{"id":3389,"date":"2020-12-01T00:00:00","date_gmt":"2020-12-01T08:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/?p=3389"},"modified":"2023-06-28T17:57:25","modified_gmt":"2023-06-29T00:57:25","slug":"la-voz","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/fall-2020\/la-voz\/","title":{"rendered":"La Voz"},"content":{"rendered":"\n\n\n\n\n \n \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
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La Voz<\/h1>\n\n\n<\/div>\n \n \n By<\/span>Ariana Licea<\/strong>\n \n December 1, 2020<\/span>\n <\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n <\/div><\/div>\n\n \n \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
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When I was a kid, my dad used to tell me stories at night. We\u2019d be cruising down Santa Rosa Avenue, and I\u2019d listen to him talk about his dad or the huelgas<\/em> or his old homeboys. I never used to talk a lot so I was happy to sit my ass down and listen. He didn\u2019t talk a lot either, but on Sunday nights in the summer, he\u2019d go on for hours. We\u2019d cruise in his \u201964 Riviera, the one I wasn\u2019t allowed to touch, and he\u2019d just talk. He had his radio tuned in, playing oldies and shit, but all I wanted to listen to were his stories. And I was the only kid in the barrio<\/em> that got to ride, too. Not even my buddy Jorge was allowed on the street on Sunday nights. My dad treated me like I was older, and since he would tell me his stories, I knew he thought high of me.<\/p>\n

I never wanted those nights to end. When we would round the corner near our street, I tried to make everything slow down. I think my dad knew, \u2018cause he would let me sit in the car with him for a few minutes in the driveway. The radio would be playing still and the crickets would be chirping but my dad would be quiet for a little bit, and we\u2019d just sit there. You know, until Am\u00e1 yelled at us to get inside or Chuco or Yoli came running out. But those minutes were like gold, man. If there\u2019s one thing I know for sure, it\u2019s that I\u2019ll remember those nights \u2018til I die. Sundays were my favorite day of the week, and even if Am\u00e1 forced me to go to church in the morning, I had the cruise to save me.<\/p>\n

This one time, we went riding longer than we normally did, and he started telling me about his mom. She died before I got to meet her, but I seen pictures of her before. She was beautiful, man, and she looked so nice. He told me that she would put tons of red on her cheeks, and when she smiled, she looked like God. I asked him if that\u2019s why he got her tattooed on his arm, but he said no.<\/p>\n

I remember looking up at the stars and thinking she could see me. He started talking about her cooking and the way she used to sing, and by the time we got to South Davis Street, he stopped talking. When I looked at him, his eyes were shining. We got to the driveway, but then he went past it. We rode around another block and I think I was scared, \u2018cause I never seen him cry before. But before I could even ask if everything was okay, we rounded our street. He told me to go into the house as soon as we parked. We never talked about it, and the next Sunday, things were like normal.<\/p>\n

*****<\/p>\n

I\u2019d been on my smoke break for about thirty seconds before Ray came over. He always seemed to pop up out of nowhere, knowing exactly who was on break and where. There was some sort of wavelength he was tuned into all the time, and he just followed it. And even though he had a car to paint houses for his uncle, he\u2019d walk all along Mendocino just to talk to everyone he knew.<\/p>\n

\u201cQ vo le<\/em> homie!\u201d He was always smiling.<\/p>\n

I blew a puff to the side before shaking his hand. \u201cWhat\u2019s good, Ray?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDude, those bitches last night,\u201d he said with a whistle. \u201cAnd those \u201864s, estuvo bien ching\u00f3n<\/em>, man! Where were you?\u201d He signaled to the pack in my jeans and I offered him one and a light.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was working dude. Same thing every Friday night.\u201d I inhaled for a second. \u201cWas Lupe there?\u201d<\/p>\n

He whistled again. \u201cNo, man. I thought her fine ass was probably with you\u2026or under you,\u201d he laughed. \u201cYou on lunch?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNah, I just got on break. You sound like my mom.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI just wanted to see if you got Tacos Chavez in the back. I\u2019m hungry as hell.\u201d He took another puff and studied the cigarette for a moment. \u201cVamos<\/em>. That new chick bends over to empty the trash cans every hour.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t, man, I get off at four. I\u2019ll see you at Mama Tonya\u2019s.\u201d Ray tried to get mad for a second, but again he smiled.<\/p>\n

