The Tequila Worm (7 page)

“As I was saying, she only feels what she sees and hears, and what she experiences in the movies.” He then started to laugh. “So when we go to the drive-in, pay attention to your mama and to how she connects to the movie.”

I rolled my eyes.
No, not another one of those singing
charro
movies
.

“So I guess it’s time you learn to dance, mi’ja.” Papa said, smiling. He started whistling the
vals
“Julia.” He then took me in his arms and began waltzing me around and around the freshly cut grass.

The DRiVe-in

IT had been
years
since I’d been to the Border drive-in theater. According to Mama and Berta, I’d been so focused on my books that I had missed some of the best movies ever.

Lucy was sitting between Berta and me in the backseat of our old white Ford, while Noe sat between Papa and Mama in front. As the car passed the marquee, I tapped Berta on the shoulder and pointed. We laughed, for most of the black letters spelling PEDRO INFANTE were either falling off or missing completely.

After Papa parked on top of one of the rows and rows of asphalt mounds, it was just like always: Mama leaned over and moved Saint Christopher and the Virgin from the center to the right side of the dashboard. She opened the glove compartment, pulled out a snakelike green coil, set it on top of the dashboard, and lit it. This was incense for killing the flying bugs and mosquitoes. The coil burned with a strange glow that got redder and redder as the evening got darker.

“Mama,” said Lucy, “can you please take Saint Christopher and the Virgin off the dashboard? They’re blocking my view.”

“
Ay,
Lucy, it’s always the same thing with you. The movie hasn’t even started. And anyway, I’m not taking them off. They’re there to sanctify our car and protect us against accidents.”

“
Mama
, the car’s parked. It’s not moving,” Lucy said. Berta and I grinned at each other.

“Well, you never know. Something could always happen. Look, I’ll move them all the way to the right.” Mama carefully set them on the corner of the dashboard.

“Aren’t you going to turn them around so they can watch the movie?” I winked at Berta.

Mama turned her two
santos
to face the huge white screen as she always did, and we laughed. I leaned over to Berta and whispered, “I can’t wait for the kissing, the tequila drinking, and the shooting to begin. Wonder what Mama’s
santos
will think then!” But Berta didn’t laugh.

Then Lucy and Noe fought over who got to take the metal speaker that hung on a pole outside and attach it to their window. Berta and I looked at each other: once we had been the ones fighting over this. Mama grabbed the speaker, hung it over the top of her window, and turned the knobs.

A man’s voice burst forth: “Fresh popcorn, cold Cokes, hot dogs, chocolate bars, and pepperoni pizzas are waiting for you at the concession stand!” I used to love going to the concession stand, for there were four magic horses next to it. The horses flew on swings back and forth, back and forth, making me feel as though I were flying through the stars.

“Let’s go ride the horses, Sofia!” said Lucy.

“Yeah!” said Noe.

“Okay, let’s take them,” I said. Berta rolled her eyes and opened her door.

Berta and I tried to keep up with Lucy and Noe. They were leaping and laughing way ahead of us.

“Hey, Berta, what’s wrong?” I said.

“Nothing, why?”

“You seem so . . . quiet.”

“No. It’s just that I’m here to see the movie. This kid stuff bores me.”

“You want to
see
the
movie
? Boy, I feel I’ve missed a lot.”

“Yes, you have.”

“Like what?”

“Oh . . .”

“Oh,
what
?”

She was silent.

As I watched Lucy and Noe fly away on their magic horses, I noticed that Berta looked older, pretty, and somehow her teeth didn’t even look big anymore. They went perfectly with her face now. Her curly, light brown hair was neatly tied back with a red ribbon, and she had on a bright blue dress with glass buttons in front. She was even wearing makeup.
When did all this happen?

I looked down at my torn jeans, my white T-shirt, my old white sneakers. My hair still looked like Apache hair, as Papa liked to call it—long, dark, and wild.

Then a loud horn blew. Berta told Noe and Lucy to get off the horses—
now!
That she didn’t want to miss the movie. Back to the car.

