No Fear Page 8
Ernesto made a mental note to himself. He wasn’t crazy about basketball, but it was okay. He enjoyed shooting some hoops once in a while. He decided that, when Dad headed over to Chavez to play, he’d convince his father that he wanted to go along. He’d say he needed the exercise. Ernesto wanted to be another pair of eyes watching for trouble. If he had his father’s back, then playing in the evening might not be so dangerous.
On Friday after school, the television camera vans were lined up at Cesar Chavez High School. All the teachers and some council members were there. Many parents had also come. The art departments of several southern California colleges sent people. Ernesto saw his parents, Abuela, and his sisters arrive.
The wall mural had been draped with large curtain borrowed from the auditorium’s stage. A podium had been set up with a microphone leading to PA speakers at both sides of the wall.
At designated time, State Senator Miriam Lopez stepped up to the podium to host the ceremonies.
“We hear so much in the media. .. ,” Senator Lopez began and then paused until squealing feedback could be tuned out. “We hear so much about sad and negative things about our young people. But today we are here to celebrate a triumph of our community, our school, our teachers, and especially the students at this school. We will be unveiling a truly remarkable work of art that will inspire and beautify the school for decades to come. This wonderful mural was created by two young men from Chavez with the help of their teacher and many other students who assisted in the project. The wonderful thing about this work of art is that it never would have happened at all except for the caring of our students and the dedication of our teachers.”
Ernesto had spent some time the day before telling Senator Lopez how the mural came into being. She had listened attentively, and now Ernesto hoped she would give credit where credit was due.
Ernesto glanced over at the first friend he had made at Cesar Chavez High School, Abel Ruiz. When Ernesto was a stranger, Abel reached out to him. Right now Abel had a blank look on his face. He had no idea what was about to come. Tall, skinny Abel Ruiz, with a bad case of acne, shifted from one foot to the other, probably wishing the unveiling was over so he could go home. Ernesto smiled to himself. Abel was such a good friend. Ernesto loved the guy.
“It all began,” Senator Lopez went on, “when one of our teachers here, Mr. Luis Sandoval, identified two boys in his class. They didn’t seem interested in studying or even in staying in school long enough to graduate. Their only passion seemed to be in graffiti. Yes, they were taggers. Well, they were talking to one of our juniors, Ernesto Sandoval, Mr. Sandoval’s son, about how boring school was. Another junior, Abel Ruiz, heard about them.”
Abel Ruiz snapped to attention. He looked shocked. He glanced at the senator and then at Ernesto.
“Well,” the senator continued, “Abel Ruiz had a pretty good idea. The boys were graffiti artists, and they were bored in school. Maybe they could be interested in doing a mural for Cesar Chavez High School as colorful and dramatic as their graphic art on fences and walls of the community!”
Everybody was looking at Abel now, smiling. Abel’s face got warm, but he was smiling too.
“Abel told his friend, Ernesto, and Ernesto told his father, Luis Sandoval. And a great idea was born. Two talented young men made a magnificent mural and decided maybe school wasn’t so boring after all. And here is the result! Violá!” As she finished the presentation, the senator turned toward the covered wall.
The curtain dropped, and mural was unveiled to the cheers of an audience that had now swelled to several hundred. Television cameras rolled, and phones were aimed.
Senator Lopez began by thanking all the people who helped make the even happen. She thanked the students involved, the art teacher who supervised, and many others. She hoped she hadn’t forgotten anyone.
Then the senator invited Luis and Ernesto Sandoval, Ms. Polk, Dom Reynosa, Carlos Negrete, and Abel Ruiz on stage to be acknowledged. As they were being introduced and applauded, Abel Ruiz hung back when his name was called. “I didn’t do nothing,” he protested. Ernesto grabbed his arm and pulled him onto the stage. Abel faced the cheering crowd with a nervous grin.
“The moral of the story,” concluded Senator Lopez, “is that, when we cast a single stone into the water, the ripples go on forever, far beyond our ability to see them. Thank you, Abel Ruiz, for having a great idea. Thank you, Ernesto Sandoval, for carrying the idea forward. And thank you, Luis Sandoval, for making it happen. To Dom and Carlos and all of the other students who worked on this mural, thank you. It is the most beautiful piece of art in the whole barrio! May we all someday admire your work in the art museums of the world!”
