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ABSTRACT MUSIC, MEMORY, AND WAITING: LIVING LIFE IN A SERIES OF LINES This collection of essays explores culture and acculturation. The way identity begins, evolves, and forms around so much that is complicated: family (close, extended, ancestral), friends, relationships, the luck of draw, random biological imperatives, and sheer determination. No heroes or villains, just real individuals with complicated backstories and inclinations. The settings of these stories take place in a Mexican Barrio known as “North Side” of Visalia located in the heart of California’s Central Valley. The stories capture what it means for a growing family to live on the “poor side” of town to move to the “rich side” of town. A family that has to deal with pre- disposed roles, to be limited by class and culture, yet are still able to find meaning and even transcendence within these boundaries. Music and cruising are identified as forms of escape and a way to bond and bridge gaps between family and friends. More importantly, these essays are about the working class experiences from the perspective of Mexican Americans living in the Central Valley from the 1940s to present day Jacqueline A. Huertaz May 2017 MUSIC, MEMORY, AND WAITING: LIVING LIFE IN A SERIES OF LINES by Jacqueline A. Huertaz A thesis submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing in the College of Arts and Humanities California State University, Fresno May 2017 APPROVED For the Department of English: We, the undersigned, certify that the thesis of the following student meets the required standards of scholarship, format, and style of the university and the student's graduate degree program for the awarding of the master's degree. Jacqueline A. Huertaz Thesis Author John Hales (Chair) English Steven Church English Corrinne Hales English For the University Graduate Committee: Dean, Division of Graduate Studies AUTHORIZATION FOR REPRODUCTION OF MASTER’S THESIS I grant permission for the reproduction of this thesis in part or in its entirety without further authorization from me, on the condition that the person or agency requesting reproduction absorbs the cost and provides proper acknowledgment of authorship. X Permission to reproduce this thesis in part or in its entirety must be obtained from me. Signature of thesis author: ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I’d like to thank John Hales for supporting my writing the last four years as an undergraduate and graduate student here at Fresno State. Thank you for believing in my art, my vision, and for seeing the beauty in my stories when I didn’t see it. Most importantly, thank you for your endless support and encouraging me to apply to the program. I also owe thanks to my professor Steven Church who encouraged my working-class stories and took my writing to new directions that I did not know was possible. Next I’d like to thank Connie Hales and her poetry classes which have had a profound effect on my writing. And because of you I’ve found ways to weave poetic language into my stories. I’d like to thank my friends Monique and Mia for their endless support and friendship in this three-year journey. The many conversations and beers we shared together at the Red Wave talking about our writing and listening to music are my most cherished memories in the program. I owe gratitude to Cindy Bradley who I first met as an undergraduate thank you for being a constant source of encouragement and for helping me piece my thesis together. I would also like to thank Jacob Hernandez and Anthony Cody for their support and friendship in my last semester. Thank you for the many conversations, chismes, and coffees. Thank you to my peers and professors who workshopped my essays, talked with me after class, and believed in my work. And finally, I’d like to thank my family and friends in Visalia. Thank you for never giving up on me and for always being there when I struggled, and when I thought I couldn’t succeed. Thank you for being there for me to lean on. TABLE OF CONTENTS Page INTRODUCTION: TIA OLGA HAS THE HOOKUP ........................................... 1 PART ONE: MUSIC AND MEMORY ................................................................... 4 THE CUTLASS THAT COULD SING .......................................................... 5 TALL CANS AND CRUISING: A GUIDE TO CRUISING THE RIGHT WAY ...................................................................................... 11 YOUR CHICANO PLAYLIST ..................................................................... 14 PART TWO: FREE FALL ..................................................................................... 20 THE HOUSE OF NO DREAMS ................................................................ 21 FREE FALL ................................................................................................ 30 TEETERING ............................................................................................... 