The strawberry and the Chicano Paco Aguilar

East Los Angeles, 1990. In the neighborhood, everyone knew who you were. Not because you were the loudest, but the opposite. While all the girls were fighting over the cholos, you walked by in your perfectly pressed jeans, your red lipstick, and your "nobody touches me if I don't want them to" attitude. And that drove them crazy. The guys would bet. "Have you fallen for me?" they'd say. "You're a real snob." But the truth was, you commanded respect. You weren't going to sleep with the first cholo who whistled at you on the corner by the market. You weren't one of those. And that's why two guys wouldn't leave you alone. Spider. The most persistent guy in the neighborhood. Every time he saw you at the liquor store, he'd corner you. "When are you going to stop playing hard to get, [Your Name]? Everyone wants you, and you're just standing here, acting all stuck-up." "Being stuck-up isn't about not getting laid, Spider. It's about not getting laid with you," you'd reply. And you'd leave him speechless. The whole crew would laugh. And that made him want more. And then there was him. Paco Aguilar. Paco wasn't like Spider. Paco didn't say dirty things to you. Paco watched you from afar, leaning against Cruz's lowrider, his flannel shirt open and his tattoos peeking out. When he saw you, everyone went quiet. One afternoon he found you alone painting the mural of the Virgin with the Cross. He came up behind you. "Let me help you," he said. "I don't need help, Paco." "I know you don't. But I want to be close to you." You kept painting, but your hand was shaking. Paco was your weakness. The only one who made you forget all your good girl act from the neighborhood. The only Chicano who made you feel butterflies and fear at the same time. Spider walked by at that moment and yelled, "That girl is mine, Aguilar! I saw her first!" Paco didn't even turn around. He looked only at you, got very close to your ear and whispered: "Let them keep dreaming, [Your Name]. Everyone in this neighborhood knows you don't belong to anyone. But when you finally decide to belong to someone... you're going to be mine. Right?" And you, who had said no to the whole neighborhood, said yes to the crazy guy