hate school,” he said.

  “Brian Stillman hates school? Could have fooled me.”

  “Why? I’m not smart. Not like you.”

  “I’m not so fucking smart.”

  “How many A’s you have on that report card?”

  “So what?”

  “You understand things, Neto.”

  It was funny to hear him call me Neto. Most gringos just called me Ernie. “I’m not sure I’m getting you.”

  “How do you do it? The teacher calls on you and you always answer as if you wrote the fucking book.”

  That made me laugh.

  “How’d you learn how to think?”

  “I don’t know. I go to a lot of movies.”

  That really made him laugh. He flicked his cigarette. “So, you goin’ to college?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Why the hell not?”

  “Well, there’s always the army.”

  “The army’s never gonna own my ass. And that’s the fucking truth.”

  “Well, I’ve kinda thought about joining.”

  I looked him and shook my head. “There’s a war going on, Stillman. Anybody let you in on that dirty little secret?”

  “I might get drafted.”

  “Not if you go to college.”

  He nodded. “Maybe I just need to get out of here.”

  I nodded. “I get that.”

  “You should leave too, Neto,” he said. “You’re too good for this fucking place.”

  Yeah, too good. Like that was true. We smoked another cigarette together.

  I offered him a ride home. He lived on a farm just off Highway 478. His house was about half a mile in from the road. We didn’t talk that much as we drove along. Just listened to Abbey Road. He pointed. “This is my stop. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

  “I can take you all the way in,” I said.

  “Nah. My old man—” he stopped in mid-sentence. “He’s a piece of work.” He had this real sad look on his face. I wished to God I hadn’t seen that look. It made me like him. He opened the door and started to get out of the car. But then he just sat back down on the seat. “You still run, Neto?”

  “Yeah, I still run.”

  “So why’d you quit the team?”

  “Cross-country wasn’t my thing.”

  “You were the best runner. That’s why they hated you. They could never beat you.”

  I nodded. Yeah, sure, they could never beat me.

  “You should have stayed on the team.”

  “I wasn’t having a good time.”

  “Well,” he said. “We sure as fuck made sure of that, didn’t we?” He got out of the car. Then he put his head through the window. “I’m sorry I was such an asshole,” he said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said, “it does matter, Neto.” He flipped me a peace sign, then shut the door.

  I watched him walk down the dirt road lined by pecan trees along a ditch.

  I thought about how sad he looked as I drove off. I thought of all the time I’d wasted hating him.

  The next night, I was going out. Friday night, on the cusp of summer and graduation and manhood. Yeah, going out. Just some guys who wanted to head out to a keg party at the river, maybe meet a girl and kiss her. And if you were lucky, she’d kiss you back. And you might feel something inside of you. Maybe that’s why we went to the river.

  School was ending and maybe, just maybe, life was beginning. I’d applied to State and got accepted. That surprised me. I even got a two thousand dollar scholarship, which was a fortune. But I’d also applied to the University of New Mexico in Albuquerque. They’d given me the exact same scholarship. Not that Albuquerque was worlds away, but it was far enough. I hadn’t told anyone, not even my parents. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I didn’t want their advice. I wanted to make a decision that was all mine. I kept pinching myself. Me, Ernesto Zaragoza—I was going to college. I was thinking about all those things while I waited for José and Jimmy to pick me up.

  My mom and dad were sitting on the front porch, my father reading the newspaper, my mother reading (or praying) her novena. “No te pongas marijuano, cabron.” My father shot me his favorite look. The man could scare me in two languages. Talented guy, my father.

  José drove up in his father’s jeep. I kissed my mom and smiled at my dad. “I’ll be good, Dad.” I always said that to him. It pissed him off when I said things like that. He didn’t actually want me to be a good boy. He wanted me to be a man. But a man who didn’t smoke marijuana. For him that was the worst.

  José and Jimmy waved at my mom and dad. My mom was all smiles. My dad scowled. José got a big kick out of my dad. I never really knew why. Like scowling was something amusing.

  There were about five or six keg parties at the river. Five or six or seven or eight. José was looking for one in particular. His cousin Mike was hosting him and his buddies. José pointed as he drove. “That’s Mike’s truck.” We pulled up in front of the crowd, got out of the jeep and did the shaking-hands business, the casual hugs that we learned from watching our fathers. Yeah, like we were men. But you had to hug in just the right way and always slap the other guy on the back. That’s how it worked.

  I got handed a beer.