\u201cIght, Puppet. But if I get there before you, I\u2019m not saving you shit.\u201d He laughed, and because he had the most infectious laugh in the world, I laughed too.<\/p>\n

After he walked out of sight, I went back into the station. I\u2019d been working at KBBF for about three months at that point, joining a program through the Healdsburg Junior College to learn about media. Since radio was booming, I went to learn about broadcasting and help the broadcasters out by organizing the music library and translating what was in the news from English to Spanish. Later, when our producer, Josu\u00e9 Lopez, started to like me and the Bilingual Broadcasting Foundation called for younger Chicano voices, I got my own show Fridays and Saturdays. Francisco, the OG, always had Sunday night cruising time. I was ecstatic.<\/p>\n

I sat down, the On-Air sign glaring red. I let the song run through before beginning the news of the day. I always buzzed with energy before the mic.<\/p>\n

\u201cToday, my friends, marks the ten-year anniversary of our great victory in Delano alongside our hero Cesar Chavez and our Filipino brothers and sisters. Now, when I think of his struggles and the many others working the fields and the huelgas<\/em>, I can\u2019t help but feel proud of the people who made living free possible today. We\u2019re all so lucky to live for the Raza<\/em>. So feel proud, my brown brothers and sisters, and speak loudly. Take the time today to appreciate what you got, whether you got it good or not, and live your life for today. Share that pride and be who you are. Here\u2019s Malo to help you do just that with \u201cSuavecito,\u201d here on KBBF, La Voz.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sliding the headphones around my neck, I flipped through the cassettes on the deck to make sure the lineup was okay. I started to think about the tardeada<\/em> that was going to be at Julliard Park on Sunday night, and I desperately wanted to see Lupe there. She was in the same media program at the JC, but she went to write for the Santa Rosa Tribune. I\u2019d be lying if I didn\u2019t admit I considered switching paths to be near her. But the radio had my heart first.<\/p>\n

Her dad would usually drop her off at the park just to show off his \u201972 Monte Carlo, and when he was distracted and bragging about how he chopped the springs with torches to lower the car, I could pull her aside. I hoped that I wouldn\u2019t get nervous again. Too many times I\u2019d been called a chavala<\/em> for backing out. It was frustrating to feel like I didn\u2019t deserve her, but there was something about her inattention that drove me crazy. She never made it easy to talk to her, and even after I would fall on my knees, I would get back up and try again.<\/p>\n

*****<\/p>\n

I was eight when my dad took me to work with him for the first time. I remember him coming home from work always fuckin\u2019 beat, and my mom making dinner so it would be hot when he got home. There would be oil all on his clothes and arms, and his eyes were so red. One day he woke me up hella early, telling me to get up and get dressed. I was pissed \u2018cause it was summer vacation and I was supposed to be chillin\u2019. But I didn\u2019t want him to think I was mad at him, so I got dressed and went with him without saying nothing.<\/p>\n

I walked out into the kitchen, you know, wiping my eyes and shit \u2018cause I was so tired. It was something like five-thirty in the morning. But I went out there, and I saw my dad take out his brown paper bag for lunch. He took out the burrito my mom always made for him, and he cut it in half and put it in another bag with a banana. Then we left for the shop.<\/p>\n

I just stood in the corner \u2018cause I was a kid and couldn\u2019t do nothing. But I watched my dad work on cars, get underneath them, work with his tools. He looked so cool, and he even let me see what he was doing sometimes. I think my dad was, like, quiet at work or something, \u2018cause when he started talking to me in Spanish the other guys looked surprised. I remember them laughing, and I thought they were joking about something. I asked my dad if they could bring their kids so I could laugh with them and show them my toy ranflas<\/em>. But he just told me to stay away from them.<\/p>\n

