Friday, April 1, 2016

A missed phone call

Woke up to a voicemail from a childhood friend. I haven't heard from Gus in easily 30 years. I am shocked he remembered me at all. Then again, I never really forgot him. What I remember is vague. Being young in Boyle Heights with my cousins. Doing whatever it is boys do when left to our own devices in less than reputable neighborhoods.

It was the kind of voicemail that was a relief of sorts.

Gus is still alive. He made it.

My cousin Jesse gave him my number. Jesse almost didn't make it and has the bullet holes to prove it. Joey, my cousin, didn't make it. He was shot dead almost twenty years ago. His sister, Becky, didn't make it either. She was murdered when I was still in high school. I don't remember the details anymore. I just remember that she was finally trying to get sober. She was my favorite of the cousins. She got me in a way no one else did.

I tell you all this to help you understand just how impressive a feat it is for Gustavo to be here to call me at all.

I fucking hate talking on the phone. I'd rather get a root canal.

I am so fucking excited to call Gus in a couple of hours. He's in California so I'll wait til he's awake, but between you and me, I can't stop looking at the clock and wishing it would move faster.

Jesse did more than make it.
I've said this before, but it bears repeating: I was lucky enough to have a dad who worked his ass off to get me away from a potentially dangerous, shit life. Thank you for that, old man.

Titty sprinkles