Station #1

1957 Chevrolet Pickup

“No, wait, guess what? I got a 1957 Chevy pickup for my birthday! Lots of chrome. I love the truck. A real Mexican truck, Dante! All I need are hydraulics to bounce around in” (193).

“I went out at night and drove into the desert and parked. I listened to the radio and lay down in the back of my pickup and looked out at the stars” (203).

Station #2

Nighthawks by Edward Hopper1942, oil on canvas

“There is a famous painting, Nighthawks, by Edward Hopper. I am in love with that painting. Sometimes, I think everyone is like the people in that painting, everyone lost in their own private

universes of pain or sorrow or guilt, everyone remote and unknowable. The painting reminds me of you. It breaks my heart” (185).

Station #2 (cont.)

The Raft of the Medusa by Théodore Géricault1818-1819, oil on canvas

“Did I ever tell you what my favorite painting is? It’s The Raft of the Medusa by Géricault. There’s a whole story behind that painting. It’s based on a true story about a shipwreck and it made Géricault famous. See the thing about

artists is that they tell stories. I mean, some paintings are like novels” (185).

Station #3

“The problem with my life was that it was somebody else’s idea”

(8).

Station #4

“War did something to us. To me. To all of us. But the men we left behind. Those are the ones who are in my dreams” (347).

Station #5

Dear Dante,

Dad gave me my first driving lesson. We went out on some deserted farm road in the upper valley. I did pretty well. I have to get the gear thing down. I’m not very smooth about shifting and I killed the truck a couple of times trying to shift into second. It’s all timing. Push the clutch, shift, gas, clutch, shift, gas, drive. Someday soon I’m going to learn to do all of those things in one smooth motion.

After the first lesson, we parked the truck and my dad smoked a cigarette. He smokes sometimes. But never in the house. Sometimes, he smokes in the backyard, but not very often. I asked him if he was ever going to quit. “It helps with the dreams.” I know his dreams are about the war. I sometimes try to picture him in the jungles of Vietnam. I never ask him anything about the war. I guess it’s something he has to keep to himself. Maybe it’s a terrible thing, to keep a war to yourself. But maybe that’s the way it has to be. So, instead of asking him about the war, I asked him if he ever dreamed about Bernardo. My brother. “Sometimes.” That’s all he said. He drove my truck back home and didn’t say another word.

I think I upset him by bringing up my brother. I don’t want to upset him, but I do. I always upset him. And other people too. I guess that’s what I do. And I upset you too. I know that. And I’m sorry. I’m doing the best I can, okay? So if I don’t write as many letters as you do, don’t be upset. I’m not doing it to upset you, okay? This is my problem. I want other people to tell me how they feel. But I’m not so sure I want to return the favor.

I think I’ll go sit in my truck and think about that.

Ari (193-194)

Station #6

“I have this idea that the reason we have dreams is that we’re thinking about things that we don’t know we’re thinking about--and those things, well, they sneak out of us in our dreams. Maybe we’re like tires with too much air in them. The air has to leak out. That’s

what dreams are” (178).

Station #7

“The funny thing is, I sometimes think my mother loves my father more than he loves her. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah I guess so. Maybe. Is love a contest?”“What does that mean?”“Maybe everyone loves differently. Maybe that’s all that matters”

(247).

Station #8

“The only thing I was worried about was trying to speak perfect English. I made up my mind that year--when I was ten--that I wasn’t going to sound like another Mexican. I was going to be an American. And when I talked I was going to sound like one.

So what if I don’t look exactly like an AmericanWhat does an American look like, anyway?” (94-95)