It was always green salsa for her. That was how Toni was raised. Her uncle would make both red and green for big parties and holidays, but for the most part on the dinner table each night was salsa verde. And the Valentina for heat. She kept a bottle of it in her desk now, to put on everything from ham and cheese sandwiches, to leftover chicken, to a spinach salad. She realized she probably should have eaten at her desk, then she would have her hot sauce with her.
Toni chewed her enchiladas and dipped her free chips into the guacamole as she daydreamed about home. About her mother and uncle, her younger brother, their dog, a Cocker Spaniel named Rico. It was peaceful there, once her dad left. It became a nice place to come home to after school every day, a place she didn’t even want to share with most of her friends. Because it had become a sanctuary that she did not want disrupted. She worried that if outsiders came over things would change. Like before.
Her dad was like an outsider, he never belonged there. He wanted Toni’s mother – and everyone else in the family – to be different. Even the dog. Like, so many rules around what Rico could and couldn’t do; all these little words, sounds, and gestures to train him just so. He was a dog, her mother would say, solamente un perro, leave him alone. That’s how she would talk to her husband in the beginning, to Steve. But after a while she would placate him more. The kids – and the dog – became victims of this placating. They knew when their didn’t agree with some mandate or another that Steve had handed down, but she thought it would bring peace to the household if she didn’t resist. But instead of peace it just stored up anger, in the hearts of her kids — and in her as well, it turned out.
The third phase of her parents’ relationship looked like fireworks. Her mother no longer placated, or gently challenged, she just yelled. Toni would find herself rooting for her mother, thinking, You go girl, tell that arrogant bastard just what you think! There never seemed to exist any risk of physical violence; Steve wasn’t macho enough for that. Whatever that meant. Like, a “real man” Latino would beat the shit out of her mother? Nope. Toni just really hated Steve, so any insults she could think of made sense in the moment.
It was almost time for class and Toni had eaten both enchiladas, all the guacamole and most of the tortilla chips. It was a combination of hunger — because she’d had no breakfast due to the questionable refrigerator — and just being lost in thought. It was one of the most peaceful moments she had enjoyed in a long time. She decided she would start class with a writing prompt: Choose a family member from your childhood (this can include a pet) and write your feelings about them. She would time the students, three, maybe even five minutes for writing. It would be hard for some of them. But if they didn’t want to do hard they could choose their pet. Unless the animal met with some horrible demise, which is possible. Really, it was so difficult to be a teacher these days, every topic was deemed sensitive, students were not supposed to be made to feel uncomfortable. Which of course was the problem with the world today as far as Toni was concerned. The citizenry had decided that a noble goal was to avoid discomfort at all costs. Nothing ventured, so nothing gained. That was something Steve would always say, “nothing ventured nothing gained.” Where he heard that phrase was a mystery because that is not the way he spoke usually. He probably didn’t even know what it meant. Plus he only used it to refer to things he thought were worth venturing. About things that only he could possibly gain from.
Toni gathered up her lunch wrappers and bags and threw them in the garbage can on the way back to her shared office. She realized she was extremely thirsty, having totally neglected to bring her water bottle with her. She hurried down the sidewalk to Rampart Hall where her office was, turning over the phrase, “nothing venture.”
Fall in Southern California was basically like summer anywhere else. So when winter came, the fall-like conditions finally arrived. Crunchy leaves fluttered to the sidewalks, colors changed in the mountains, and the light took on a softer look, dissipating instead of poking taser-like at the body. Those who didn’t like the searing heat of summer/fall (which was not everybody) came outside in the winter. The parks got fuller, in the daytime at least. SoCal people, no matter their season, were not great at the cold nights, the way the temperatures would dip so quickly the moment that melting sun sank behind the mountainous horizon.
Ronald liked the winter, in part because it wasn’t so hot inside his truck. In the summer it felt like you were sitting in your car with all the windows up and no air conditioning. The grilling onions and peppers emanated heat into the cramped space as he raced from cooler to cook top to service window, over and over and over again throughout the day. He had thought about hiring someone, he had made enough money to do that. But how would he fit two people in there? He didn’t have one of those big trucks. Not yet anyway. And if there was someone else there it would be even hotter, another sweaty body in close proximity. He preferred to go it alone for now, work his ass off and then be done with it. Plus, if there was ever some downtime, a lull in customers, he could enjoy some quiet and peace in his little world, even if for just a moment.
