The Old Green Phone and God

i was 12. i had been sitting at the dinning room table, last couple days of middle school, enjoying my artificial strawberry cereal and some bagel with yogurt. i always had a thing with bagels, onion bagels, and i'd like to put strawberry yogurt on top, followed by a dab of cereal.
good shit.
my mom walked in from the kitchen, and i'll never forget the look on her face.
"your uncle died"
"eh?"
"Jerry"
"man...."

this man Jerry. Strong man, tall, athletic, hazel eyes and wavy brown hair. Handsome guy, probably made out well with the ladies, but what i remember most was his kind face. The face of a noble prince. The prince whom i remember falling asleep on our floor because too many of us damn Mexicans were living in a small house. He'd read constantly, sometimes study in the bathroom or laundry room to get away from all the noise we were creating. Every night he'd lay there on the floor, with the book open on his stomach, forearm across his eyes, book floating up and down as he breathed slowly and slept. Man never drank, never smoked, never even got angry. Just read.

At least looking back now he never drank, smoked or got angry, maybe he did, but not around me, which goes a long way when you're an adult and can keep that shit out of view from a 12 year old who watches as his parents friends get smashed and throw tequila bottles at mailboxes and give you speeches about life as you smell the stench of cheapness coming out of their mouth and ears. i actually like that stench now. i smell it on me sometimes, when i'm out all day in the hot sun, working on the car, and i come home and pour that first drink into my glass.
the sweet stench of dedication.

Anyway, my uncle eventually moved out, and i'd miss those morning where we'd wake up and make breakfast. i'd tend to make a disaster out of the kitchen, like every young punk, but he'd always be following behind me, instructing me on what my next step should be, how i should cook and clean. clean for mom, respect mom, mom works hard, harder than you'll ever know. respect women. but only those who respect themselves. honor men, men who are worth honoring, and above all else, be organized.
"organization is key mijo, si no.. te jodes" (if not.. you'll fuck yourself)
that was the seed.

I'd be playing outside and he'd ride up on his motorcycle and take me for some "kicks" as he called it. i always got a kick out of hopping on the back of his honda cruiser and holding on for dear life. this was at the time where helmets weren't necessary, at least not for a couple of young vato locos like us! we'd ride up hills and rev that puppy high, i'd hear the whining of the engine as i dug the side of my face into his back and clench my teeth. that constant feeling of anxiety and excitement as we came up on a turn and felt like we were about to fall off the bike. like death was with us, riding there, on the bike, stroking my hair and turning the gas a little higher with each rotation of the tires, with the pop of the clutch and the sweet smell of gas. pure beauty manifested.

Uncle Jerry was the first homosexual i ever encountered. I forget the name of his lover, but they eventually ended up living together. His lover, actually, lets call him "joe" because i think his name might of been jose but i'm not sure. anyway, jose was somewhat of a nerd. He read comics, watched godzilla movies, and liked to draw trees. Tall slender fellow with black hair and black eyes. his apartment was filled floor to ceiling on one side with movies, the other side with books. First movie he ever gave me to watch was "the Last Unicorn". i don't remember any of it, but i do remember the title. who forgets a title like that? not this guy.

My parents had alot of homosexual friends, and unfortunately some of them died violent deaths.

Ned was strangled to death and found laying against the foot of his bed in Tijuana, nothing in his house was taken, all the money was there, but he was gone.
killer never caught.

Bob was shot point blank in the chest at a bar. they dragged his body out onto the sidewalk and left him there to die.
killer never caught.

My Uncle Jerry didn't die a violent death. He died of AIDS. how he got it, i don't know. from who? don't know either. i do know how much i miss him. how much i missed him then and how much i miss him now.

excuse me while i pour another drink.
can't do this kind of shit sober you know. gotta have that little kick.
kick
kicks
gotta get our kicks
before we fall off the bike
you know?
right.

lets continue..

the last picture i saw of my uncle was him in a wheel chair. extremely thin, his eyes sunken in, he was staying in mexico with my grandmother. steadily declining into death.
fucking death, you dirty bastard, you caught him didn't you? all that time i thought you were riding with us for fun.. but you weren't there for the kicks, you were claiming your prize, you were there on business, i can't hate you. but i do.
fucker.

when he died i couldn't go to the funeral. somehow Mexican parents think that a funeral isn't any place for a young boy to be. i never got to say goodbye.

my dad could see it in me. the sadness clawing at my eyes, the emptiness, the lack of joy i saw in everything. the fun was over.
i was 12 and the fun was over?
what the fuck right?

enter "the phone"

my father gave me a green rotary dial phone one day.
"you can speak to Jerry on this"
even at 12. i knew this was bullshit. complete bullshit. a fucking dead green phone won't let me talk to my dead uncle who i loved probably more than myself. this man who taught me the secrets to moral life. the man who was my fathers brother.

i used the phone sometimes when i was feeling bad. i'd go out in the shack, where nobody could see me. i'd dial some fake numbers and pretend god would answer. i'd talk some major shit to god, ask him all the basic questions.... why? when's he coming back? where is he? is he there with you? let me speak to him......
god would usually connect the call for me and i'd ask jerry lots of questions. none of which he ever answered. it was just something to do when i was feeling down. something to make me remember.

that phone is sitting next to me now. i got to get those kicks in, before i fall off the bike. i'll live this one hard and fast. press my face up against the glass and smile with broken teeth. as my hair rots out and my gums begin to bleed. eventually death will be here on business. i'll be taken out into the green grass and pumped full of bird shot until i look like the inside of a watermelon. i'll be laughing the whole way through. scared as shit, but sure as shit laughing. it'll be a hot day, and my beard will be sweaty, i'll feel the grass prickling up through my Acapulco shirt and my denim jeans scratching against my old frail skin.

i know luck has me right now. i can feel her sometimes at night, when i'm driving a little too on the deep end, or laying in bed alone, i feel her next to me, she gives me that warm smile that in return puts a warm smile on my face.
luck
she has these intense eyes, and i could hear her breathing at night.
uncle jerry.
i still want some of those questions answered
"do you pee in heaven? if so... where?"
"is there any pets in heaven? do dogs go? what about bears? i don't like bears"
"do you ever get hungry?"
"whats with all the clouds?"
"if heaven is heaven why do they call it heaven?"

and so forth

if you excuse me now

i have to make a call