Papa and Mama stayed in the front seat while the four of us took the Mexican blanket from the trunk and spread it on the asphalt mound next to the car.

Just as I thought, it was another one of those singing
charro
movies Mama loved.

But this was our green light to start gobbling whatever we’d brought along with us. Sometimes it was a bucket full of corn on the cob or
Maguacatas,
the boiled pods from our ebony tree, or mesquite beans or bean tacos or
pan dulce
. But this time we felt really, really lucky, for Papa had stopped at Whataburger’s and bought hamburgers and Cokes.

After we had finished eating and then made spiral toys from the paper cups, I looked up at the screen and saw that the
charro
was singing another boring song. I rolled my eyes. But Berta was watching with a dreamy expression.

I couldn’t believe it. We
hated
these movies. “I’m going to the car. You all are making way too much noise,” Berta said. I laughed but carefully watched as she got into the backseat.

Berta was glued to the movie, just like Mama. Papa smiled and waved at me. He leaned his head against the car door and closed his eyes. I wondered if taking Mama to the movies was another example of his learning to dance.

I joined Lucy and Noe in our usual game of gazing up at the stars and calling out what shapes and animals we could make by connecting them. We also looked for falling stars, sure signs of good luck.

When the
charro
and the
señorita
finally kissed, Lucy, Noe, and I made our usual loud lip-smacking sounds. But Berta was as captivated as Mama. Papa was asleep. And when I coaxed Lucy to go over and ask Mama how Saint Christopher and the Virgin were enjoying this part of the movie, Mama said, “Be quiet.” Berta said, “Shhh!”, not taking her eyes off the screen.

Lucy jumped up. “Restroom time!”

I opened Berta’s door and whispered, “Berta, come with us.”

Berta sighed. “You all act like a bunch of babies.”

We passed car after car and people on aluminum chairs, milk crates, or blankets. I also saw two sofas and even a church pew. Some young couples were kissing as the
charro
’s song and the
señorita
’s sighs floated over everything.

I looked at the mile-long rays of light shooting from the top of the concession stand, magically painting the movie onto the screen. “Remember, Berta, how we wished we were twenty feet tall, so we could project shadow puppets onto that enormous screen? Especially during the kissing.”

Berta just looked at me and frowned, making us walk faster and faster, constantly turning around to watch the screen. “You’re all acting silly and ruining the movie for me,” she said. Noe and Lucy made even louder kissing noises.

I studied Berta as we walked, thinking about what Mama had said while Papa and I were cleaning beans, that I should start being more like Berta.

Berta turned and bared her now perfect teeth at me. “Sofia, what are you looking at?”

Once there, Lucy and Noe pretended to use the restroom and then begged to ride the flying horses again. I smiled, knowing they had learned this trick from me. But Berta said, “No!” We headed back.

Berta jumped into the car, while the three of us went back to watching stars. I leaned back on the blanket, folded my hands under my head, and stared up at the darkness.

I glanced at the screen. Now the
charro
and the
señorita
were married with children. But instead of the movie, I saw Mr. Weld’s slides of Saint Luke’s projected onto the screen.
Who are those rich people anyway?

I turned to the stars and now saw them as faraway worlds.
Yes!
That’s what I wanted: I didn’t want to stay a kid, but I didn’t want to enter Mama and Berta’s grown-up world either—at least, not so fast. And not if it was only about getting married and having children, like in the movies. No, I wanted to explore.

I spotted a falling star. I kept it a secret. It was good luck! Yes!
But what if it’s a sign of crashing and burning?

As we dropped Berta and Noe off at their front porch, I remembered what Tía Petra told us on
her
porch. When I got home, I called Berta.

“Sorry we ruined the movie for you.”

Silence.

“Listen,” I continued, “is there something I don’t know? . . . I mean, remember what Tía Petra told us . . . about being
comadres
and all.”

“Sofia, it’s late.”

“I know it’s late, but . . .”

“Well . . . I have . . . a boyfriend.”