We ate lunch in the back lot near the dumpsters of the restaurant nearby. I asked if we could eat inside with the rest of the mechanics but he just took a bite out of his half of the burrito. I ate the other half and stayed quiet the rest of the day.<\/p>\n

*****<\/p>\n

Everyone was jealous of me. My girl was special\u2014she glistened like no other. She rode smooth. She never let me down.<\/p>\n

I bought Loquita for $350 from Pancho, and I drove her without a license or insurance. And she was dangerous like that, she liked it. My \u201965 Ford Galaxie was cherry, and I rode her with orgullo<\/em>.<\/p>\n

The one downside was that I had to drive Ray every time I was going somewhere he was going too, which usually meant some new jaina<\/em> from another school sitting in the back. But that Sunday, it was just us two.<\/p>\n

\u201cWanna stop by Lola\u2019s? Get some forties?\u201d He was rolling a joint in the passenger\u2019s side. I didn\u2019t need to yell at him to do it carefully, he knew to respect Loquita.<\/p>\n

\u201cNah, man. I wanna be clear-headed, you know? Not even a hit. If her dad notices, I have to be able to bounce. He\u2019s hella protective.\u201d<\/p>\n

You could hear Julliard two blocks before you could even see it. They were already blasting some new funk, booming through the barrio<\/em> and shaking the windows of the houses. We pulled into the lot, full of cholos<\/em> and their prized ranflas<\/em>. Some would gather in groups, place bottles on the ground near their wheels, and see whose hydraulics could bump higher. Others would just chill, drink and smoke. The girls would stand off to the side, hands clad in chola bands and half-empty bottles.<\/p>\n

By the time I found a spot to park, I had already spotted Lupe surrounded by her friends. She was shaking her head in laughter and I thought my heart would burst.<\/p>\n

\u201cIght bro, you got this. I\u2019m gonna hit up Miguel and his vatos<\/em>. If the pinche viejo<\/em> comes at you, you know what to do.\u201d Ray hopped out before I could even ask if my hair looked okay. I started towards Lupe, hands in pockets. I didn\u2019t want her to see them shaking.<\/p>\n

\u201cJorge! Ey, Jorge!\u201d Some whistles drew my attention to a vacant swath of grass near the DJ\u2019s stage. Josu\u00e9 was standing next to a woman so out of place she might as well have been white. Where every other girl was sporting casual, she looked business-y in heels and a blazer. I walked up to them, and out of good-mannered habit, I pulled my hands from my pockets. \u201cJorge, I want you to meet Marta Jim\u00e9nez, executive director of KBBF\u2019s relations. Marta, this is my top kid, Jorge. He casts\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFridays, eight to twelve, Saturdays, twelve to four. Yes, I know you, mijo<\/em>. How are you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood, good. Nice to meet you. Look, Josu\u00e9, I gotta\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMarta has some news, Jorge.\u201d His face was indecipherable, but his eyes were like fire. As she shifted the weight on her feet, I began to notice the circles under her eyes, the way her fingers fidgeted with her keys.<\/p>\n

\u201cI wanted to tell you guys as soon as I heard. I knew both of you would be here. I hate being the bearer of such bad news, mijo<\/em>, but the board decided to cut La Voz today.\u201d I looked to Josu\u00e9 who was probably too tired for the news to register completely. It hadn\u2019t really gotten through to me either.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt wasn\u2019t up to me, I love what you all do. But rock, it\u2019s what\u2019s in now. It\u2019s what sponsors like, what makes money.\u201d She started to hesitate with each sentence. \u201cI hope you understand, I love your activism and your pride. But, it\u2019s not enough to pay for the new cassettes, let alone the rent. I\u2019m so sorry, amor<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

At that point, I stopped listening. She went on longer, but I could see in the distance Lupe talking to some cholo<\/em> with a lettered cross on his shoulder and scuffed Nikes. She was laughing. He was eyeing her chest. I felt like throwing a brick at his face.<\/p>\n

I headed towards Ray in a flaming rage. I didn\u2019t care how I left Marta and her puta<\/em> Josu\u00e9. How could they take my voice away from me? Who the fuck puts a price on their own people?<\/em> My anger yanked him to the side and I told him my life had just ended in two minutes.<\/p>\n

