A dream hangs over rice and chicken steam

The cesspool of smog and hog death choked a small city sandwiched between several freeways. Huntington Park resided in the crack between Compton and Los Angeles. The gradients of graffiti intensified nearing the city. Buildings caked with paint slovenly lined the streets. The city had one decent space, known as the Alameda plaza.

The shops had been built recently and were complete with a fence strung around it, as if to hide the rusty mechanic shops and swap meet across the street. Fast food chains such as Chipotle and Coldstone stared across the center of the plaza at each other. A string of light bulbs hung above the stairs leading into the plaza.

This was a place where a tired man could take his family after work late at night and not have to worry about gunshots and gang fights and Plaza Alameda was a place where families could enjoy a nice night at the Don Chente restaurant. Yet, the outside city always had a way of creeping in. Recently, a man was found lying face down on the stairs. His grey shirt and jeans were stained with soot and grease. His yellow boots were stained black at the toe tips. It was as though after a lifetime of work, he stopped and he had stopped right there on the stair steps, lying mouth to the floor. Dozens of people walked past the body, barely shifting their steps to avoid it. Twenty minutes later and the workman’s corpse still laid frozen with the exception of air blowing through his gray hair. Eventually someone had to have noticed and removed him before the next day.

Edgar Alvarez lived a couple miles down the street from the plaza in an ratty mobile home park. The fifteen year old stood 5’8, but his wide shoulders and muscular chest made him seem taller. He appeared strong enough to tear a fence down with his bare hands, but the voice that found its way out of his great throat was soft and smooth. The bellies of the wooden excuses-­for-­homes buckled slightly under the weight of age and decay. A hodgepodge of trailers and mobile homes sat directly on top of a cracked parking lot.

One google review had rated the place, Village Mobile Home and RV Park, a “One stop shop for all of your drug habit needs”. The police were there regularly, due to hard drug and domestic violence. Edgar didn’t like the cops much, but they seemed to be a constant presence. Edgar was terrified of the police. Six cops had beaten his uncle Omar Abrego to a pulp not too long ago. Omar had been going home after his job as a delivery man at Ontrac and ran a red light half a block before reaching his home. One cop followed him and then (two) other cop cars followed that cop unbeknownst to Omar.

When Omar got out of his car, still unaware that he was followed, to walk to his front door, the police handcuffed him without making an arrest. The police beat him down for ten minutes, the six of then pinning him down with their knees. Omar died due to his injuries later. There was later speculation that perhaps because Omar was once a drug dealer, the arrest was a botched drug bust since the police also searched Omar’s house for drugs. The violence puzzled Edgar, especially since his uncle, a former cokehead, had been clean for several months. Edgar feared that the cops were out to get him too even though he had been “clean” for two months. As far as drugs went, Edgar had only dabbled with marijuana twice, both times he “dabbed” the wax concentrate. His old friends, however were pill poppers, potheads and sneakerheads, guys that were obsessed with the latest fresh “kicks”. Edgar’s Xanax swallowing friends made him uncomfortable, especially since he tried his hardest to appear gentle and calm.

The sixteen year old often sported light blue or chambray button up shirts with khakis. He stopped wearing shorts, embarrassed by his leg hair. He also stopped wearing black two years ago. Alvarez felt that if he stuck to his pastel blues, he would appear as he felt, calm and friendly. Unfortunately, cops seemed to mistaken him for a “Crip”, a member of a notorious Los Angeles gang because of his light blue button ups and khakis. If Edgar walked after dark, it would be no surprise if a cop car stalled as it passed him. Edgar was terrified that the police may someday shoot him and label him as dangerous even if he was unarmed. He figured that the cops could do that because they had money and attorneys and he had little more than worries.

This year in the tenth grade, Edgar was not able to afford his gym clothes during his school orientation. He approached the assistant principal and promised that he could get money for his gym clothes by the end of the week. Mr. Gonzales rolled his eyes and said that he couldn’t change the fact that Edgar would not be clear to receive gym clothes. Edgar attempted to argue with the older man. The two were in the midst of a heated discussion when the principal, Ms. Hernandez approached them. “Is there a problem?” She asked the two.