The crowd of onlookers, young and old, loudly applauded and cheered. Senator Lopez stepped away, and the group on the stage began to break up. The TV news services moved in to buttonhole the politician and the other participants in the making of the mural. The next thirty minutes were spent in giving interviews for airing later that evening on TV.
The next Wednesday, Ernesto did not show up for work. He had gotten permission from his boss to take the night off.
Ernesto had to be at a track meet. The Wilson Wolverine fans filled their stadium to see the winningest track team Wilson High had ever fielded. Friends and families were ready to witness a romp over the hapless team from Chavez. As long as any of the students from Wilson had been in school, they had always soundly trounced Chavez. They didn’t expect this afternoon to be any different. Wilson’s Coach Amsterdam caught sight of Coach Gus Muñoz arriving with his team, and Amsterdam grinned and gave his boys a thumbs-up.
Coach Gus Muñoz been coaching for almost thirty years. Long ago, he had enjoyed some success, but that was before he came to Cesar Chavez High School. In East Los Angeles, where his boys had run like gazelles, he had coached a team to the regional championships. One of his boys even went on to win Olympic gold.
Muñoz was not young anymore. Ever since coming to Chavez, his record was dismal. He had always been a man with bad posture, even in the best of times. And a meet with Wilson had only made his shoulders slump even more. At the Wilson meets, he had been typically prepared for humiliation.
But not today. Deep in the man’s heart, hope glimmered. He strode onto the field more erect, his shoulders as squared as they could be.
Avila was good. He was passionate about winning. Sandoval was good too. The others not so much. The chance of winning any of the races would all hang on those two juniors. Muñoz would consider it a miracle if they could take the relay. Still, Muñoz glanced nervously at the Wilson Wolverines, looking like a pack of cheetahs. Muñoz’s shoulders slumped, but only for a moment.
Ernesto noticed that Clay Aguirre had come to watch the races. His new girlfriend, Mira Nuñez, was with him. Ernesto thought Clay figured Naomi would come to watch Ernesto run, and she did. Clay was hoping that Ernesto would thoroughly humiliate himself and that Naomi would be embarrassed too. That was why Clay had come. He was hoping to watch Ernesto drag the Cougars down to another defeat. When Naomi, Yvette, and Tessie in her wheelchair arrived, Clay looked happy. They would all see what a fool Ernesto Sandoval was. Clay’s eyes followed Naomi as she pushed Tessie’s wheelchair.
As Ernesto watched Clay, he wondered whether Mira noticed that her new boyfriend hardly ever looked at her. Didn’t she see that all his attention was on another girl, the beautiful girl in the green pullover? Ernesto wondered when Mira would get wise to the fact that she was just a prop, a decoy.
Ernesto smiled and waved to the girls, and they all waved back. Ernesto thought that Naomi especially gave him a warm smile. He hoped that his imagination wasn’t just working overtime.
Finally, the runners from both schools took their places at the starting line for the hundred-meter race. The favorite for this event was a lanky boy from Wilson named DeWayne Rodgers. He had won the event twice before, and now he was even stronger. Ernesto and Julio were also running in that event, and bo
th were eager to win. As the boys got into their starting positions, Ernesto heard Clay Aguirre yelling, “Go DeWayne!” He yelled several times, until the Cougar supporters sitting around him threatened him with bodily harm. Clay didn’t give a damn about the Chavez Cougars. He just wanted to see Ernesto go down.
When the starting gun went off, DeWayne flew from the starting line, as he always did, fully expecting to win. But both Julio and Ernesto were close behind him. Ernesto gave it all he had, but Julio pulled ahead of DeWayne to win the dash for Chavez. DeWayne finished second and Ernesto third. For the first time as coach at Chavez High, Coach Muñoz had a joyous shock on his face. His guy actually beat Wilson! The small contingent from Chavez was screaming so loudly it seemed as though the stands were full of Cougars, not Wolverine fans.
