CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I moved again in the beginning of 1997, this time becoming roommates with my friend Seth and his younger brother Jim. They were both raised in Sonora. Seth was a couple of years older than me, while Jim was around my age.
We had found an old house a few miles north of Sonora, off of Highway 108, which was owned by a young-hearted lady in her late seventies named Francis. Seth’s smooth talk and Jim’s charm was enough to convince Francis that her place was in good hands with us three boys, and I knew that it indeed was. Both Seth and Jim were friendly guys, and while Seth was more outgoing, Jim preferred to stay at home most of the time.
Seth was the guy who introduced me to Guinness Stout. Although it tasted bitter to me at first, I eventually developed an appreciation for it, and it became my beer of choice for a straight year. This was also a time when we were listening to a lot of Everclear, Stone Temple Pilots, Pearl Jam, and Smashing Pumpkins.
The two brothers were extremely hard workers and had a real talent for fixing just about anything. They were both in the construction field and could build a house from the ground up. I remember both of them waking up very early in the morning and going to work, sometimes in freezing cold and other times in blazing heat.
One day Seth came home and said he was done. He had quit his job. He told me that he had some money saved up and had grown tired of commuting down to Southern California and doing backbreaking work. He and I both knew that he could find work anytime he wanted, so we celebrated by drinking some beers and watching a classic movie. I loved being around Seth because he was like an older brother to me and was fun to hang out with. He was a good fighter and he lacked tolerance for rowdy asshole types in public places.
They were both into classic cars and motorcycles and had a fair amount of knowledge about fixing them. I remember Seth getting an old blue Land Cruiser and later a blue Harley-Davidson Fat Boy. Jim drove an older, dark green 1964 Mustang.
I remember sitting next to Seth, in the passenger seat of his Land Cruiser in front of our house, all nervous and getting ready to go off-roading in the terrain. I will never forget his words: “Trust me, bro.”
Living with Seth and Jim was a blast; we had a few BBQs at our place and had a lot of fun. I met a lot of firefighters through Seth in Sonora. It was always fascinating to hang out with them and listen to their wild, crazy, and sometimes very sad stories while drinking beer. Many of these guys had been out in the wild fighting four-hundred-foot forest fires, risking their lives. Believe me, I saw the pictures. I became very familiar with the hard work and the dangers associated with being a firefighter those days in the mid-’90s and developed a lot of respect for them.
I remember driving to Reno, Nevada, one Thanksgiving with Seth, Jim, and their kind and sweet mother to visit their family. It always meant a lot to me when I got invited to spend the holidays with friends and their families, since I had no family of my own in this country. On that trip to Reno we took my 4x4 Jimmy, and Seth was driving us home. As we crossed the snowy mountains near the small town of Kirkwood, the GMC just seemed to slide off the road on its own, hitting a tree very softly. Seth was a great driver, and it wasn’t his fault in any way. There was nothing he could have done to avoid the impact. Still, he offered to pay to have the front bumper replaced, and I accepted. I still feel guilty about that — he had been so generous to me so many times that I never should have accepted his offer to pay. The car wasn’t even that badly damaged. Seth probably covered the bill nine times out of ten, wherever we went, whether we were drinking at Servente’s Saloon or having dinner at Smoke Café or Alfredo’s Mexican Restaurant. Seth was generous like that.
Just as when I’d gone to Sammy’s and Ralph’s, the warmth of the fireplace, the delicious homemade food, the friendly and accepting people, the Christmas tree with its lights and ornaments — which always made me think of the hard work and time that went into setting it all up (as well as putting it away afterward) — and the buzz from Seth’s favorite Captain Morgan Rum and Coke with a twist of lime, all created an environment so cozy and welcoming. It made me want to curl up and fall asleep on the floor in front of the fireplace. Seth and Jim always made me feel like I was part of their family, which was deeply meaningful to an immigrant like myself, with so few connections to the USA despite having been here for a few years already.
A few years ago, Seth and I were able to catch up. He had started his own successful construction company. He also told me that his young cousin Ricky, a truly down-to-earth guy I met at one of those holiday gatherings in Reno, had passed away. His face and the memory of his friendliness and hospitality immediately returned to my mind. It was great knowing you, brother. Hope you rest in peace.
I had been living in Sonora for over five years by that point. I was still working at Coyote Creek, and even though I was now a waiter and a bartender and had built a strong and trustworthy friendship with the owners, Doug and Charles, to the point that they had given me the keys to the restaurant, I still didn’t see a way forward. There were many nights where I closed Coyote Creek and locked it up until the next day. But while I couldn’t say I was unhappy, I was barely making a living and didn’t really have a direction. I was concerned about my future. I had my share of meeting great people, engaging in fascinating conversations that taught me a lot about the country and its culture, hiking in the mountains, rafting on the rivers, playing soccer, basketball, and pool, but I knew I needed to start considering what other options I might have. I had spent a good amount of time trying to figure out what the American dream was and had chased it the best I could.
One day, I sat outside of the Carl’s Jr. restaurant in Sonora with my friend Ken, a local firefighter. We were both trying to figure out where our lives were leading us. Ken mentioned the possible benefits of joining the military and I began to wonder whether this could be a possibility and what kind of future it might offer.
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