The principal pulled Gonzalez aside about a yard away and the two spoke for a few moments. Edgar heard the Principle say, “Flag him under hostile, and appoint him to talk with a counselor”. The two adults stared at him for a moment. Edgar hasn’t been doing too hot in school, even though he was itching to learn something new. He had a feeling that other schools do actual learning. His third period is a geography class devoid of any sort of supplies except desks and textbooks. Edgar wishes the there were projectors or computer in the classroom, maybe then the learning experience could be more interactive. Instead the class only does “busy work”, which is basically when a student is given a worksheet and told to jump through the textbook to fill out the blanks while the teacher “supervises”.

Edgar considered this sort of teaching glorified baby sitting. Alvarez started to think that pursuing a high grade point average would be hopeless at Huntington Park High School, because he had fallen so far behind in his other class. He admired his girlfriend, Viridiana, and her ability to chase after A’s.

He figured that she will go straight to the university, and he would follow her at a community college nearby. Edgar hoped that at a community college, he could get the learning experience he always dreamt of. He liked to cook and thought about opening his own restaurant someday. He was proud of his girlfriend’s academic achievements and happily bought her food, and small gifts with the money he made selling chips at school. Edgar struggled his other classes, it’s usually because of his homework. His homework typically is only two thirds finished, the rest of remains untouched because he didn’t understand it. He told himself repeatedly he’ll finish it the the day it’s due after he asked his teachers how to work out his homework problems. Edgar usually waited to talk to his teachers one on one, he hated asking questions in class fearing that he’ll appear stupid. On most days after he spoke to the teachers, they ask him something like, “Why don’t you go to after school tutoring?”

The thing is, Edgar can’t go to afterschool tutoring. Everyday he has to go home and check up on his twenty two-year-old sister, Sarai. While Sarai is not severely handicapped, she suffers from a learning disability, she’s a little slow sometimes. Sarai is a tall, plump woman who smiled sweetly to anyone she met and would sometimes wait outside for her brother on the nights he arrived late. Sarai hadn’t come to terms to the fact that the world can be a god-awful place. Edgar knew that his sister can be too trusting. He worries that someday Sarai would hear a knock at the door and open the door to a druggie, rapist, or robber all of which plague his community. The scenario played out in his head, and he was scared because disaster could strike anytime he’s at school. When Edgar isn’t worrying about his sister, he was fretting over his mother , who despite her rheumatoid arthritis and high blood pressure worked eight to five in a warehouse. Often after work, Rosa comes home dizzy and tired. The mother tried to set up appointments to treat her conditions, but there had been a few roadblocks due to inability to communicate in English.

The last time the UCLA Harbor medical center sent Rosa a letter with her appointment time, the paper arrived a day after the appointment was scheduled. Rosa attempted to call the hospital, she was directed to the spanish-speaking receptionist’s desk. After a long hold, Rosa was told that there were no spanish receptionists available. There was a click on the other line. Rosa called over Edgar and asked him to set up an appointment for her, perhaps they would have better luck if they called in Spanish. So, Edgar made the call. “Hello, is this the UCLA Harbor Hospital?” “Yes” “Is it possible to make an appointment for my mother or change her appointment?” “Hold on a sec.” Edgar heard a click. He called again. “Hello, I called just a moment ago, just now asking about changing my mother’s appointment…” Click. A tense feeling fell from Edgar’s head and travelled down to his entire body as he realized that the UCLA Harbor Hospital did not care about low income people. His mom began to ask about the phone call. She asked him to call again. “Parra que les hablo o tra ves si nomas me colgaron los cabrones?!” “Why am I going to call them again if those assholes hung up on me?!” Edgar snapped.

Edgar loves his mother and sister, he feels that women are the most important part of the household largely because his mother taught him respect while his father taught him dignity, and he thought respect was the more important characteristic. He supported women more than men, despite his father’s machismo views. The teen had no problem doing “women’s work” or cooking and cleaning. Edgar enjoys cooking. Lately, he mades it a point to make dinner for his family. He cooks quick dishes; grilled or breaded chicken or fish with rice.

He hopes that if he helps with dinner, his parents will have one less thing to worry about as they come home and begin to get ready for their night classes at Bell High School to get their G.E.D. As his parents hustles to get ready for class Edgar’s dreams of opening his own restaurant waifed above the aroma of breaded chicken and steamed rice.