Unseen Crosses
“Fine-let’s decorate the tree then. Bring the box. Rosalio, can you help her please?” I yelled down the hallway to my boyfriend as he came out of the bathroom. He called out, “Okay!” Julieta ran to show him where the box was. Rosalio carried it into the living room, as my mom and I laughed and she got up to use the bathroom. Julieta, my ten-year-old sister, had been asking me to come over and help them decorate the Christmas tree for weeks now. There were only seven days left until Christmas, but neither my mom or I had felt in the spirit; however, this day I had told my boyfriend after work we would go to my mom’s house to decorate the tree and fix that.
My 15 year old, twin brothers, Sergio and Jesus, were in their room down the hallway doing homework. So they didn’t come out to help us decorate the tree. Rosalio, Julieta, and I took turns hanging ornaments on the tree. Julieta snarked at Rosalio, “That’s not how you do it, it’s all ugly!” He responded, “Well, I’ve never done this before, my bad.” She scolded him, “Move, let me fix it.” She took over his ornament. I laughed at their fighting as I hung ornaments.
My mom’s phone rang. “I’ll get it, Mom!” I ran over to her phone. “Who is it?” she asked from the bathroom. “It says, ‘Tia Sara’! I’m answering!” I giggled as I picked up. “Bueno– Tia? Como estas? Soy Estefany.” I explained quickly and waited for her response.
A moment of silence on the phone. “Estefany, dile a tu mama que hubo un accidente con tu abuelo y necesita venir.” My smile faded. I assessed her voice and she sounded normal. Still I hung up, worried, and ran down the hall as my mom was coming out of the bathroom. “Que paso que te dijo?” I wasted no time, “Mom, we have to go. Grandpa was in an accident. We need to go, and I’m going with you.” I looked at my boyfriend, “Will you stay here with them? I’ll be right back.” Rosalio nodded, “Of course, go.” In seconds, I grabbed my mom’s purse and rushed out of the door with her.
I called my tia back, shaking as the line rang, “Tia, hola, ya vamos, por donde exactamente?” She was quiet for a moment, “Por la libreria vengan, aqui esta la policia.” She responded hastily. “Si tia.” I hung up again, even more worried. “La policia, God it could be bad. Mom, what do you think happened?” She responded hesitantly, “Let’s pray that your abuelito fell off his bike again and twisted his ankle or something.” She was worried too. “Yeah you’re right, he’s done that before,” I responded. We were quiet. My mind filled with scenarios of what could’ve happened. Maybe he was drunk and stumbled off his bike. Possibly someone stole his bike again. Perhaps he fell into a hole. I tried to think of every moment I had ever seen my grandpa. I tried to remember what his voice sounded like. I tried to remember the last time I had called him, the last time I had seen him. It had been a while.
I had visited him a few weeks earlier. I stopped briefly by his house to drop something off for him. He started offering me everything he owned that I might possibly be interested in. “Ten mija, te regalo un vasito de soda. No tengo mucho pero ten, un plátano y unas semillas. Quieres un burrito? Ocupas dinero? Ten hija, ten. No le digas a tu mamá ten,” he insisted, as he forcefully tried to put a $20 bill in my hand. I laughed and said, “No abuelito, gracias. Estoy bien.” I smiled as he poured me some Manzanita into a small styrofoam cup. I told him about school and my job and he sat proudly watching me and listening. “Hijole, hechale muchas ganas, Hija,” he would always tell me.
Now rushing to see him, my mom and I were frantically praying out loud, “Por Favor Diosito, protégelo, por favor. Please let it be nothing. Please.” Our voices were shaky. It’s nothing. It’s nothing. It’s nothing. Perhaps he broke a bone. It’s nothing, I repeated to myself in my head. The twenty-minute drive was eternal. The sun had just set; it was another ordinary day in our hometown.
Finally, we turned the corner onto Cole Grade Road where the libreria was only a few hundred feet away. My stomach dropped. Flashes of red and blue. Police lights. I could see them from two stoplights away. Three of them. I tried to stay calm, like my mom, as we both rattled in our seats, with my palms sweaty, and a knot in my throat. As we got closer, my tia’s car and my tios’ cars parked just across the road from the library. My cousins stood tensely on the side of the road with my tia and tios. We ran out of the car. Yellow caution tape. My heart sank. Today can’t be the day. This cannot be happening, I thought to myself.
“Where is he? Dónde está mi abuelo?” I started hysterically screaming as everything around me slowed down and became blurry and clear all at once; I could see clearly behind the tape–a yellow Iona. “Lo atropellaron.” My tia uttered the words and immediately broke down sobbing uncontrollably. “No, no, no, no.” I stumbled towards my mom, the world crashing around me. I looked around. His blue and gray bike, split in half on the side of the road. We fell to the floor in each other’s arms, crying and screaming. We both ran to throw up. My mind was racing in disbelief, but there he was.