He was having such a moment on this day when he found himself thinking about Antoinette. Not so much because he liked her or anything but wondering why women didn’t come to his truck more often. Was it all those men encircling the place? Was that intimidating? Was there something Ronald could do to attract more women to the truck? Was that even important? Maybe offer some salads? Women seemed to like salads in America. And of course it was important: more customers was always a good thing, and the more diverse the customer base the more possibility for expansion. He learned that in his business class, the one he took at the community college up the street last spring. They were called extension courses. Edward had told him about them.
Edward learned a lot from the men he worked with, and then told Ronald whatever he knew. The men were definitely their own kind of networking group. A lot of them had been professionals back home, or at least had very different jobs than the ones they were working now. So many people assume that South and Central American and Mexican men are simply wired for construction, landscaping, or selling empanadas underneath a canopy on the street. Well guess what, a lot of these men held very important jobs at one time. Edward himself had been a sous chef after all, at a four-star restaurant. He worked construction with one man who had been a high-level administrator for his city government; another who was a licensed dentist; and yet another who was an author and professor. That man, Tomas, Edward reported to Ronald, was not cut out for construction work. The first day they met, standing in that group of day laborers, he noticed Tomas had on regular sneakers. Like he was going for a walk in the park or something. And no gloves. Turns out Tomas thought those sorts of things would be provided by the employer. But he learned.
Ronald liked Edward’s stories. His friend was a good storyteller. He did the voices, facial characteristics and everything. As they stood side by side cleaving the meat and stirring the sauces in Ronald’s kitchen on prep nights, Edward would act out the stories. Ronald was slightly envious of the closeness his friend had with his co-workers. Even though the group changed a bit each time, there seemed to be a central group of men. And even if they didn’t work a job together, they’d see each other in passing on another job, or sometimes in the parking lot first thing in the morning. Edward hadn’t had to go back to that parking lot for a while though.
Conversely, for Ronald, there was something about the physical barrier of the food truck that didn’t seem to allow anything too personal to go on. Which Ronald was okay with for the most part. He was up high, looking down at his customers, speaking from a small window, quickly repeating back an order, getting a name, then going to cook. There wasn’t time for chit-chat. Chit-chat. Such a funny term. He learned it when he passed by a café in West Los Angeles one time.
Ronald had decided to go to the beach that day– his day off, a Sunday. He had been thinking about yerba mate lately, feeling nostalgic for something from home. He decided to stop off at an Argentinian shop that carried it but, on the way, he saw a café advertising matcha which he initially misread as mate, which is what they all used to call it back home. The place was called Chitchat Coffee. He parked, went in and quickly realized there was no mate. But they were friendly there, and even though it was a little expensive, he ordered a matcha. And he asked what the store name meant. Because he was always looking for a good name for his business, his future company when he really got things going. Most of his customers now just called his truck “Tacos Burritos.” apparently, the first two words on his LED sign. Even though it said “Ronald’s,” in script, above the windshield. Not Ronaldo’s either, though that was his given name. The matcha was okay, but it wasn’t mate by any stretch.
It was raining one day as Ronald sat atop his milk crate just outside his truck, getting some fresh air during a break in business. People said it never really rained in Southern California, but it actually did. Someone must not have brought their umbrella, Ronald thought. He had his. Edward stopped by the truck because he had the day off due to the weather. Ronald was happy to see him, a friendly face, a friend. Edward ordered the cheese enchiladas, wanting something he didn’t have a hand in making. Ronald gave him everything free, chips, extra salsa, lemonade… Edward kept saying No más, cerote! But Ronald felt very grateful to Edward. Not only for his help, but for his friendship. He was a good man.
As Ronald was piling grilled onions into a separate paper dish for Edward, Antoinette came to stand in line. Ronald reached his hand through the window to hand Edward the onions, caught sight of Antoinette, and promptly dropped the dish onto the ground. “Bro!” laughed Edward. Other customers had arrived and sort of shuffled away from the mess, reforming the line to the side. One nice man – Ronald was pretty sure he worked at the nearby pharmacy – started picking up the onions with a bunch of napkins that he took from the window shelf.
