9 a.m.
St. Lucy’s Church in City Terrace for Jose’s funeral Mass. The strange yet pleasant incense smell hits me as I dipped my finger on the sponge soaked with holy water and make the sign of the cross. A few minutes later, the same balding priest enters to begin the procession of pall bearers, casket and family. As the priest says the prayers, few people respond, a sign that there are lots of non-Catholics or lapsed Catholics (or simply people who don’t know the prayers in Spanish) in the church. The Mass is simple and somber. There are few tears, I think most were shed the night before at the velorio.

9:50 a.m.
Gabriel, Ralph and I decide to leave the church parking lot before the procession to Resurrection Cemetery in Monterey Park. I tell Ralph, I know how to get there. Mando and my madrina Bertha are buried there. We take the 10 east to the 710 south to the 60 east and exit Findlay. We make a left at Markland, where we saw a horse-drawn carriage just waiting. Soon, we arrive at Resurrection. I tell the guys, I think we should just drive around until we find somewhere that looks like it’s about to be the location for a burial. A few minutes later we find the right location. Ralph double checks the flower arrangements. He sees one with blue and yellow flowers dedicated to a beloved Bruin. We wait a while in the shade. Soon other friends arrive, they all ditched (or were ditched) by the procession.

10:30 a.m.
The casket and procession arrives. The priest begins his prayer at the grave site. It’s short and sweet. The sun beats down on us and I tell Chonsy to grab the umbrella from my trunk after taking a cue from some of the other mourners. The priest says a short prayer and gives the final blessing. The guy from the mortuary tells the pall bearers to put their white gloves on the casket and then asks them to give flowers to everyone so they can place them on the casket as well. I get a blue rose. It’s lovely. When I say goodbye, I don’t know if I should say a prayer or tell Jose how much I’ll miss him. I just pray, it’s easier.

After this, an older woman begins a rosary. In between each misterio, we sing a verse of “Pescador de Hombres”. I love the song, but she doesn’t sing it as beautiful as my father and the choir back at St. John Vianney. I try to sing too, but I forget the words. It’s a good thing; without fail, the song makes me cry.

11:50 a.m.
All the friends, fellow UCLA/MEChA alumni say goodbye to each other. We’re the only one’s still hanging around at Resurrection. The family already left to the reception and we’re still trying to figure out the next thing to do. Ralph, Gabriel, Jake, Chonsy and I make plans to go a Hawaiian restaurant Jake recommends.

11:55 p.m.
Lunch at Shakas in Monterey Park. We barely beat the lunch crowd. The guys all have giant snow cones to go along with their loco mocos and teriyaki chicken. We discuss baseball, particularly the Seattle Mariners of the mid to late 1990s. I hold my own in the conversation. I think, we must look odd. We’re all dressed in black.

1:30 p.m.
I got conned in to driving to the Kwik-E-Mart in Burbank. Ralph promised me a Squishee. On the way there, he suggests going to see a movie after the Kwik-E-Mart. Harry Potter? I ask hopefully. Ralph and Gabriel actually agree.

1:45 p.m.
We arrive at the Burbank Kwik-E-Mart. The line is shorter than I expected, but we still have to wait a little while. It’s also not as hot as I expected, but it’s still hot. We take pictures with Comic Book Guy and Marge. Whoever thought that going to a gussied up Simpsons style 7-11 would be exciting? Ralph keeps his promise of buying me a slushee in a collectible pink Lisa cup. I buy a couple of bobbleheads and cookies shaped like Simpsons characters. Ralph buys a half-dozen donuts.

2:30
We head over to the AMC movie theater and arrive just in time to buy our tickets for the 3 p.m. Harry Potter showing.

5:30
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban is over. On the escalator down, the guys say they liked it and I clear up some of their questions. I go into an explanation of why I thought the book was much better than the movie, even if I did enjoy the movie. While looking for a place to get some water, the guys suggest grabbing a beer. I can’t argue and we end up at Elephant Bar’s happy hour across the street from the parking structure. I have a margarita. The guys have beer.

6:45
Gabriel offers to pay, he just got a promotion. I don’t mind at all. I’ve been driving him around all day. He should be paying for my drink. We leave the Elephant Bar, which has quickly gone from being busy to being downright hectic. Ralph guides us back to East L.A. without having to get on the crappy 5 freeway.