\u201cCalm down, bro. I got you.\u201d He offered me his joint, but I just shook my head. \u201cHey, look, vato<\/em>. Lupe works for the paper, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t need this shit right now, Ray. I worked my ass off for that show. I was a part of something cool, man.\u201d I wanted to keep the thrill of spreading my voice forever; I panicked at the thought of losing my first, maybe only, chance.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, vato<\/em>. You\u2019re always reading her interviews and shit.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah? What does that have to do with this?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThink about it, dude. Interviews. Something new, that can make money. Everybody likes hearing stories.\u201d<\/p>\n

I glanced over at Lupe. The dude was gone, and she was looking right at us.<\/p>\n

*****<\/p>\n

I always wanted Adidas. Even when I was really young, I liked the look. Everyone had them. All the cholos<\/em>, all the bad ones, wore them with their Dickies. My dad called them morons when we would drive by them, but I thought they were the shit.<\/p>\n

When I went to middle school, I told my dad I needed them. He told me the shoes I had were fine. They were cheap but they worked. But I still wanted Adidas. There was this kid I knew who used to steal a lot, like from the liquor stores and stuff. I asked him to help me steal the shoes from the store across Tacos Chavez, and he said he\u2019d do it for five bucks.<\/p>\n

So, we went to the store at night, kinda near closing time. He gave me some instructions, but the main one was just to follow him and act chill. When we went in, though, the lady at the counter started looking at us. She had long nails, and I remember hearing her tap them on the phone to let us know she could dial the police or something. But the kid kept going, so I did too. We kept walking up and down the aisles like dumbasses, until he opened up his backpack. She didn\u2019t hear the zipper, \u2018cause the door chimed when someone else came in. He stuffed the shoes in the bag and we walked out. We ran home once we made it out, and I gave him the cash and a little extra \u2018cause I was so happy.<\/p>\n

My dad found the shoes the next day. I don\u2019t even know how he knew, but he looked in my closet where I put them. Since it was a Saturday, he could stay home, which also meant he had time to kick my ass. I got ready to get whooped, but then he sat down on my bed with no belt and no yelling. I was so scared, but he made me sit next to him.<\/p>\n

He told me he was sorry he couldn\u2019t afford nice things. He knew life was hard, but he had faith in me, up until that day. He said he was disappointed, that he thought I was better, but he ended up being wrong. I think I was crying, and he told me to save the tears. He wanted me to go back on Monday to return the shoes. Losing five dollars was my own fault.<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t talk to me all day Sunday, and he left for work like usual on Monday, so I didn\u2019t see him. I remember thinking that I could sell the shoes and buy my dad something nice to make up for it. But I never got the chance.<\/p>\n

The police reports and newspapers made up all types of shit, that he was illegal and sold drugs to kids, that he deserved it. They never talked about how the mechanics at the shop refused to let him park in the same lot as them, so he always had to park four streets down. They never wrote that the cops were failing at a drug bust on that same street. They never said my dad was shot by those cops for no reason, that all they really wanted was a brown kill for the day. All they said was that he deserved it, being Mexican and illegal and all. Pinche<\/em> wetback, it was okay if he died.<\/p>\n

My dad was the coolest vato<\/em> alive. He had so many buddies, and he knew everything about anything. Sometimes, I wonder if he would have let me drive the Riviera, or if he would have helped me be a mechanic. I fuckin\u2019 hate that I\u2019ll never know.<\/p>\n

But I don\u2019t think he was mad at me, you know, at the end. I don\u2019t think God would take somebody when they\u2019re mad at their kid. I think he was happy, thinking about the lesson I learned and how good I was gonna be after that. I never stole again. I pay for shit with my own money now. I even got his picture tattooed on my arm two months ago. I think he would\u2019ve liked it a lot. He looks like God.<\/p>\n