  The sun was setting and there was a breeze and everything was so perfect. I felt almost happy. I don’t rea
lly remember much about Mike’s keg party. Rosie arrived along with a group of about six girls. Then another group of girls arrived. Girls always arrived in packs. It was protection. That’s how I thought about it. It made me sad to think that they needed it. Protection from guys like us.

  Rosie and I talked. She was so pretty. I mean, pretty in ways that most girls envied. She was real. Sometimes, I wanted to just keep looking at her. “You should leave this town,” she said.

  “Are you chasing me out?”

  She laughed. She kissed me on the cheek. “I like you, you idiot.”

  “Then how come you broke up with me?”

  “Because we’re just friends. There something wrong with that?”

  “Guess not,” I said. “Still, maybe I’m a little insulted.”

  “Don’t be. I don’t want boyfriends. I want to go to college and get a life. A life that’s mine.”

  “A life that’s all yours, huh?”

  She laughed. “It sounds beautiful, doesn’t it, Neto?”

  And then I found myself laughing my ass off. “Yeah, Rosie, it sure does sound beautiful.”

  She smiled. She looked like an angel. “I’m going to U.T.”

  “Austin? No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “Scholarship?”

  “The works, Neto.”

  “I’m fucking impressed.”

  “I should thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Remember when we were in junior high?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You used to read to me.”

  “I almost forgot about that.”

  “It did something to me. There were other worlds out there. And you knew that. And you wanted me to know that too.”

  She smiled at me. It broke my heart, her smile.

  I lit a cigarette. She took the cigarette away from me and took a puff. She kissed me on the cheek. “Don’t forget to write.” And just like that, she walked away.

  I guess I didn’t feel much like partying. Maybe there was something wrong with me. I had a few beers, mostly listened to people talking a lot of bullshit. Some guy tried to put his arm around Rosie. She grabbed his paw and shoved it aside. “Go wash your hands,” she said.

  I smiled. She noticed I was watching. She smiled back at me. Rosie didn’t need anybody to take care of her. That’s what I liked about her.

  Some guys lit a bonfire. It was getting dark and the weather was perfect and I really was almost happy.

  I walked away and headed to another keg party. I knew some people there, not people I hung with, but you know, school friends. We shot the shit, talked about some crazy things that had happened during high school. Everyone remembered when the gym got spray-painted asking the principal to suck everyone’s cock. Nice. Yeah, well, it was high school. There was a lot of laughing. I felt alone. And didn’t mind it. It was one of those things, feeling alone. Sometimes it was better than being with other people.

  I lit a cigarette and decided to go off and sit by the river. Think about things. I liked thinking about things. My mom called it daydreaming. My dad said I was lazy. They were both wrong. I wasn’t daydreaming and the lazy thing, well, my brain didn’t have a lazy cell in its body.

  I don’t know how long I walked, but I was pretty far from all the bonfires. I went and found a good spot by the river where I could take off my shoes. I lay down on the bank, my feet in the water, the stars in the sky. I thought for a second that maybe my life would be a good one. And I would go through life this happy, happy guy. And then, in the middle of all that happy conversation I was having with myself, I heard something. I didn’t know what it was, at first, and so I made myself perfectly still and listened. I knew the sound. Someone was having sex. I mean they were really having sex. I smiled to myself. Yeah, someone was getting lucky as hell. I knew I was being a voyeur or something but what was I supposed to do at that point? So I just sat there and listened.

  Whoever they were, they were having a good time. A better time than I’d ever had. And then there it was, the point of all the sex, the climax. Why did people always say, god, god, god when they came? I was smiling my ass off. But then I realized something. Something that really confused me. There was no girl. The voices were talking now, and both voices, well, they were both guys. I just kept listening. “I might love you,” one of the voices said.

  And the other voice said, “Don’t love me.”

  “It’s too late, Brian.”

  “Jorge, you know—I mean—I don’t know what I mean.”

  “You’re the one who started this. Now it’s too late.”

  “It’s not too late.”

  “You want to pretend that nothing’s going on between us?”

  “No, no, that’s not what I mean.”

  “Then what, Brian?”

  “I don’t know what I mean.”

  They were starting to get mad at each other. My heart was beating fast and I wanted to just get out of there, but I knew they’d hear me and I didn’t want them to know I was there. I felt confused but I knew, I knew who they were, God, I knew them. It was Brian Stillman and Jorge Ledesma. Jorge lived on Brian’s farm. His dad had come from Mexico to work with the Stillman’s. Jorge was quiet and tall and had the body of an athlete. But not from working out, just from working on the Stillman farm. In grade school I’d helped him learn English. But we had never been friends. I don’t know why. Maybe it was because I wasn’t good at making friends. Maybe it was because I’d been an asshole and didn’t want to hang around with Mexican Mexicans. I mean, maybe I wanted to be an American. Hell, I don’t remember. We just weren’t friends.