Clay Aguirre was very pleased that Ernesto finished third.
Ernesto gave Julio a high-five. “You were awesome, man,” he told him.
Julio grinned happily and, as usual, looked for his father, who was going crazy in the stands.
Julio Avila went on to win the twohundred-meter as well, against two excellent Wilson sprinters. Julio was on fire.
Wilson boys had won the long jump and hurdles. But, if Cesar Chavez High School took the relay, the Cougars would have enough points to win the meet. As the relay teams took their places, Coach Muñoz’s shoulders looked look a little more erect.
Jorge Aguilar was running the second lap, and Eddie Gonzales the third. Both boys had much improved over the start of the season, but they were not speedsters. Ernesto was determined to redeem himself by running the first lap so fast that taking the race would be a cinch for the others. So far Ernesto had not run his best for some reason. But the meet depended on the relay, and he wanted to make it happen.
As Ernesto eased into his starting position, he concentrated as he’d never done before. He remembered all he had learned about running, breathing, pumping his arms. This one lap would make him or break him today. He wanted to make it his personal best. He focused his mind on the one purpose he had before him: to complete this lap way ahead of the competition.
At the signal to go, Ernesto sprung into fluid motion. To those watching in the stands, he was a blur. Ernesto amazed himself by his speed. He seemed to burst into a whole other dimension. He heard gasps from the stands, but he paid no attention to anything but his running. When he passed the baton to Jorge Aguilar, the handoff was smooth and flawless. Ernesto slowed down onto the grass, braced his hands on his knees, and sucked in large gulps of air. He didn’t know it yet, but he had just run the fastest first lap ever recorded at Wilson High.
Jorge and Eddie ran well too, but neither came close to Ernesto’s speed. Julio Avila would get the baton for the final lap with only seconds to spare. He could win his lap easily.
But nobody foresaw what happened next. A gasp of horror came from the Cougar fans when Eddie fumbled the baton while passing it to Julio. Julio lost precious time. He charged desperately into the final lap, arms pumping, his muscles stretched to the limit. Julio’s father watched, anguish on his face. He believed the fumble had cost Chavez, and his son, the relay race. Most of the Cougar fans believed so too.
But Julio never believed so, and he never let up. Running the fastest he had ever in his life, he flashed over the finish line. As he did, the Cougar anchor seemed to be right beside him. Had he been he fast enough? He cooled down on the track with the other runners, walking in a tight circle, hands on hips, gasping for air. Had he been fast enough? The crowd was eerily quiet.
Then the announcement was made. The Cougars had won the relay! Julio had beaten the Wilson anchor by a heartstopping two-tenths of a second. The Cougar fans were on their feet, shouting Julio’s name: Jul-i-o! Jul-i-o! And then they started shouting another name: Er-nest-o! Er-nest-o!
Except for Ernesto’s incredible speed during that first lap, Chavez would have lost the relay and the meet. Ernesto had blown the first lap into the stratosphere, giving the Cougars that slim margin of victory.
Julio and Ernesto embraced each other amid the wild cheers of the Cougar fans. The only unhappy face among the Chavez section belonged to Clay Aguirre.
The meet over, a caravan of cars containing Chavez students traveled to Hortencia’s restaurant for the victory celebration. Tessie rode in her parent’s van along with Carmen. In the Volvo with Ernesto were Naomi, Julio and his father, and Abel. Behind them were five more cars filled with happy teenagers. As the huge group charged into the tamale shop, Hortencia threw up her hands and laughed, “It’s an invasion!”
Before the celebration was all over, Hortencia suggested that Julio douse Coach Muñoz with a cup of nonalcoholic champagne that she brought from the back. The coach grinned happily as the champagne ran down his face and neck. “Now I can die happy,” he announced, “but not before we win a bunch more meets and get to the regionals! I’m not retired yet!” The shop reverberated with the cheers of the crowd.
When finally Naomi and Ernesto were alone, going home, Naomi ordered, “Pull over, mister.”
Ernesto pulled over to the curb and stopped. He looked at Naomi.
