In 1973 my parents bought a house in the Mission District of San Francisco.
My dad was unpublished writer and a voracious reader. Almost daily he sent me to the public library to return books and check out others for him to read.
Usually, I walked the mile or so to the library. It was a pleasant walk.
On the corner of Bosworth and Mission, outside the liquor store, a young man often stood, leaning against his car. Farther in the block was St. John’s Catholic girl’s school and the YMCA.
He was a very handsome young man. Jimmy Smits handsome. I say that because the first time I saw Mr. Smits on LA Law, I thought he was the young man who stood by the car. He wasn’t , of that I am sure.
At first I just walked past him with my dad’s books. After a few weeks, I would nod to him as I passed by and he would nod back. A few more weeks passed and I would say a simple, “hi”, as I walked passed. He would nod and, sometimes, say “hi” back.
Our relationship, such as it was, continued this way for a couple of months. Then one day, he looked at me as I was passing and said, “C’ mere”. So, I stopped to talk to him. He asked me what I wanted. The question stunned me as I had absolutely no motive for anything with my paltry little “hi”.
I was very confused and I asked him what he meant. He said that everybody wants something and he wanted to know what I wanted. I kind of stammered that I was just being cordial because he was a human being, it seemed appropriate to acknowledge his existence.
He looked at me in disbelief and exclaimed, “YOU’RE FOR REAL!” That really confused me. He calmed down and seemed to accept that I had no motive in my daily greeting, other than being cordial.
After that, whenever I passed him we would chat for a bit. He often inquired about what I was learning in school. He wanted to know what I studied that day, almost like he wanted a lesson in whatever subject.
His name was Paco. No last name. Just Paco. He never told me where he was from. He had a slight accent, but no more pronounced than most people in the Mission. I had no problem understanding his English. I was studying Spanish, but he was never interested in what I learned that day in that class . He wanted to know history, mostly. The World Wars. The presidents. Stuff like that.
I never bothered to change out of my uniform after school. I went to Presentation High, about an hour’s bus ride each way, every day. When I started my freshman year it was a half hour ride. But we moved halfway through my sophomore year. I didn’t want to change schools, even though St. John’s was less than two blocks from my new home. I wanted to finish where I started.
One day he told me not to wear my school uniform when I went to the library. That I needed to change. He said there were people in the neighborhood who would hurt me if I wore it. I laughed at the notion that anyone would hurt me because of my uniform. We argued a bit, not in a hostile way, just a difference of opinion. Finally, he said, “I will protect you.” My brain did not comprehend any of this and I just sort of thought, “whatever”.
And so it went for another period of time.
Since we were new to the neighborhood, I was curious as to what activities I could participate in at the Y. I went in and read whatever was on the bulletin board. An African American girl about my age, started a conversation with me and suggested it was better if I left. She walked with me out the door and for about a half block. At one point in our conversation she exclaimed, “You’re the girl Paco protects!” She seemed surprised.
At that same moment a Latina girl with two or three others came out of the Y. She saw me and yelled something like “there she is”.
The African American girl looked at me and quietly said, “Run”. So, I did. All the way to the library. Luckily, I didn’t have any books to return that day.
The next time I saw Paco, he told me that I needed to walk on the other side of the street. He was very firm.
He explained that the Latina girl believed she was his girlfriend. He told me that she wasn’t . He said that he could protect me from anything, but not a girl strung out on speed whose brain was not operating properly. He practically begged me to walk on the other side.
It seemed a prudent thing to do. After that I either took the bus or walked on the other side of the street. And, I changed out of my uniform when I got home.
One day, a few weeks later, as I was getting off the bus, a tall, plainclothes, white haired man put a badge in my face and asked me where some guy was. It was a Latino name that I didn’t recognize.
He started to threaten me. Told me he would get me thrown out of school and other things if I didn’t tell him where the Latino guy was. I honestly couldn’t help him. I kept telling him I didn’t know who he was talking about. He told me to stop lying, that the guy was my boyfriend. I told him there had to be some confusion. The detective was insistent that I was lying. Then he said something that gave me a clue. He said, “I know he’s your boyfriend because he protects you.”
I rolled my eyes and said, “Oh, you mean Paco.”
The detective was trying to get me to think that Paco was some big, scary drug dealer. I told him how Paco said he would protect me and why. The cop said that that wasn’t possible because Paco was a cold hearted drug dealer who cared for no one.
At this point, all I am is confused. The officer lets me go, but warns me he will be speaking with my parents and my school. He never did, as far as I know. He had made a big deal about knowing where I went to school. He never asked me my name. I never gave it to him. And I never heard about it from my parents or my school. I never told my parents. I didn’t know what to tell them. I was so confused about the whole thing.
Time went by. A few days? A couple of weeks? Not suré. But the Latina girl saw me one day. She didn’t threaten me, she just said that Paco was going to kick my ass. She laughed saying I would get what I deserved. I wasn’t afraid. I saw no reason for Paco to hurt me. But I did wonder where he was, as I hadn’t seen him in a while.
Then, one day, Paco appeared out of no where. Literally. I was walking down the street and, suddenly, he was standing in front of me. Like he just rose from the sidewalk.
He was upset. All the confidence he had shown before was gone. He looked like a scared bunny rabbit.
He told me he had to go away. That he had to go back to his home country and live on top of a garbage dump. That he had failed and there was no forgiveness for that. All of this confused me. He, also, asked me why I told the cop his name was Paco. I must have looked very confused because before I could answer he said, as if he was just coming to a realization, “I never told you not too.”
I told him all about the stupid cop who tried to convince me he was some kind of evil drug dealer. Paco looked at me and asked how I would feel if he was a drug dealer. I told him that I wouldn’t have anything to do with him. I was pretty blunt and used some really harsh language to describe my feelings towards people who dealt drugs. Paco would not answer if he was or wasn’t . He told me he had to go away, but he wanted at least one person on this earth who thought he was a good person. Then he said something I never forgot. He said, “Thank you for treating me like a human being. No one’s ever done that before.”