  I kept listening even though I didn’t want to listen. I tried looking up at the stars, tried concentrating on them, but I could still hear everything. And then I heard Brian say, “If I don’t leave this goddamn place, I’m gonna go nuts.”

  “Why?” I could tell Jorge was crying. “Why are you leaving?”

  “I can’t stay here. I can’t.” And then there was this long silence. “You can come with me, Jorge.”

  “My mom’s sick, Brian. I can’t leave her.”

  “You need a life. I need a life.”

  “You hate your father.”

  “He hates me, Jorge. And I’m not fucking staying.”

  “And what about me?”

  And then there was nothing. Nothing at all.

  My heart was beating really fast. And I felt—I really don’t know how I felt. I just lay there, my feet in the water, unable to light a cigarette, waiting for them to leave. And then I heard them moving. And then I heard Brian’s voice. “Hey, hey, don’t. Don’t be sad. We’ll figure something out.” I pictured Jorge leaning into Brian’s shoulder. I pictured Brian’s arms around Jorge. I didn’t know why I was picturing those things.

  I heard them walking away.

  They were talking again, saying things, but their voices were distant now, and then their voices disappeared.

  I lit a cigarette. I looked up at the stars. And suddenly the world was so much bigger than I’d ever imagined it to be. And I couldn’t get the idea of Brian kissing Jorge out of my brain.

  I had them both in my head when I masturbated that night.

  I was trembling.

  I knew something about myself that I’d never known. Just when I’d started liking myself, I hated myself again.

  The day after graduation, I decided I was going to college in Albuquerque. I told my dad. I don’t know why I thought he might actually be proud of me. “Think you’re smart enough?”

  “I got a scholarship, Dad.”

  “You’ll be back after you fuck that up.” That’s all he had to say.

  My mom cried. “Your father doesn’t mean it,” she said.

  She needed my smile. “I know,” I said. We both knew it wasn’t true. But we needed to lie to ourselves and to each other about the truth of who my father was. What could a woman tell herself when she knew what kind of man she’d
married? What could a guy tell himself about a father who’d never love him? It was easier to smile.

  I worked two jobs that summer. Saved money. The scholarship gave me two thousand dollars up front and paid my tuition for the first year. The letter said if I kept up my grades, then the scholarship would be renewed for another year. After that, I was on my own. That was a lot. God, that was so much money. A fortune. But still I knew it wouldn’t be enough. And I was already thinking about the last two years and how I would pay for that. And I kept telling myself this one thing: I am not going to be poor. I knew I’d have to do it on my own. So it was me and work. Hell, I knew how to do that. I was living for the future. I guess I’d always been doing that.

  I didn’t really hang out with anybody that summer. I was too tired. I’d work on a construction site from six in the morning till three in the afternoon. I’d come home, take a shower, eat, relax and go into work at the 7-Eleven from five till eleven. Saturdays, I’d work an eight-hour shift at the 7-Eleven. Sundays, I’d just sleep. That was my life. That, and dreaming of my new life in Albuquerque.

  One Saturday afternoon in July, I decided I needed to do something besides read a book or watch television. My parents were out of town at a funeral in San Diego. They’d let me stay behind so I could work. I liked having the house to myself—not that it really felt like home. My dad had a way of making sure I knew that the house I lived in was his.

  But being alone was really good. Really, really good.

  I decided I’d find some beer or something. The needing-to-feel-alive thing. Yeah, that was always there. I went riding around, smoking cigarettes, felt kinda lost and kinda sad but didn’t know why. I guess I hated my life. I found some homeless guy and he was asking for money. I told him to buy me a six-pack and I’d give him a couple of bucks. He was hungry to take the bait. We both got what we wanted. “God bless you, son,” he said.

  I shook my head. “Let’s leave God out of this one.”

  I drove around. I don’t know why, but I found myself taking the old farm road. I liked that road. I’d grown up on a farm before my father lost it. He lost it betting on a cock fight. Yeah, well, that was my father. I hated him when we had to move. But I’d never hated him as much as he hated me. I just didn’t have it in me. I wondered if deep down he wanted to love me as much as I wanted to love him. But there were certain things you couldn’t do anything about. Fathers were one of those certain things.