My Tio Pancho lunged toward my mom in an attempt to pick us up. “Tienen que levantarse.” I snapped, “Dejela Tio!” I sounded like the angriest person alive. “Dejenos en paz,” I screamed at him. We cried uncontrollably on the floor for what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes. My cousin gave me the most heartfelt hug; his grandpa had died a few years before. And I thought, How did he do it? I feel like I’m dying. I cried with my mom on the sidewalk, leaning onto her so I wouldn’t collapse. Everything was fuzzy. I felt dizzy. Cars drove by and slowed to see the accident as a police officer directed them. We were part of the accident. My grandpa was gone.
I held onto my mom, completely disconnected from reality until the police asked for his family. My mom quickly stood up and walked toward the police officer. The whole family, more of my tia’s brothers, sister and husband had arrived. They swarmed around him. Light headed, I followed behind. He introduced himself to us and asked,”Who is the family of Mario Lucero?” He spoke firmly but cautiously. “We all are,” my tia was quick to respond. The officer cleared his throat, “Immediate family. Wife or children only. I’m sorry.” Everyone looked around as I stood paralyzed, unable to breathe. “His wife and children are in Mexico.” another quick response from my tia. He continued, “Then, it would be whoever would be next of kin. Closest relative.” A short pause before she declared, “She is the granddaughter, and that is her mom.” My tia and everyone turned to me as I emerged from the back of the group towards the police officer.
The rest of the details are fuzzy. He read us some statements. He told us it was a hit and run: “Family members that arrived on scene first have identified the victim as Mario Lucero. We are doing all that we can to investigate and find the assailant.” I stopped listening. I heard a faint, but steady, ringing in my ears and my own heartbeat in my throat. I closed my eyes and continued to ask God, Please God. Please what? He’s gone. This is real. My mind raced trying to process. I’ll have to put a cross for him on the side of the road. The thought of his nonexistence on the Earth destroyed me. Only a wooden cross left to remember him.
The officer, interrupting my thoughts, handed me my abuelito’s big black backpack that he carried with him every day to work or anywhere he went. I picked it up. It was wet and sticky.
I opened it up to find an imploded twenty-four pack of Tecate half empty, dripping all over the backpack. They took it to my mom’s car. Next, a clear plastic bag containing his phone, wallet and cash. The officer referred to it as his property. I opened the bag and pulled out his small black flip phone. His front wallpaper: a pixelated picture of my siblings hugging. I opened the phone: a picture of me smiling stared back at me.
The officer talked some more, and many other people came to talk to us. They asked us questions and gave us information. It was many hours that felt slow and fast all at once. I felt like I was fading in and out of existence. I was there, but not really there. The world was spinning around me. It didn’t feel real; it couldn’t be. Memories flooded my brain as I desperately tried to grasp every memory of him that I could before it was too late. I remembered my abuelito carrying me on his wheelbarrow through the yard because I was scared of the dogs. I remembered him pulling random herbs out of his backpack that he had collected for me when I had any symptom. He knew an herb for any situation. I remembered anytime I tried to hug him he would pull away and say, ”No, Hija, porque estoy mugroso.” And I would hug him anyway as he stood stiffly.
Many calls were made. To my dad’s sister to break the news that their dad, that they had not seen for years, was now gone forever. To my grandpa’s wife, to whom he was never able to return. To his sisters and relatives. Waves of grief, anger, regret. Pain. Indescribable, physical, in your gut and head, pain. Hours later, my dad was the last to answer, after more than fifty missed calls. Eventually, we were allowed to go home. More like forced.
The drive home, even more excruciating than the drive there. My grandpa’s absence heavy on our world. How would we tell the kids? My mom and I discussed and began arrangements for a funeral. I laid my face on the cold window and stared out numbly until something caught my attention. Something that I had never seen before, but had always been there. I began to notice on the drive home the faded, wooden crosses that stood unseen at the edge of the road throughout my hometown. Crosses that stood for people. I had never paid as much attention to each cross as I did on that drive home and for the rest of my life. I felt the pain of all the families that were forced to put up a wooden cross, as we would the next day.
When we stepped in the door the tension swept over me. The Christmas tree sat decorated. The kids were worried. We all walked into the living room and sat down. The silence was deafening as they waited for an explanation. I hugged my little brothers and sister as my mom uttered, “Tu abuelito fallecio.” We all broke down, unable to speak for a long time. My siblings squeezed me, and I held them and cried. “How?” my brother cried out and we were forced to tell them what happened. We were forced to explain that another human being on the planet, for whatever reason, hit my grandpa with their car, killing him on impact, and then proceeded to flee. Didn’t check if he was okay. Didn’t call for help. Just left him on the side of the road on another ordinary day. The proper words don’t exist; there wasn’t much we could say, just heavy silence and sniffles. None of us slept that night.