“A boyfriend? Wow! Who is it?”

Silence.

“Why is this such a big secret?”

Silence.

“Jamie.”

“Jamie, the track star?”

“Yes.”

“Have you kissed him?”

“Sofia!”

“I’m just kidding, Berta. I’m not as immature as you think. I’m
worse
! No, no, I’m really happy for you. And again, sorry for ruining the movie.
Now
I understand.

“And Berta, one more thing. How do you want me to support this new dream of yours?”

“Actually, I’m glad you asked because I was going to come over to tell you tomorrow. Now good night.”

“Good night.”

As I drifted off to sleep, I realized that staying happy did get tricky, just as Tía Petra had said.

And I hadn’t even left home.

BeRTa’S QUiNCeaNeRA

The next morning I was sitting at the kitchen table looking at the school brochure and thinking about the picture of the students all dressed up for dinner. I was also thinking that even if I got Mama’s blessing, how could I raise that four hundred dollars, the “parents’ contribution”?

Berta walked in the door, all excited. “Sofia! What are you doing?” She grabbed the brochure. “Boy! I don’t know. You’re such a tomboy, and look here,” she said, pointing to the dinner picture. “All the girls are in nice dresses. You can’t even bother to comb that crazy Indian hair of yours.”

I grabbed it back.

“No, seriously. You’re the smartest person I know, but you still look and act like a kid. Why don’t you grow up?” Berta walked over to the counter and poured herself a cup of coffee.

I sighed. I wanted to just laugh it off, but I stared blankly at the table, knowing that Berta was leaning against the counter, staring at me.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s not start this again. You said you were coming over to tell me how I can support your dream. So tell me.”

Berta sat down at the table. “I want you to be my
dama
de honor,
my maid of honor at my
quinceañera
.”

“What do I have to do exactly?”

“Well, you’re going to have to look and act mature, for one.”

“Come on. Tell me or I won’t do it.”

“Oh! But I’ve already talked to your mama months ago.”

“And what does
she
have to do with this?”

“A lot. She’s one of the
comadres
who’s helping me. And she thinks this will be good training for
you
.”

“For
me
?”

“Yes! It will help you, especially since you told her you don’t want a
quinceañera
yourself. As my
dama de honor,
you’ll have to wear a long dress, have a
chambelan,
and dance at my ball.”

“I don’t have a long dress or a boyfriend, and I don’t know how to dance.”

“The
comadres
have taken care of all that. You think I’d leave these things to you?
Dios mio!
Look, you’re my best friend and this is my party, and—”

“Okay! Okay!” I said. “I’ll do it. But remember, you told Tía Petra you’d support my dream. Papa said I can go to that school, but I still need to convince Mama.”

Berta smiled. “Okay, it’s a deal: you be my
dama
and I’ll help convince your mama. But you’ll see the two are connected. And you know what?”

“What?”

“After the
comadres
are all done with you, you’ll know that you’re not only smart, but pretty, too.”

I sighed. But now I was at the point where I’d do
anything
to go to Saint Luke’s.

The next seven days were pure hell.

We drove around and around in Berta’s new car—a bottle green Chevy, her parents’ birthday present. Berta had a special “hardship license” to drive at fifteen since Tía Belia didn’t drive, her brother, Beto, didn’t live at home, and her papa had an injured foot.

We drove from the bakery to the flower shop to the dress boutique to the church to the caterer and then back to the bakery. How could
any
of this possibly have anything to do with connecting with Mama?

After triple-checking on the cake, I got into the car and kicked the seat. Berta started backing out. “Is this it? I mean, we’ve already stopped everywhere at least twice. I hope we’re heading home now. I really need to study.”

“No! Sofia! Remember? I told you that I needed you until
eight
o’clock tonight.”

“But for
what
?”

“Now we’re going straight to La Plaza hotel.”

“But we were there yesterday!”

Berta started laughing.

“What?”

