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Remembering Miguel
by A. Orozco
His family had just moved into the house next door on McBride Street in East LA. Whenever someone new moves in, you know how it is, you always want to know the chisme about your new neighbors, like where they came from and stuff like that. So I became friends with his brother Enrique first. One time, I had an old tennis ball that I kept throwing high up in the air in the front yard of my house. I "accidentally" threw it in their yard, and Enrique threw it back to me. It was then that Enrique introduced me to Miguel. At first, I really hated Miguel. He was one of those kids who had to make fun of everything to prove he was cool. He always had to be the funny one. I hated to be around him and never wanted to do much with him. He was the one who wanted to hang out. The problem was that he was the type of person who would come over to my house, and something would end up missing. One time, I got blamed for the twenty dollars my mother lost after one of Miguel's visits. Like I said, I didn't like him at first, but all that was going to change. Miguel went to Ciudad Juarez, México, with his family that summer and was gone for two weeks. I don't know what happened, but when he came back, something had changed. He came back a little darker - you know, like the color of café con leche, a little more mature, and for some reason, I found myself looking at him a lot more. Don't get me wrong, he was still the same joker who wore a heavy jacket in the summer just to steal toys from the Thrifty's on Whittier Blvd., but something had changed, and we both noticed it. I can still remember him telling me about the trip. He leaned back on his father's huge old yellow Cadillac. Primer on the hood. Antenna bent. At that time, I really didn't know I was QV. I mean, who really knows at such a young age? I knew that something was different, but didn't know what. Sure, I had gotten teased by the boys in the playground for not knowing how to play kickball and baseball, but the teasing wasn't that bad. It was only from the same couple of bullies, but I didn't care. Whatever the case, I knew I felt something for Miguel that I've never felt for anyone else. He had black hair, dark eyes, smooth dark skin, broad shoulders, great legs, and a wide chest (How old was I again?). I guess I was at the age where most boys were looking at girls, but I obviously wasn't. By the end the fourth grade, some of my friends were already pairing off into couples, but I continued to look at the boy next door. It seemed as though I was not the only one who was looking next door, though. My older sister, Martha, had met and began dating Miguel's older brother, Marco. She would sneak out the back door of my parent's house during the warm summer nights just to be with him. I would follow her just to hang out with Miguel. Sometimes, we would sit on the back porch where he would end up resting his head on my lap. Sometimes, we would lean up against each other, and that felt so good. A couple of times, I laid down on some old boards, and he put his head on my stomach as we both looked up at the sky. I felt that I could stay like that forever. Miguel became the most popular kid on the block. I could tell that some of the other kids were jealous of our friendship, but that made it even better. I had such a big crush on him that I had to see him every day. One night, we even made a tent in the backyard with old blankets and a dirty plastic tarp. We just laid there talking until my mother yelled at me, "Get inside now! Who did you think you are sleeping outside!?" She said she didn't like me hanging out with Miguel. I always felt she was suspicious that we might be doing something good little Mexican boys weren't supposed to be doing, but that didn't matter to me. The next few summers were special for other reasons. Miguel was known for wearing loose shorts with his boxers poking out from under. He didn't have that cholo look with the shorts down to his knees and the tube socks pulled up to his knees. He was more the type of person who wore Vans, O.P. shorts and a t-shirt. Sometimes, he would sit with his legs spread way out, and you could see clear up past his underwear and into more interesting places. I swear, I was the happiest kid alive that summer. There we were - him sitting with his legs wide open, and me sitting in front of him continually trying to catch a glimpse of his crotch. Later, as he began to work out, I saw him develop from a skinny cute kid to a fine-ass teenager. But most of all, I loved the way his chest looked. It would grow and expand as he lifted weights in his converted garage/bedroom with his older brothers. I couldn't look away from that smooth skin and those large dark nipples. I can still see him in my mind's eye, but even then, I knew I couldn't look too much. I followed him everywhere and found myself doing a lot of stuff just to be around him. I joined his church youth group and listened to him talk about one girl after another - anything to be near him. One of my favorite memories was talking to him by the fence that separated our houses. I would try to catch him as he was coming or leaving his house - just to say hello. I would even find myself standing in front of our kitchen window, that faced his bedroom window, just to catch a glimpse of him. I was really sad when he began to grow out of our friendship. I sincerely believed that someone in his family or church pointed out how "strange" it looked for us to hang out the way we did. It hurt a lot when he started avoiding me. About the same time, I also found out that we would be moving out of East LA - away from Miguel. So a big part of my last year on McBride Street was spent looking out my front window hoping to see Miguel. Inevitably, the day came for us to move, and all l was able to take with me were memories of the times I shared with Miguel. The last time I saw him was a few years after we left East LA. He had changed in that he had grown a moustache and had gained some weight. I also found out he was married and had two or three kids. It was hard to see him and not reminisce about those times in my backyard. I found myself wondering if he was happy. I truly felt something for him, and wondered if he ever felt something for me, too. We never had sex or anything like that, although, looking back, I guess it would've been cool to have at least experimented a little. I sometimes wonder if Miguel knew how much he meant to me, and how big a part he played in my development as a QV Chicano. |
We met when I was nine, and he
was eleven. I was halfway through the third grade at Ford Blvd.
Elementary, and he was in the fifth grade.