By Armando Ortiz
Santos returned home in the evening and was unusually chatty. He kept talking about all sorts of things. Bella had already cooked for the three of them. It had been a long time since he’d had yucca frita with chicharon, fried cassava with fried pork, a common staple back in many Central American countries. This was a comforting reminder that now he was with family. He ate his dinner and kept talking about his adventure earlier that day. Bella ate her food and listened to everything he animatedly said. As she took a bite of the crispy end of the pork bit that she had in her hand, her eyes turned to Betsy, who sat listening to her uncle’s story. Santos just kept talking and talking about how good the food was, savoring every bit of curtido and pork. Only once did mention getting his papers.
“This is the best chicharon I’ve had since I left home, you really nailed the flavors of mom! Mmm, mmm, so good,” he said with a satisfied face.
“Y la mica?,”she finally interjected.
He paused for a moment, licked his fingers, reached for the paper roll, tore a paper towel and wiped his hands. He dug into his right pocket and pulled out his green card. He was no longer Santos, instead he was Raymundo Toledo.
Every morning everyone seemed to wake up after Bella took a shower, soon afterward Betsy would go into the bath, where mom would scrub her down. Then it was Santos, who would wake up last. He seemed to relish the extra hour from when Bella awoke. He knew he’d have to cook his own breakfast. He’d been in LA two weeks and had yet to find a job. He’d tell Bella that he was going out and meeting with old friends who worked in factories, hotels and other odd places. Once he was outside, he’d just disappear and merge with the crowds of people and the midday traffic, everything being flooded by that bright Southern California light. He’d come back home late in the evenings around the time when the city noise toned down for a bit and you could hear the buses pull up and leave.
Santos couldn’t believe that he’d made it to LA. He’d gone back and met up with Jose a couple of times who took him to have a giant burger at a place that was on 3rd street near Union Ave. Jose loved many things. He loved smoking his money on weed. One of his other loves was eating burgers. He also loved watching the high school girls that streamed bye in the afternoon, trying to get their number. After eating and talking to some girls they’d just walk around and see the movement of people and cars. All the cars would just swish on by and he’d just stare and imagine himself driving down Alvarado Street.
Back home inside the brick building his sister would ask him how his job searching was going and he’d say that it was a struggle finding a job. What he really was doing was hanging out with his friend. Jose worked on the streets trying to get passersby to buy miccas, social security, identification cards and weed. MacArthur Park was the mecca for such transactions and the demand was endless. Every day people from different parts of Latin America, Europe and Asia came to this area only to buy fake papers.Santos didn’t feel right about what was happening and although he liked watching the hustle and bustle he knew that he had to try to get something legitimate.
One day as he was walking along 9th street on his way home, when he saw a sign that read, se necesita ayuda, help wanted. There was someone across the street washing some barrels with a hose. The water drained onto the side of the street and slowly moved towards Bonnie Brae St. He entered the building and inquired about the sign posted outside. The woman behind the counter had permed hair with curls, she said that the site was a popsicle factory and that work started at 3am and ended by 12 noon or you went in at 1pm and clocked out at 10pm. The factory made popsicles at night, and by the time all the popsicles of the day were done and gone, the factory had to be cleaned up. There were two positions available: mixer or cleaner. Mixer started at 3am, while the cleaning job started at 1PM and ended in the evening.
They engaged in small talk. She was from El Salvador and had been in LA for almost two years. She was taking classes at Evans Adult School, attending night school taking English courses to improve her English skills and also to hopefully get a GED.
“Your chances of getting a better job improve if you have a little paper that says you completed this much education.” She used her hand as if she actually held the frame of the certificate in her palms and said, “with a certificate you can make more money, and with money life gets easier.”
“I’ll think about which position best suits me. I’ll return tomorrow with an answer,” he told her as he looked around in the office. The office was decorated by different colorful posters advertising their popsicles that were either water or milk based. One of the posters had LA PRINCESA written across in cursive. For a moment he got lost in thought and remembered eating helados, popsicles, with his grandparents when they’d take a trip to the capital city to visit relatives or to take care of official business like requesting a birth certificate or identification..
“Here, take a card,” she said as she handed him a business card with the factory’s phone number from the stack that was laid out on the counter of her desk. He returned to where he was, and responded, “I live around the corner not far from here, I think getting here is faster than trying to find change to make the call,” he said shyly with a smile. “I’ll take one, just in case,” as he took the card he saw La Princesa on the upper left hand corner of the card. It was a dark red logo.
She smiled and replied, “I know how it is, that was me not so long ago. Bueno, buena suerte con todo y lo miró pronto aquí.”
“Thanks,” he said.
He turned around, and stepped out of the office and on to the flood of light. A couple of cars hummed on bye. His eyes squinted on the way out, but the sun’s rays were quickly soothed by a cool breeze coming from the west. He walked towards Alvarado St, he turned to see the building and noticed the factory logo again, La Princesa, he kept his stride and once he got there turned north, and continued walking towards the park. Things were looking good.