7:15 p.m.
Back in City Terrace, we unwind at Ralph’s apartment. I’m hungry again. I finally grab one of the pink sprinkled donuts we bought at the Kwik-E-Mart. It’s good, but it’s a little too sweet. The Dodgers game is on TV, but Ralph doesn’t have cable. Boo. Gabriel leaves to head back to the Coachella Valley. I check my email for the first time that day and while doing so Ralph invites me to dinner in Van Nuys at Dr. Hogly Wogly’s Tyler, Texas Bar-B-Que.

8 p.m.
Dinner at “the Hog” with David, his father and Ralph. David and Ralph do the ordering. Two orders of beef brisket, one order of beef ribs, and sides of bread and french fries. The food is good and so is the conversation.

9:30 p.m.
Traffic on the 101 sucks, but at least I don’t have to drive this time. I tell Ralph that today, Friday July 13th, was an almost perfect day. Well, if we don’t consider the fact that it started with Jose’s funeral. You know, I tell him, the only reason you, me and Gabriel were away from work today was because of Jose’s funeral. This great day would have never happened if… well, you know. His death brought together a bunch of people who don’t see each other enough as we’re all scattered around California doing our own thing. Suddenly, the great day doesn’t feel so great anymore. I feel exhausted.

Eli, José and I after the 2005 Raza Grad Celebration

The first call came at 7:44 a.m.

It was Ralph. He still has his own ring tone, but by the time I reached my phone, it had stopped ringing. A minute later, the phone beeped and I checked my voice mail.

“Hey Cindy what’s up? It’s Ralph. Can you give me a call when you get this message?”

He sounded a little groggy. I called back right away.

And then the words I’ve been trying to deny and forget all day flowed through my phone.

He asked if I’d heard from Eligio, a mutual friend. I said no. He asked again if I’d heard from him. I replied no again. He paused. I knew that pause. It was the hesitation of someone who is about to be the bearer of some awful news.

Last night, one of our friends, José Vásquez, was hit by a car as he walked home from a party. José died.

I didn’t comprehend the news at first. The details weren’t clear. They’re still not clear. From what I know, José was at a party with some friends. Those friends left him and he decided to walk home. He walked home on the freeway. We don’t know which one, but we know he was hit by a car and that he was taken to County/USC Medical Center.

I couldn’t sleep after hearing the news. I kept myself busy throughout the day by doing the things I had planned to do when I returned from Mexico late last night. I did laundry. I met up with a friend for a Dodger game and sat in the hot sun while I watched them beat the San Diego Padres. Then I went to a wedding.

Throughout the day, I tried to reach friends who were a little more removed from UCLA to give them the terrible news. They deserved to know as they had all once been part of the same circle while we were students.

I met José in 2001 when he joined MEChA. He entered UCLA in 2000 after graduating from Wilson High School in El Sereno. He was one of a few Salvadoreans in the organization, proof that our definition of Chicana/o was more than just being of Mexican origin. José got involved in some of the high school outreach projects and put his math major to good use as a tutor at local high schools. I think he even became the tutoring director for Xinachtli, MEChA’s outreach project. By his 4th year, José was in a special two-year program for undergraduate students interested in becoming math teachers. He finished off his BS in math while at the same time taking courses toward earning his teaching credential. He graduated from UCLA again last year with a Masters in Education. In the stands at Pauley Pavilion sat a few dozen students from Jordan High School, where he taught algebra. They held colorful signs congratulating the Jordan teachers graduating that afternoon. José was one of them. He was 25.

I told Vane the news in the morning. In the afternoon, I got ahold of Gabby, Isa and Chispa. Chispa and Isa referred to José by his nickname, Mighty Mouse. Isa mentioned that she had just seen him last week. Gabby called him her unofficial concert buddy because they ended up at the same concerts pretty often.

Eligio called me later as I was on my way to the wedding. “We’re all meeting up at Cynthia’s house in Echo Park,” he told me. The we he referred to was a bunch of UCLA alumni who were friends with José. told him I’d be at the wedding. I felt bad for not going, but I wanted to keep my mind off death.

Right now, I cried for the first time as I logged on to MySpace and saw that mutual friends had changed their profile pictures, names and headline messages in reference to José. I think it’s hitting me now that I’ll never attend another Halloween party, watch an early morning World Cup soccer match, eat tacos late at night at La Estrella or go to a UCLA basketball game with José.

I’m gonna miss him. A lot.