“You’ll see.” As Berta stepped on the gas, I noticed she was wearing new white sandals and
stockings
. I looked at my torn white sneakers. I started to get a headache.

“Oh, Sofia! Cheer up! It’s not that bad.
Is it
?” At the traffic light, Berta turned and smiled with her perfect white teeth. I shook my head and kicked the seat again. “Sofia, what are you thinking?”

I shook my head.

“What?”

“Nothing!”
I sighed.

“Sofia!”
Berta, said, driving again. “Stop being a mule and talk to me. I can’t read minds, you know.”

“How is this all going to help me connect with Mama? I don’t have much time left.”

“Okay,
genius,
here’s a clue: why do you think I’m having a
quinceañera
in the first place?”

“Because you’ve turned fifteen.”

“
Wrong!
Sofia. It’s because the
comadres
are making it happen for me. They all got together, including your mama, and they have been helping me plan it for at least six months now. And they’re making it really special and beautiful.

“My family alone could never have done this. For one, they wouldn’t be able to afford it. And two, a
quinceañera
is my coming-out party, yes, but it also brings everyone together. So, all in all, it’s helping me learn how to be a
comadre
.”

“How?”

“Well, I had to learn how to go about getting
padrinos
and
madrinas
to sponsor and pay for my cake, the dance, the flowers, and on and on. I also had to assemble my court of honor by finding fourteen
damas
and fourteen
chambelanes
to represent my past fourteen years. I had to go talk to the priest about the spiritual meaning of turning fifteen.

“It’s like preparing for your First Communion. It’s all about growing up and joining the community.”

Berta turned left onto Main Street.

“As for your mama, start acting like you’re not a kid anymore, and show her that you can take care of yourself.”

“But
how
?”

“Sofia, I know you can look out for yourself. Your papa knows too. But to your mama, you’re still a kid. And no mother is going to send her kid away, especially to a world she doesn’t know. So you need to
show
her that you’ve grown up.” Berta parked the car. “Show her that you can function in the real world too, in the world of people, not just in your books and soccer and those crazy stories you tell. And you can start doing it right now!”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a surprise!” she said.

Berta dragged me through the massive door of the hotel, the most beautiful in the valley. It was white stucco with a red-tiled roof and tiled floors and secret courtyards and stone fountains like a Spanish hacienda.

Berta walked me out to the main courtyard.

“Sofia! Sofia!” It was Mama. “Hurry! You only have ten minutes before it starts!” I turned and saw Berta laughing from across the courtyard. She was standing with Jamie beside the Spanish fountain.

As I followed Mama to the ladies’ room, I got a few clues as to what this
surprise
was about. One was seeing Berta’s other
damas
standing around in their new dresses. Tía Belia, who was a seamstress, had been busy making them. Mama was carrying a big paper bag with her.

Then I bumped into Beto, Berta’s older brother, in a tux! He had terrific teeth like Berta, and he was over six feet tall. He flashed a big smile at me. “Sofia, are you ready to dance?”

I laughed. My headache was back. “She will be!” Mama said as she hurried me along. “Beto’s your
chambelan,
” she said as we passed the twelve mariachis tuning their instruments. They looked dazzling in their black charro outfits, with silver buttons all down their pants and vests.

“Here.” She took my dress out of the bag.

I went inside one of the stalls and put it on. It was white, with orange and green lace trim along the waist and collar, and puffy sleeves.

“Sofia! Come on out! You’re late!”

I sighed, then remembered what Berta had said. I put on a smile. But my headache kept getting worse.

“Oh! Sofia!” Mama said. “You look so pretty, so
grown-up
!”

Wow! This is working!

“Thank you, Mama,” I said, tripping.

“Hold still,” she scolded. I stood stiffly, doing my best to keep my smile going, as Mama pinned a pair of earrings on me, then added her pearl necklace, a touch of lipstick, rouge. But I drew the line at stockings. I put on my flat black shoes.

“Oh! It’s amazing!” Mama said as she came at me again with a big tube of red lipstick. “You’re so beautiful!”

