By: April Fuentes
“Hello?” I say as I wipe away the mocos from my eyes.
“Hey, Mari. It’s me.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m out now. I just wanted to see how you were doing. It’s been awhile since we’ve talked. I miss you. I’m done with all that shit. I swear I’m going to change.”
My eyes roll nearly to the back of my head. I miss you. Yeah, okay. Do I have pendeja written on my forehead or what? “Look, Pancho, you can’t just call me and think everything between us is okay. You say this every time and nothing ever changes. You pull this ‘I’m going to change’ shit every time and you know what? Nothing ever fucking changes. You clean up your act for a few months and once things are going good, you somehow fuck it up and get busted again. It’s not fair,” I say. I can feel my face getting hot, but I don’t care. Anger is running through my blood.
“I mean it this time, Mari. I’m going to get help and stay clean.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I say right before hanging up on him.
I throw my phone on the floor and roll over to look at my clock. 7:30 huh? We really going to start the day like this? It is too early in the morning to process what just happened, but there’s a faint smell of coffee lingering into my room, so I figured I might as well get up and get the day going.
I walk into the kitchen and see that my son, Rafael, is already up.
“Hey, mom. I’ve already brewed coffee for you.”
Once the first taste of my coffee revives me and makes me feel human again, I decide if I should tell my son what happened just minutes earlier. Rafael, my heart outside my body, is sixteen years old and a photocopy of his dad. With his dark brown, olive-toned skin, and hazel eyes, I think about how unfair it is that I created and carried this human for nine months, only for him to come out looking exactly like his dad. He even has his dimples. Although the resemblance between the two is uncanny, he doesn’t misbehave like him and does well in school. I’d like to take some credit for this, but part of me also knows that this is because he doesn’t want to get kicked off the baseball team.
He’s only seen his dad a couple times since being born. My parents hated Pancho for getting their fifteen-year-old, unmarried daughter pregnant, so there was a lot of tension after I got pregnant. But also, Pancho has been in the system since shortly after I got pregnant. I remember we first met at a party my cousin took me to. I spent two hours getting ready for this night because I knew he’d be there. I’d seen him around at school before and thought he was hot shit because he was the bad boy that got into fights and talked back to teachers. I wanted to look my best in case he talked to someone like me. I remember him coming up to me and asking if I wanted to dance. My body froze for a second. He wants to dance with me? Am I dreaming? With his hands gripped around my waist the entire night, I wasn’t surprised when he kissed me at the end. My body felt like I was melting and we were only dating for a couple months before I got pregnant.
At the time, I thought I was in love. I did everything and anything for Pancho. He was my first and I thought we were going to spend the rest our lives together. Unlike my family, his family loved me. Maybe it’s because they thought I’d set him straight before he ended up like his tios and primos. Or maybe they thought our son would inspire him to get his shit together. Either way, Pancho wasn’t around and I was left to raise our son alone.
As I drop my son off at school, my phone starts ringing again and the same unknown number is calling.
“Who’s that, mom?”
I decline the call. “I don’t know, mi amor. Have a great day at school, I’ll see you later.”
“You, too, mom. Love you.”
As he’s walking to greet his friends, I can’t help but think of how great he turned out. Not only does he excel in sports and academics, but he has a good head on his shoulders. He thinks rationally and doesn’t let his anger overcome him and dictate his every decision like his dad. Don’t get me wrong, Rafa has his flaws as well, but I was lucky to be given a son that knows his actions have consequences. While I was in love with Pancho, I was also completely oblivious to all of the negative aspects of our relationship – the abuse, emotional and mental. I loved Pancho and didn’t want to imagine anything wrong with him or our relationship.
I glance at my phone before driving and notice that he left a voicemail.
“He must be real dumb thinking I’m going to listen to his voicemail when I didn’t even pick up his call to begin with.”
~
My phone doesn’t get a break at all today. Every time I think Pancho is done calling, my phone starts to ring again. Part of me feels guilty for not picking up, because he is the father of my child and was once the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Maybe he really does want to change and if I keep ignoring him, I’m only hurting him. The other part of me keeps saying ‘fuck that,’ because I know he doesn’t deserve to have me in his life in any way. Why would I let someone who treated me so wrong enter my life or my son’s life when he did nothing but hurt us? Why would I let him think he has any right to know how I’m doing when he only calls when he needs something?
I don’t want to talk to Pancho, but deep down, I know I should say something to him. Why not just text him? That way I can at least say I did reach out to him and don’t feel any guilt for awhile.
With all of the words in my vocabulary, none of them do justice to what I really want to say:
You hurt me.
Our son doesn’t love you.