“You don’t have to do that,” cried Ronald, embarrassed twice fold — for getting excited by the sight of a woman and then having a customer clean up his mess. But the man smiled and Ronald had a bunch of customers to serve, so he just let him keep going. When that customer finally got to the front of the line, Ronald gave him his Topo Chico for free.
Antoinette ordered the chicken tacos this time, with green salsa. Ronald didn’t add anything extra to her order this time. He felt too silly already. He watched her walk away, wearing grey trousers and a black jacket. Those clothes fit her better than the suit, he thought.
Edward hung around until the lunch crowd had left.
“Who was that woman, Ron? I thought you said no women came by?”
“Oh, her name is Antoinette. Yeah I was real surprised first time I saw her. But maybe she’ll be a regular, tell other women. I was thinking we – I mean I! – should offer a salad or something. What do you think?”
“I don’t know man, she looked like she was happy to have the enchiladas. But we could experiment, make something out of what you already have. Like the pizza places do. We’d need some crispy lettuce, something that wouldn’t die in this heat.”
The two men talked back and forth about the possibility of the salad, and then about maybe adding a few more things to the menu. After a while Edward said he was ready to get home so they did a one-arm hug and he was on his way. Ronald served a few more customers and then it was two-thirty and time to wrap up for the day.
Mexico felt so distant to Ronald at times, yet other moments he felt he was right back there, in his home, with his brother, sisters, parents and cousins all sitting around the living room, watching soccer or wrestling on television. They had a big house, even for Tijuana. But they had a lot of people to fit in there, too. His dad made decent money, working in San Diego all week, then coming back home on the weekends. But when his dad finally got a job at one of the local factories it was so much nicer for the family. He was a good dad. Next door to them lived Ronald’s abuela and a friend of hers. They both lost their husbands around the same time so the friend sold her house and moved in with his abuela. They were funny women, different than Ronald’s other female relatives. Very independent.
Ronald grew up happy, liking school, and learning English easily. So many people spoke English in Tijuana, whether American expats or simply Mexicans who spent so much time working on the other side of la línea. But things started to change when Colosio was murdered. The drug people had always been around, but not so much in Tijuana. Of course, some people didn’t think that the politician was killed by dealers, that it was probably more political. But either way it kind of stirred something up and life felt more tenuous to Ronald than before. He had been thinking about trying to live in the United States. So many of his friends were doing it. Even though it was much more expensive than Tijuana, you could also make more money there and live your own kind of life. Ronald was tired of working for the medical devices company, assembling items on a conveyor belt. He wanted to be creative, he wanted to cook food for people, show off his skills. And make money. So he left.
It was hard for a while, of course. He lived in a house with four other Mexican men. They would pile into their one car, a 1984 Oldsmobile, and drive over to the Home Depot lot to wait for work. Ronald thought about going back a few times, thinking he wasn’t really doing any better in America. But after he met Edward, realized there were other men there going for the same thing — not just trying to get by but to succeed — he decided to stay. It was a good decision. But it still was not easy. The documentation process was so slow and he was worried if he didn’t get things in order before the new year that he might get deported. What would happen to his truck? His customers? He tried not to think of it all the time yet everything he did was about getting his papers in order — and not being noticed by the authorities along the way.
Toni liked her life. She had a lovely apartment with lots of natural light. She had a very pretty dog, in her opinion anyway, named LuLu, and a few friends, most of whom she liked. But that proverbial something was missing and she wanted to find out what that something was. At some point, anyway. Because right now she needed to grade eighty essays by the following Monday. Her students were struggling, for myriad reasons. Of course, some still hadn’t recovered from the pandemic home-school situation. They could not integrate information the same way and had problems speaking up in class. Plus they saw deadlines and due dates as much softer than Toni ever intended.
And then there were the kids whose parents were undocumented, or even just immigrants who had all the papers needed. One girl told Toni she was getting in the car with her dad to go pick up her graduation regalia and some sort of cop stepped out of nowhere and demanded he provide his identification The student had her “know your rights” card on her – she had given one to her father but he refused to carry it. She shoved it in her dad’s face, the Spanish-language side, and said, Papa, leen! Reluctantly, he began to read from the card to the cop while Toni’s student jumped in the car and locked all the doors. Yo tengo el derecho a guardar silencio… According to the student, the cop kicked the car door, slammed his fist against the window and yelled something as he walked away. Toni ended up walking the student over to the bookstore that day, to pick up her graduation supplies.
Katie Singer 