The Phone Call

I remember the phone call so clearly. For over two weeks my gut kept telling me something was wrong, but I ignored it. I mean who really loses two men that they had fallen in love with at the border of the Mexico and the US, what are the odds? But a feeling kept lingering and I kept ignoring it. Finally I gave in. Once again my nightmare had begun with just one phone call.

I spoke to Guero several times a week. For the last month before that fateful phone call he had begun to sound sad or tired or he was in a drunken stupor. I asked many times what was wrong and he always told me nothing. I brushed it off as just stress and being tired. I mean with all the Narcos and being on the border in Mexicali and the heat and his drinking it wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone who knew him. It’s a dangerous place.

July 1 I was on my way to take my daughter to her softball tournament in Benicia. It was such a beautiful day and so warm. It was just me and my daughter so I thought I would take a moment to call and check on him. He answered the phone and sounded so different but not in a way that I could describe it. I asked him all the usual questions, how are you, are you ok but he just didn’t want to talk very much. I playfully told him he was boring and that I would call him back after the game. We exchanged our I love you’s and Ayabo Aya’s  like we always had done and hung up. I never called back that day.

Two days went by and I called but no answer. I knew he might be mad that I never called back that same day but he would get over it. Every couple days I called but no answer, just straight to voicemail. His mother had also stopped calling me (she would call me anytime she hadn’t heard from Guero after a few days), so I assumed he was mad at me and keeping in touch with his mother finally. I mean it made total sense to me.

After a week went by and I finally sucked up my pride. I sent a text message: I love and miss you sooo much, why don’t you call or answer my calls or at least text me anymore?

I never got a response. Nothing.

Calls stopped going to voicemail and just started being answered by Spanish recording. A sense of urgency started to build up, a voice in the back of my head started to yell at me that something wasn’t right, the knots in my stomach wouldn’t let up.

Things just weren’t adding up yet I was too scared to call his mother. This lingering feeling kept telling me to call but the feelings I had were all too familiar, all too similar to when I got the from Miguel’s sister saying that Miguel had been found in the morgue in Tijuana. But then again what are the chances of this happening twice in my life kept rolling around in my head.

July 17th, 6:00 pm rolled around and I knew I had to pick up my daughter from cheer practice at 6:30. So I got in my van and went to Gymnastics Zone to watch her and get a little time out of my small apt and away from my boys that were working my last nerves.

When I got there I still couldn’t sit still and the nagging feeling finally overcame me. My daughter was still practicing so I stepped outside into the parking lot and called Guero’s mother. When she answered the phone I remember so casually saying “Hola! Soy Rebecca, como estas?” there was a long pause, just pure silence.

I tried to break the silence by saying Bueno? Bueno? Hoping that maybe someone was distracting her. Then it came, her crying started. She kept crying and yelling at me in Spanish “How do you think I am? My son is dead! My son is dead! They found him dead  July 2”. Deep in my heart I knew that she was talking about my beloved Guero but my brain kept telling me that she had other sons, that it couldn’t be him. I quickly told her in Spanish that I didn’t understand what she was saying that I was going to call back when I found someone who could help us communicate better. Then I hung up the phone.

In that moment I was so shocked, surprised, overwhelmed and that it seemed like time stopped. I didn’t know if the right thing in that moment was to cry, I mean a part of me kept saying I was over reacting. This couldn’t be happening to me again, I couldn’t be losing another man to the Mexican border, it just it couldn’t happen. I felt empty, so empty in that moment. Then out of nowhere there was a sense of relief. A strange weight had been lifted off of my chest and shoulders. I felt like the correct response was to begin crying, so I did. The strange thing is I didn’t feel the genuine need to cry, I cried because I thought it was the right thing to do. I was still frozen in time and I had never felt so emotionless in my life.

The first person I called was Chuche. In the moment I didn’t care about the jealousy issues between him and Guero. I just wanted to know what the hell was going on, I wanted to know that I had misunderstood what was said to me and that Guero was just mad at me for some reason. I didn’t care who it was that helped me accomplish that task.

We called Guero’s mother back several times but she wouldn’t answer the phone anymore. I called my comadre, but what good was that, she only knew him through me. So I started going through my phone looking for old phone numbers. I was so desperate to hear something that I didn’t care who I talked to as long as they assured me that I misunderstood what was being said to me.

Finally I came across the Jesus El Cunado in my phone. This man is married to Guero’s sister, but I hated him. He is just one of those hypocritical, gossipy, tweakers. There was no other option so I had to try it. By this point I was so upset that I didn’t even want to try the whole Spanish thing so I had Chuche call him to try and figure out what the hell is going on.

I received the confirmation, my beloved Guero was in fact gone. Jesus went on to say that Guero had been in a hotel room for 5 days in 120 degree weather which is typical for Mexicali that time of the year. He also told us that because of the condition of Guero’s body he had been cremated, returned back to his mother in Atacheo, Michoacan Mexico, and his ashes were buried alongside his grandparents.

I found out later that Guero had only been in the hotel room 2 days when they had found him. Apparently he had been in contact with the mother of his son regularly, so regularly she was also in a relationship with him. She too became concerned that he wasn’t picking up his phone only she assumed he was holed up in the room with another woman. She called the hotel out of jealousy and when they told her that they hadn’t seen him in a day or so she demanded them to go check on him. When they opened the door he was already gone laying on the bed with blood coming out of his mouth.

To this day all I have seen was the death certificate, police report, and photos from the scene. A formal autopsy report has yet to be seen.

Guero’s real name was Jose Luis Cazarez Avina. He was born December 7, 1974 in Mexicali but was raised in Atacheo, Michoacan. Ironically he died in the same town he was born leaving behind a daughter, two sons, and many women who truly loved him. He lived a hard and fast life of drugs, alcohol, and women, running away from some sort of inner demon no one could understand.