I will always love you, but leave me be.
Every word I type gets deleted. Every sentence I formulate isn’t sufficient. How can I articulate my current thoughts and feelings to this man when I can’t even make sense of my own English? I pick up my phone again and type:
Hey. I’d appreciate it if you stopped calling me. I haven’t told Rafa that you’re out, nor do I plan on telling him. I can’t just let you into our lives like how you want me to. It’s not fair to Rafa and it’s not fair to me.
A small weight was lifted off my shoulders after I hit send, but no less than three minutes later, Pancho calls me again. I decide to answer, just to make it short and sweet and get my point across.
“Mari, you finally-”
“You need to stop fucking calling me.”
Click.
~
“It’s been a long day” I said to my Rafa before kissing him on his forehead. “I’m going to bed.”
I rest my feet on my bed after a tiring day and can’t seem to fall asleep. Tossing and turning, my head keeps me awake. Am I a horrible person for not answering the phone calls from the man I once loved? Am I a horrible mother for not trying to help my son love his father and form a bond with him? Is there anything I could have done better? Why am I asking myself all of these questions? Pancho did this to himself. I did the best I could to raise our son and keep us off the streets. I don’t owe him shit, because whatever Rafa and I have is because of me. Our son grew up watching all of his friends get picked up by their dads from school or have their dad coach them in sports. How Pancho hurt me is nothing compared to how he hurt Rafa and I can’t forgive him for that. Knowing that Pancho was calling all day and trying to reach out made my heart ache, but I know what I did was right and don’t feel sympathetic towards him.
I look at my phone. Seven voicemails all spread throughout the day, with the last one left at nine o’clock. I figure it won’t kill me to listen to them.
“Hey, Mari. I know you’re mad, but-”
Delete.
“Mari, please pick up my call. I just-”
Delete.
The next few all started with the same old “Hey, Mari it’s me again,” but once I got to the fifth one, his tone was different. He was more serious and not as desperate.
“Mari, before I got locked up, I had some beef with some guys. Obviously I was put away, so they couldn’t touch me. But I guess someone told them I was getting out today and are looking for me now. Please call me back.”
Fuck. I should’ve picked up earlier, but what would I have done to help? I’ve always stayed out of this gangbanging business Pancho got caught up in, but if there is one thing I knew, it’s you stay quiet about getting out. You don’t need the wrong people finding out and this is exactly why. I still have two more voicemails to listen, so hopefully he’s okay.
“Please pick up the fucking phone, Mari. I’m really in trouble and need help. I know you’re mad and I get it, but stop ignoring me. I’m not fucking playing. Call me back.”
My heart starts beating abnormally fast. I knew I should’ve picked up his calls earlier, but I didn’t think Pancho was dumb enough to tell all of his homies he was getting out. If he really wanted to change, he would’ve kept quiet.
The last voicemail was left an hour ago. He should be okay by now. Maybe he ended up at his abuela’s house for the night and is figuring out where to stay so the guys don’t find him. Maybe he somehow worked his charm and is okay.
The only way to find out is to listen to his last voicemail, but my heart beat can’t slow down. My stomach tightens up into knots and as I click play for the last voicemail, I see that my fingers are slightly shaking.
“Okay, Mari. You don’t want to fucking talk to me, whatever. I don’t know what’s going on right now or when those guys will find me, but I just wanted to say I love you and Rafa. I know I haven’t been the best father and I could’ve treated you better. You deserve the whole world and I didn’t give that to you. I’m sorry. You have ev- Oh shit what the fuck?”
In the background, I hear new voices. Guys yelling “There he fucking is!” and “Why you’ve been hiding, Pancho, you scared, ese? You thought you could hide forever.” I don’t know where Pancho is, but I can’t believe they found him. I can’t believe I’m hearing all of this right now. I can only picture my Pancho and the fear that he’s hiding, but continues to act hard because if there’s one rule Pancho follows, it’s this: never show weakness.
“Fuck. Mari, I love you more than you’ll ever know and more than I’ve ever shown. Tell Rafa I love him, too, and that I’m sorry he got me as a dad. I-”
And before he can even finish his sentence, his phone falls.
I hear punches making contact and kicks that are breaking his ribs. I hear a lot of “you fucking pussy ass bitch” in the background and someone yells “That’s what you fucking get!”
I don’t know what Pancho did to deserve this. I don’t want to know what he did either. I don’t even know if I should hang up the phone right now. If I hang up, I don’t have to listen to any of this. If I stay on the line, I can call the police and tell them everything I heard.
Before I get to decide, the phone line goes dead and I’m stuck laying in bed, wondering what the fuck just happened to the man I will always love.
