It was Sunday morning, June 21 or 22, 2003. My friend and I had a terrible hungover from the night before; we spent it drinking in downtown Windsor. That day, we had to go to Santa Rosa, Ca., a city nearby. My friend was a soccer team member, and the team was scheduled to play later that day, so he needed to go. I didn’t have to go, but we used to go everywhere together, so that day wasn’t going to be the exception. We jumped onto his pickup truck, Nissan Frontier, and headed towards Santa Rosa, but we quickly stopped at a gasoline station to get a case of beer and treat the hungover, according to us! We arrived at the soccer field, and many people were already there: men, women, and children. Most of them were from our hometown in Mexico. A group of guys, including us, gathered in a bubble to chit-chat, drink, and enjoy the game. It was late in the afternoon, and the game was over; our team lost. My friend came back to rejoin us after the soccer team finished playing.
There was a (Taco Truck), and most of the people, smart people, went to have something to eat before going home, but a few others, and us, continued bending the elbow, if you know what I mean!

It was dark already, and everybody was drunk; we had to leave, but no one in the group wanted to stop drinking. We decided to go to a place in Santa Rosa called “La Fondita,” where you can drink, eat, and listen to the mariachis singing nice music. Also, you can delight the eyes with the waitresses serving the customers, very pretty “señoritas”. As the group was leaving the field, everyone agreed to wait outside the joint for the whole gang to arrive so we could get a table together.

We were heading to the restaurant, happy with the music at full blast and the bottle in our mouths, intoxicating ourselves even more. It was as if we were competing against each other to see who could drink it faster. Suddenly, everything went blank on me, and I did not know what happened to me or my friend. When I opened my eyes, I was in the emergency room at the Memorial Hospital in Santa Rosa, surrounded by doctors and nurses, trying to bring me back to life. That’s when I realized we suffered a massive car accident! My life was in jeopardy, and I had to have surgery immediately. The crash did extreme damage to several organs inside my abdominal areas and needed to be fixed. However, before they could make the operation, they needed to know about my family. Liability issues, you know, if something happened to me, kick the bucket. For instance, who would respond to me? I had to let them know where I was and what had happened so they could come to check on me. I didn’t know any words in English yet, so someone from the hospital was interpreting me. I knew I might not make it through the operation. So, I thought, “I got into this myself, nobody pushed me or put a gun on my head and said, “you better do this, or I’ll shoot you”, NOPE!.  So, I didn’t want to let anyone know.

I woke up the next day, covered with tubes all over my face and body, “hurting horribly.” In fact, everything hurts whenever I breathe or blink my eyes. I made it, though!! I was in the intensive care unit because the doctors thought I would not last long alive, regardless. Furthermore, hardly anyone could visit me while in the ICU, my family, if anyone. I was mostly sleeping, so I’m not sure.

More than 24 hours went by, and I was still alive. The doctors’ diagnostics were not as accurate as they thought they were. Miraculously, I was starting to get better instead of worse. My God, king of kings, Lord of heaven and earth, and creator of every creature on the planet, big, small, human, nonhuman, underwater, land, and above the skies, had decided to give me another chance to live. My health continued to improve. I got transferred into a different room, away from the intensive care unit, “thank goodness!”. I was still hooked to all the hospital’s machines that helped to stay alive; however, my recovery was coming along wonderfully. I thought so; everybody did.

Since I was in a different room, my family and friends could visit me anytime. I remember, sometimes, when either my relatives or buddies dropped by as we were chatting. They started throwing out some terribly funny jokes that were too difficult not to break into laughter. My incision was too premature yet, so it was very painful, every time I smile or make the smallest gesture; my companion noticed right away because tears were actually rolling down my cheeks. They stopped playing around and tried to calm me down by saying, “Stay still, man, so sorry.” We didn’t mean to hurt you. I lifted my head and looked at their faces, full of guilt and remorse. My amusement grew up bigger, meanie me, huh! I just thought it was hilarious to see their expressions. After a while, finally, my giggles went away, and the pain started to slow down. Everyone was quiet, they feared to make me laugh again too hard and cause reopening the wound, so They stayed for a few minutes more and then left home………

Hello! I’m Francisco “Pancho” Ramirez, from Michoacán, Mexico. I came to the USA at the age of 17, in March 1999. I arrived at my sister and her family’s house in Sonoma, CA. I’m not sure; I stayed with them for a month or two, worked for a couple of weeks in the vineyards, and then headed toward Washington State. My father and two brothers were there, so I thought I should be with them. I arrived, I don’t know the exact date, it was April or May, in a little, deserted, ugly town called George, Washington. I got to their home, a tiny little one that was not very accommodating. I was happy to see them again, but I regretted leaving California. However, as ugly as the town was, or I didn’t find the house comfortable enough, there was no way back; I had to get used to it.

I worked in the apple fields in Washington state; apples are everywhere, just like in California, grapes are! I behaved well during my first year there, but my brothers returned to Mexico, leaving me alone. My father was there. With me, but it wasn’t the same. I was driving already and starting to get to work by myself. I didn’t have a choice; my father had to go to work, too, but not at the same place. I started to make friends, unfortunately, and started to drink. I used to drink when I was back in Mexico, so it wasn’t a new thing. It started to be a little too much, and it was getting in between my father and me. I left the house and went to live with my friends, just a few yards away from my dad. Shame on me! I should’ve left far away and kept myself from embarrassing him.

I spent about four years in Washington state. Then, in 2003, I decided to try my luck back in California. It was the first month of the year, and I’m not positive. Maybe it was January or February 2003! I came down and stayed at my sister and her family’s house again for a few days. I was able to locate a friend from the same village as I am from in Mexico. We had a very nice conversation, reminiscing about our past while in Mexico, GOOD TIMES!! I explained my situation and wish to find work and a place to live. I told him I was living with my sister, but I didn’t want to be a bother for too long, even though they said I could stay with them forever. I understood, he said; he was living and working in Windsor, California, and invited me to join him. I thought that was a great idea, but what about work? I asked him, I don’t know California, very much. I do know it, he said. I will ask my boss to give you work and allow you to live in the company’s apartments. Do you live in the apartments where you work!? Of course, bro!! O. M. G!! I got very excited and happily agreed to go with him. Hold your horses! I have to ask my boss first, don’t get excited just yet, he said!

My buddy went ahead and asked his “Patron” about me. Unfortunately, he had no space available at the company’s apartments, but he did give me a job. He told my friend I could work for him, and when one of his employees moved out, I could move in immediately. We loved the idea! My friend had an uncle living in Santa Rosa, 15 minutes away, and he worked there, too; he told my friend I could come in to live with him and his family while I was waiting for an opening. Super! I moved in with his uncle and family. They were very nice people. I was very comfortable living with them, but the opportunity to go with my brother, who was from another mother, showed up, so I left and joined him. We were doing well and working a lot, which is typical in the US, but we loved to go out and get wasted, literally living paycheck to paycheck…