*****<\/p>\n

\u201cSo what do you think, compa<\/em>?\u201d I toyed with the bottle of hot sauce on the table outside Mama Tonya\u2019s. A gust of wind blew up the edge of the greasy tablecloth.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe JC can even get us a grant, make it easier for the time being.\u201d Lupe and I sat across Josu\u00e9, sharing the free basket of chips and some beers. I could barely look her in the eyes.<\/p>\n

She knew about the cut before I even talked to her\u2014some director of the program told her the next day. A few days after the tardeada<\/em>, emboldened by a few hits and the panic of not having work that weekend, I asked for her at the Tribune. I hid my shaking hands behind a notebook and pen, but I was sure she could hear the pounding of my chest. She was cool, though. She pretended not to notice and got to business.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll try anything. This is my life, you know, I need to keep it alive.\u201d He sighed heavily, and I realized I hadn\u2019t even thought about how Josu\u00e9 was feeling. La Voz was his baby; he loved our station.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll do whatever I can to help you keep the station, even expand it if you want. My dad listens to it all the time. He likes what you have to say.\u201d My damn hands got so sweaty, the neck of the bottle almost slipped through my fingers.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll see, mija<\/em>. Thank you.\u201d He took another sip. \u201cDo you have people in mind for the interviews?\u201d He looked at me, expectant.<\/p>\n

\u201cI wanted to interview some people that lived through the revolutions and the movements, who met Chavez and followed Pancho Villa. But that\u2019ll take some time. And a lot of convincing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve got the stuff for that,\u201d he said, lifting his bottle. Lupe laughed.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut first, I have a sort of trial run. A young guy.\u201d He raised an eyebrow. \u201cHe\u2019s a cool dude, a real storyteller. You\u2019ll like him. He\u2019s got a lot to say.\u201d Josu\u00e9 glanced at his watch.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, pues<\/em>, we can get started today, while I still have my shit. Get him in at five. I can set up now.\u201d<\/p>\n

*****<\/p>\n

Ray, man of the streets, got to the station before I did. Like always, a goofy grin was plastered on his face. \u201cThis is sick, vato<\/em>. I finally get to see where you work!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, easy dude. I\u2019m still on the wire here. Come on, I\u2019ll get you hooked up.\u201d<\/p>\n

It took no time for Ray to feel comfortable, especially considering Josu\u00e9 liked him so much. They hit it off while I set up the recorders and the mic. I didn\u2019t prepare any questions, I figured it was best to just let Ray talk.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, vato<\/em>. You ready?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAlways, Puppet.\u201d<\/p>\n

I switched on the tape recorder, gave a quick intro, and let him speak.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen I was a kid, my dad used to tell me stories at night\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<\/div>\n\n\n <\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n\n \n \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

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\n\n \n

Ariana Licea<\/strong> is a writer and explorer of the sublime, liminal \u201cself.\u201d Her work investigates the nexus of remembrance, humanity, and heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<\/div>\n\n\n <\/div><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":288,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[43],"tags":[52],"class_list":["post-3389","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fall-2020","tag-prose"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nLa Voz<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/fall-2020\/la-voz\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"La Voz - Palaver Arts Magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/fall-2020\/la-voz\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Palaver Arts Magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/palaver.arts.magazine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2020-12-01T08:00:00+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2023-06-29T00:57:25+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/175\/2023\/06\/palaver-logo.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"710\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"198\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"akcannon\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/fall-2020\/la-voz\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/fall-2020\/la-voz\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"akcannon\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/live-usc-dornsife.pantheonsite.io\/palaver\/#\/schema\/person\/8ac801b3c8176b6860207b43ecbe9e78\"},\"headline\":\"La Voz\",\"datePublished\":\"2020-12-01T08:00:00+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2023-06-29T00:57:25+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/fall-2020\/la-voz\/\"},\"wordCount\":2,\"commentCount\":0,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/live-usc-dornsife.pantheonsite.io\/palaver\/#organization\"},\"keywords\":[\"Prose\"],\"articleSection\":[\"Issue 08: Fall 2020\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"CommentAction\",\"name\":\"Comment\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/fall-2020\/la-voz\/#respond\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/fall-2020\/la-voz\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/fall-2020\/la-voz\/\",\"name\":\"La Voz - 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