36 SUNDAY FUNDAY ................................................................................... 44 PART THREE: WHAT IT IS TO WAIT ............................................................... 49 BORROWED LINES .................................................................................. 50 LIVING LIFE IN A SERIES OF LINES .................................................... 53 SPANISH AND ME .................................................................................... 63 JULISSA’S STORY .................................................................................... 68 PUBLIC NOTICE ....................................................................................... 73 INTRODUCTION: TIA OLGA HAS THE HOOKUP Yeah—me and your tia Olga used to drive around the barrio looking to beat bitches up. Sandra said this socking her fist into her palm. I understood what that meant without her saying it—the clashing of skin into skin—the collision of neighborhood and culture—of boundary and territory—and respect and place. Her hands conveyed a separate narrative, an unspoken story she shared with me—a life you could only understand if you grew up on the north side of Visalia. Mija—you’re a Chicana don’t ever forget where you come from, tia Olga said to me once, I can’t exactly place how old I was, or the year, but I do remember how confident her voice sounded and how reassured I felt in that moment. Trump has been in office for over a month, and preparations for a wall that would divide United States and Mexico was what was currently trending. Trump had already started deporting illegal immigrants in LA, Chicago, and Seattle and I wondered when raids would start appearing in our small Central Valley town. Tia Olga was convinced that Trump was a Russian spy. A text from tia Olga: Meet me outside. Before I had a chance to respond, a car started honking. Parked in front of our driveway was her silver 2002 Honda Accord, her work vehicle—not the car she liked to cruise in. It was late February and the weather was warm and breezy. Tia’s rims glistened in the fleeting sunlight. It would probably rain tomorrow. It felt like a drug deal going down and flashes of scenes from the Sopranos or some jailhouse exchange kept drifting into our conversation. A couple of days before my tia told me how she got a job working at the Visalia Emergency Aid as a food distributor, and here she was keeping her word 2 2 two days later with an abundance of canned food, bags of rice and beans. Over the phone she told me she could give me food but she said it as a secret—something my dad often did when he had the hook up on something even though the hookup was never anything illegal. Like he knew a guy who knew a guy that would pass my car at smog or my tia had a friend who had a friend that could help me get a job. I imagine we communicated our connects as secrets out of this heighted fear from living paycheck to paycheck. We lived in this space where we knew everything could be taken away—that’s why we were always wary to answer a knock at the door or an unknown telephone number. We expected the worst to happen at all times but living that way prepared you for the stuff you could live without. What’s up mija! Long time no see, she said giving me a hug. Help me get these boxes down, I can’t lift them my back is killing me. Damn Tia how much did you bring? You didn’t have to—what happened to your back? I hurt it at my damn job—it’s okay though, because now I have this job and it’s not as stressful on my body like the factory job. Anyways—yeah there’s all kinds of food for you…she said this cupping her hand over her mouth so the neighbors that weren’t home wouldn’t hear. So yeah mija—I’m going to be distributing meat next Tuesday. And it’s good meat from Savemart. Damn Tia from Savemart? That’s topnotch shit I said pulling a box from her trunk. We walked into the driveway and set the box down by the front door. Yeah I’ll hook you up with some ribeyes and chicken. Anything helps, I really appreciate this, peeking my head into the box. There were bags of beans and rice, an assortment of canned vegetables and pastas. 3 3 How’s your mom, is she inside? tia said adjusting her glasses. Yeah she’s getting ready for a coffee date. She goes on more dates than me. No shit—tia said cocking her head back and laughing. I better head out mija—tell your mother hi—I have to be on my way—I have a few more boxes I have to deliver. I’ll come by next Tuesday and bring over some meat. Give me a hug. Take care of yourself Jacquelina. Tia got in her Honda Accord and drove away. I watched her turn the corner on Sweet and Conyer and wondered whose house she was going by next. My mom, brother, and I weren’t starving but we did struggle and the help tia provided was extra gas in our car, a coffee at Starbucks, a new top at Target or a beer at Froggies. Next Tuesday she showed up as promised and said in a secret mija I hope you like salmon.

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