“Turn off the engine,” she commanded.
When Ernesto turned off the engine, Naomi took his face into her hands and kissed him on the mouth like he had never been kissed before. “You were so great!” Naomi told him. “Not just because you ran that first lap like a champion, but for a whole other reason. I know how you’ve been training. I know how much you wanted to win the hundred meter and the two hundred. I could see the disappointment on your face when Julio beat you. But after both those races, you high-fived Julio like you were really happy for him. That took a real man, Ernesto. And then, after the relay, you could have hogged the glory ’cause we all knew that your amazing first lap won the relay. But you hugged Julio, and you were wonderful.”
Naomi looked deeply into Ernesto’s eyes. “I’m not sure what’s happening to me right now, Ernesto. But something really strange is happening to me and. .. There isn’t an earthquake going on is there?”
Ernesto was speechless. He felt as if he had been abducted by aliens and taken to an incredibly beautiful place ruled by a queen named Naomi. And she had, incredibly, asked him to be her king.
“I think I’m falling in love with you, Ernesto Sandoval,” Naomi sighed.
Ernesto grabbed the girl and held her tight. “I love you too, Naomi,” he whispered, unshed tears pooling in his eyes. “I’ve loved you for a long time. I’ve hoped and prayed that maybe someday you’d feel the same about me. But I didn’t think it would ever happen . . .”
CHAPTER NINE
When Luis Sandoval went to play basketball that night, Ernesto tagged along. “You know what, Dad? I think I’ll join you. I just feel like shooting some hoops tonight.”
“You’re not just trying to keep an eye on the old man, are you?” Luis Sandoval replied, a knowing grin in his eyes. “I can take care of myself, you know. After all the running you did at the track meet today, I wouldn’t think you’d be up for hoops tonight.”
“I used to like playing basketball, Dad,” Ernesto protested. “I was never good enough to get on the team, but it’s a nice warm night. I just feel like shooting a few baskets.”
“Okay mi hijo,” Dad agreed, looking unconvinced about Ernesto’s reasons for tagging along. “It’s always nice to spend some time with you, Ernie. So I’ll take it. I love to be with my kids.”
Ernesto and his father walked down the rapidly darkening street toward the basketball court. Usually six or seven kids showed up. Sometimes one of them would be a dropout, and Dad’s eyes would light up at the chance to turn the kid around.
“When the baby comes, it’ll be different at our house, huh Dad?” Ernesto asked. “It’s been six years since we had a baby around. I was eight years old when Katalina was born, and then, when Juanita came, I was really excited. I guess it’ll be fun having a baby around again. Mom is really excited. A baby and her new book. Man!”
“You’ll be a great dad to the kid, just like you’ve been to all of us,” Ernesto assured him.
“By then you’ll be married, Ernie,” Dad said, “with niños of your own. I hope my kids’ll always be close. It’s the way families should be. I am very close to Hortencia and Magda, Arturo, and Mario. We get together whenever we can. Hermanos y hermanas, they are so important in our lives. When our parents have gone, it is they who comfort us.” Then he laughed. “Listen to me, I’m preaching to you as if already I’m a tiresome viejo!”
“Dad, it’s real sad how it is with Naomi’s family,” Ernesto remarked. “Felix Martinez kicked the two older boys out. They had no contact until I took Naomi and her mom down to see them. Mrs. Martinez was so happy to see her sons, but she was scared stiff her husband would somehow find out. She kinda lives in fear all the time, but she always insists that she loves her husband and he loves her.”
“A tragic situation,” Dad agreed.
“Yeah,” Ernesto went on, “but what’s she gonna do? She had to decide if she would cut off the boys when they defied their father or break with her husband. That’s a terrible choice. She’s been married for almost thirty years.”
“Well,” Luis Sandoval suggested, “perhaps eventually Felix Martinez will relent and accept his sons back. When we get older, we sometimes realize that our stupid grudges are destroying us. The heart softens sometimes, Ernie. They are his sons. There is no stronger bond than between a father and his sons. Can Naomi talk to her father and ask him if he could ever find it in his heart to forgive his boys?”