I started rolling my eyes but caught myself and smiled instead. “Thank you, Mama.” My headache had spread to the very front of my head.

For the next three hours, Berta’s royal court was put though an excruciating hands-on crash course on the correct use of utensils, polite conversation, handling social “mishaps,” and dancing.

This boot camp culminated with our having to go out to the courtyard and dance to the
vals
“
Dulce
Quinceañera
.” As I inadvertently kicked Beto in the shins for the fourth time, I wondered why the boys always got to lead.

That night I found Papa at the kitchen table carving something with his knife, and I told him what the
comadres
had just put us through.

“Ah! La Plaza hotel. That’s where I first saw your Mama. She was dancing in that very courtyard. And that’s when I fell in love with her.”

It was hard to imagine Papa falling in love, for he was always so calm, reserved, thoughtful; falling in love sounded like losing control.

“Yes, back then, La Plaza held a dance every Saturday. I went one Saturday with a couple of friends. I had just returned from the Korean War. We were out in the courtyard, drinking beers. The mariachis were playing. Couples were dancing. And then I saw your mama dancing a
vals
. She was wearing a bright red dress and had the brightest smile, the sweetest eyes. She looked
so beautiful
.

“I stood there watching her all evening. Of course everybody wanted to dance with her. And she did every kind of dance—
rancheras,
polkas,
cumbias, valses
. She was
amazing
!

“But I realized I didn’t stand a chance with her unless I could dance too. Now it’s your turn to learn.”

We went outside and Papa taught me how to dance the lead to “Julia.”

On Berta’s big day, I woke early and made breakfast for everybody. Then I put on my dress and let Mama pretty me up.

The priest’s blessing of Berta at the church was followed by the reception. And after Berta had posed for a zillion pictures, the
damas
all danced with her. Then Berta’s father started waltzing her around the courtyard.

Berta’s mother appeared carrying a white satin pillow with a tiara and high heels. She placed the pillow in front of Berta, and then she and Berta’s father replaced Berta’s flower headpiece with the tiara and her flat shoes with heels.

The
vals
started again, but now Berta danced with all fourteen of her
chambelans,
and finally with Jamie. She looked so beautiful in her flowing white dress, and so grown-up. It struck me how much I’d miss her if I went away to school. How much I’d miss all my family and friends!

Finally, Berta’s towering cake was wheeled into the middle of the courtyard. Her parents reached up and took the little doll from the top of the cake, a replica of Berta— tiara, gown, and all. They presented it to Berta as her last doll ever. Berta cut the cake.

Later in the evening, Papa whispered something to the lead mariachi. Papa looked so handsome in his dark suit and his brown and white boots. Then “Julia” started to play. He whispered to me, and I walked across the courtyard.

“Mama, can I have this dance?” I said.

She looked surprised and then laughed as I took her in my arms and we started waltzing, just like Papa had taught me.

“Mama,” I said, counting steps in my head, “I love you.”

“I love you too, mi’ja. It’s like a dream. Me and you dancing to ‘Julia,’ in the same courtyard where I met your papa. And you looking so beautiful, so grown-up.”

“Mama, I have a dream too.”

“What’s that, mi’ja?”

“To go to that school.”

“What does Papa say?”

“He supports it, so long as you do.”

“But what about Lucy?”

“
Ay,
Mama, she’s just like you. She’ll go along with whatever you say.”

“But what about those dresses you’ll need, and the four hundred dollars?”

“Don’t worry about that. My
comadre
Berta and I got all that figured out.”

“Your comadre Berta?” Mama laughed. “Okay, mi’ja, you have my blessing.” Mama had tears in her eyes.

We kissed when the
vals
ended. As we sat at the table, I winked at Papa and turned to Lucy next to me.

“Lucy, is it all right if I go to that school? Mama and Papa say it’s okay, if it’s okay with you.” Lucy looked at Mama, who nodded.

“Okay,” said Lucy quietly. I moved closer and squeezed her hand. “I’ll come home as often as I can,” I whispered.