by Debra Diaz
Rita La Chiva:
Light My Fire
I really, really, really hate it here. Especially
now, in August. It’s boring enough during the rest of
the year, but in August this town becomes hell. It’s
so hot, even the tiles give up and slide right off the
roofs.
No way I’m waiting. Before Mom left she told
Emily, Laura and me to wait here for Dad and he’d
take us to the Corn Festival. "He went to Tío
Manny’s and he’ll be back in an hour," she said.
Yeah, and like I still believe in Santa Claus. If he’s
not here by three o’clock, I’m leaving. I’ll walk to the
Corn Festival by myself. It’s only a couple of miles.
I’m almost fourteen, anyway. I shouldn’t have to be
going anywhere with my parents or my stupid little
sisters.
It’s three o’clock and I tell Gloria that I’m going
over to my friend Theresa’s house. Gloria warns me
that if I go to Theresa’s, I won’t be able to go with
the others to the festival. I can’t believe she really
believes they’re going. She’s so stupid. Sometimes
she acts just like Mom, or maybe it’s that she wants
to get rid of us so she can spend time with her
boyfriend. Emily and Laura look up from their game
of Fish as I walk through the living room and out
the front door.
"We’ll bring you back a present from the Festival,"
Laura says, hoping I’ll change my mind about
going with them.
"No, that’s okay," I answer guiltily, knowing
that I will definitely go and their chances are slim
at best. I run out the door, jump off the porch steps
and into the street.
I run a block and then walk a block. The sweat
drips off my face and neck, running down my chest
and drenching my T-shirt. Damn. I’m going to look
horrible when I get there. I have on my new sleeveless,
cropped, white-ribbed T-shirt with my blue
bell-bottom jeans from Jeans West, because even
though I’m meeting Theresa at the festival, I’m really
going to see Jess. Jess Vargas is a junior whom
I’ve had a crush on all year. He goes to La Vista
High School and lives two blocks away from us,
near the railroad tracks. I’ll just have to sneak into
a bathroom somewhere and clean up. Run, then
walk. Walk, run. I pass El Rey Bakery, Foster’s
Freeze, Ray’s Auto with the monkey mechanics on
the billboard, and finally the library, which sits
right before the park.
Theresa sits on the curb corner eating a buttered
corn on the cob.
"Why do these idiots call it the Corn Festival?
They don’t grow corn here. It should be the orange
or lemon or even the avocado festival."
"I don’t know," I answer. "How long have you
been waiting?"
"Forever. I thought your Dad was driving you
here."
"No, I walked."
Theresa tosses her cob into the gutter, stands
up and straightens her short denim skirt around
her muscular brown thighs, then readjusts her halter
top over her bulging cleavage.
"Come on, I saw Jess and his friends over past
the game lines. He’s been waiting for you."
At the mention of Jess’s name, I reach for the
Saint Christopher medal hanging from a chain
around my neck. Jess gave it to me last week while
we were eating taquitos at the Foster Freeze. When
he asked me to go steady, I wasn’t sure what to say,
so I told him I needed to think about it first before
giving him an answer. But I took the medal anyway,
because I like the heavy chain and the feel of the
cool silver disc on my skin.
Jess and I haven’t really done anything. We
haven’t held hands, kissed or even really talked that
much. I guess this is kind of like our first date
I follow Theresa through the game area, where
guys try landing shiny dimes onto smooth flat
plates or struggle to toss white featherweight plastic
balls into tiny fishbowls, all in the hopes of winning
a lime-green teddy bear or a tiny, scared
goldfish. We push our way through the cotton candy,
corn dog and burger lines, and finally reach the picnic
area.
"Rita!"
I turn towards the voice and see Jess peering
out from a group of bushes. We walk through an
opening in the bushes and find ourselves in a small,
private clearing surrounded by trees. Jess and his
two friends, Rudy and Anthony, stand in the center
of the clearing, drinking from a small bottle. Jess
hands it to me.
"Tequila," he says. "Have some, it’s great."
I look at Theresa, but she’s already busy drinking
from a beer can, so I take the amber bottle from
Jess and drink. A slow, strong warmth slides down
my throat. I pause, catch my breath and take another
drink. In the distance, a battle of the bands plays
"Light My Fire." I like this.
Jess and I wander through the crowds, holding
hands. We get on the ferris wheel and soar over the
park. The sun is setting and the festival neon lights
flicker on. Our basket stops at the top of the wheel
and Jess and I sit there gently swinging back and
forth in the warm breeze. I don’t ever want to come
down.
"Rita. . .Rita!"
From the ground I look up into the air, following
Theresa’s voice.
"There," Jess points, "she’s on the Octopus."
Theresa leans out of an Octopus arm and
points.
"What’s she pointing at?" Jess asks.
"I don’t know."
I follow the line of her arm. "Maybe she wants
us to meet her at the half-apples. That’s where she’s
pointing."
We slowly make our way through the crowd to
the half-apple line. I stop abruptly.
"What?" Jess asks.
A few yards away I see Dad, with a paper bag in
his hand, helping a vomiting Emily and a scream ing
Laura off the half-apple. Laura clutches a half-eaten
corn dog while Emily holds what looks like a bag of
peanuts to her chest. Gloria comes out from behind
the safety fence to help Dad. I can’t believe he fed
them before getting on the rides! I pull my hand out
of Jess’s and run away into the crowd. Jess calls out
after me, but I keep running. I hide behind the
House of Horror.
"What’s wrong with you, why’d you run away?"
Jess asks minutes later as he catches up with me.
"My Dad. I don’t want him to see me."
"Why not?"
"Because I’m not supposed to be here alone," I
answer rudely.
"Are you going to get in trouble?"
"I don’t know," I snap. I’m mad at them all: at
Jess for asking stupid questions; at Gloria for giving
in to Dad and coming here; and at Dad for carrying
that paper bag.
"I don’t know if I’m getting in trouble, and I
really don’t give a shit."
Jess stares at me, confused for a second, then
shakes his head and slowly smiles. "You’re something
else."
Behind us "Light My Fire" wins another ap –
plause battle, and the organ intro starts up again.
Jess pulls out the tequila bottle and I grab it from
him, gulp quickly, then take his hand and lead him
away from the festival and into the street.
(THE RED CAMP is reprinted with permission from the publisher of The Red Camp by Debra Diaz (University of Houston – Arte Público Press, 1996) to buy a copy of THE RED CAMP, go to their website at http://www.arte.uh.edu/view_book.aspx?isbn=1558851690)