It was summer of 2009. I was living between Mexico and Somerton, Arizona because my husband had been deported. My three children and I traveled across the border on weekends to keep their father in our lives. It was a very difficult and stressful time for my children and I. We lived by the seat of our pants.
My husband called me and exclaimed, "I found your father's car. I needed a shovel so I went to my friend's house. The guy I was working with all last week. Do you remember? Anyway, he didn't open the door, so I went to the back. There was a makeshift car port and I looked inside. There was your father's car! I found your father's car, but I can't go with you because they'll know I told." my husband's voice quivered with fear. "What? Who? You found my father's car?" I held the phone crying, because I thought my dad's car was gone for good. I felt moronic because I had the car in my care when it was stolen.
I walked out the door one morning to take my father's car to the shop and it was gone. I had parked it right in front of our door. Holy shit! My father's car was gone. I was in Mexico. What would I tell him? My husband had gone out to work and had seen a couple of men knocking next door, so he said. I was sure his brother was somehow involved in the theft, because he lived right next door. I named my husband's brother as the main suspect in my police report.
As soon as I got off the phone with my husband, I rushed to Mexico, only 10 or so miles from my home in the U.S. I went to pick up my husband so he could go to the police department and give them the location of the car. He was adamant he was not going. I swore to him if he didn't go with me, he would never see me again. I had balls of steel all of a sudden. I was going to recover my father's car. My father was seventy-five-years-old and getting his car stolen was the greatest injustice. I was personally going to see to it that I took his car back in one piece. I called dispatch and noone answered. I was growing anxious, so I drove around the streets of San Luis R. C. Sonora until I ran into a unit. He quickly dispatched the car theft unit and we met at the end of the culprit's street. I drove through the back road escorted by a unit, and several units approached through the front. I heard the radio transmits saying there was no car on the premises. My heart sank. Then I heard them say the owner was waiting at the front of the property. I jumped in my car and met the officers. I urged my husband to get off the car but he refused. I went over and asked the officers if they had found my car. "You should know!" said one officer. "The owner of the house is claiming your husband brought the car to her home, placed it in the back and had been dismantling it. She states you were in on the plan and you would be reporting it stolen in the United States." The officer looked sternly at me while I reacted. I must have turned white as a ghost and I felt my muscles disappear from my legs. I was needing to barf. All I could think was I needed to barf. I grabbed on to a tree next to me and out came everything I had in my stomache. I asked fervently if they had found my father's car. Their answer was affirmative. They brought over some lights as it was pitch dark and the detective walked me to the back of the house. As soon as they opened the make-shift car port, I about fell to my knees. My father's car, the only memory he had left that reminded him of my mother, was in pieces staring me in the face. I approached the car, held on to something and started crying. I was crying because I would not be returning my father's car to him, and I was crying because I knew my husband had plotted this from the start.
The detective pulled me aside and all of a sudden started talking to me like a social worker or a counselor. He spoke about my forgiving him before, my covering his mistakes, my taking financial responsibility for his wrongdoings. It was all true. I looked at this man wondering if he could read my mind. I was in so much pain, but his words were so clear. "We have arrested your husband. My officers just placed him in the patrol car. You can either follow us to the station and pay to let him out or you can walk straight to your car, not turning to look at him, and be free from him for good. Let go now maam before he destroys you."
I thanked the detective for his time, walked to the front without turning to look at my husband, got in my car and left. That was the last time I was with him. I picked up the broken pieces of my heart from the floor, placed them in my hand and walked away.
Placing the pieces back together is cumbersome. It's 2014, one month away from 2015. Darn crazy glue does not stick like it used to in the 90's. My heart glues together for a few days and then I have to pick up some pieces off the floor. However, that's a story for another time. For another day. As for now, I bid you good night.
My husband called me and exclaimed, "I found your father's car. I needed a shovel so I went to my friend's house. The guy I was working with all last week. Do you remember? Anyway, he didn't open the door, so I went to the back. There was a makeshift car port and I looked inside. There was your father's car! I found your father's car, but I can't go with you because they'll know I told." my husband's voice quivered with fear. "What? Who? You found my father's car?" I held the phone crying, because I thought my dad's car was gone for good. I felt moronic because I had the car in my care when it was stolen.
I walked out the door one morning to take my father's car to the shop and it was gone. I had parked it right in front of our door. Holy shit! My father's car was gone. I was in Mexico. What would I tell him? My husband had gone out to work and had seen a couple of men knocking next door, so he said. I was sure his brother was somehow involved in the theft, because he lived right next door. I named my husband's brother as the main suspect in my police report.
As soon as I got off the phone with my husband, I rushed to Mexico, only 10 or so miles from my home in the U.S. I went to pick up my husband so he could go to the police department and give them the location of the car. He was adamant he was not going. I swore to him if he didn't go with me, he would never see me again. I had balls of steel all of a sudden. I was going to recover my father's car. My father was seventy-five-years-old and getting his car stolen was the greatest injustice. I was personally going to see to it that I took his car back in one piece. I called dispatch and noone answered. I was growing anxious, so I drove around the streets of San Luis R. C. Sonora until I ran into a unit. He quickly dispatched the car theft unit and we met at the end of the culprit's street. I drove through the back road escorted by a unit, and several units approached through the front. I heard the radio transmits saying there was no car on the premises. My heart sank. Then I heard them say the owner was waiting at the front of the property. I jumped in my car and met the officers. I urged my husband to get off the car but he refused. I went over and asked the officers if they had found my car. "You should know!" said one officer. "The owner of the house is claiming your husband brought the car to her home, placed it in the back and had been dismantling it. She states you were in on the plan and you would be reporting it stolen in the United States." The officer looked sternly at me while I reacted. I must have turned white as a ghost and I felt my muscles disappear from my legs. I was needing to barf. All I could think was I needed to barf. I grabbed on to a tree next to me and out came everything I had in my stomache. I asked fervently if they had found my father's car. Their answer was affirmative. They brought over some lights as it was pitch dark and the detective walked me to the back of the house. As soon as they opened the make-shift car port, I about fell to my knees. My father's car, the only memory he had left that reminded him of my mother, was in pieces staring me in the face. I approached the car, held on to something and started crying. I was crying because I would not be returning my father's car to him, and I was crying because I knew my husband had plotted this from the start.
The detective pulled me aside and all of a sudden started talking to me like a social worker or a counselor. He spoke about my forgiving him before, my covering his mistakes, my taking financial responsibility for his wrongdoings. It was all true. I looked at this man wondering if he could read my mind. I was in so much pain, but his words were so clear. "We have arrested your husband. My officers just placed him in the patrol car. You can either follow us to the station and pay to let him out or you can walk straight to your car, not turning to look at him, and be free from him for good. Let go now maam before he destroys you."
I thanked the detective for his time, walked to the front without turning to look at my husband, got in my car and left. That was the last time I was with him. I picked up the broken pieces of my heart from the floor, placed them in my hand and walked away.
Placing the pieces back together is cumbersome. It's 2014, one month away from 2015. Darn crazy glue does not stick like it used to in the 90's. My heart glues together for a few days and then I have to pick up some pieces off the floor. However, that's a story for another time. For another day. As for now, I bid you good night.
No comments:
Post a Comment