Long Live the Electric Boogaloo

Springtime in San Carlos, SON, Mexico is one of the best times to visit, especially in April (Palm Sunday to Easter). Perfect weather for hanging out at the beach, warm water for scuba. Twelve years ago, a select few of us planned a trip to the beach, and like most of our trips, it was purely spontaneous. Because those of us in the group went to college, instead of April, we went in March. I remember our first day vividly. I woke up, peeked out, and found we were blessed by a gorgeous sunrise, which in your early 20's, you tend to take for granted. Birds squawking nearby and the hotel maintenance crew laughing while they cleaned the pool.

It was time to hit the beach! Everyone was just about done getting ready. The group jammed into my brand-new truck, a gray 2006 Chevy Silverado. This was my first new vehicle, which replaced my ill-reputed white Toyota Tundra. What better way to treat my new, pristine truck than filling it with a bunch of wet individuals, tossed in the sand like chicken tenders in flour? Now, I'm an impatient human being by nature, when something is not running on a schedule, I tend to think the worst. On the drive to the beach, I kept picturing a beach riddled with cars and a sea of people.

We arrived at the intertidal zone of the beach and much to our shock, there were maybe three cars and a handful of beach peddlers walking around. The sun was strong that day, the skies bluer than blue. The tide started off exceedingly low. To be on the safe side, I wanted to park the truck at least 30 yards away in the even the tide came up. The keyword here is wanted. Not Buga, though. He asked to be closer to the water. He made it his mission to convince me to park closer. After half an hour of arguing, it worked. We parked the truck in reverse, put up the tarp, and pulled out the ice chest. Over time, more people arrived, and there are no words to describe the perfection of that day. However, something kept eating away at me... and at the sand. I don't know if it was just me or the marijuana, but I could've sworn I saw the water inching closer. I kept pestering Buga, "Dude, we need to move the truck". Buga brushed me off with a chuckle and two words, "Todo tranquilo". I didn't need to hear anything else. From the moment I met Buga to the last time I saw him, the same thing always crossed my mind when he was around: I have a bad feeling about this. Nevertheless, every time he said those two words, I trusted him. I always trusted him.

The fun hadn't started yet. I soon realized one, we were indeed stoned out of our minds and two, the tide did actually reach my truck. The ocean water coated about half of the rear tires. Our panic caught the attention of some others around the beach. Every helping hand we could get came over and dug away at the tires. We needed them to gain any possible traction. All our attempts were hopeless. We literally dug ourselves into a deeper hole. I still have nightmares of the exhaust pipe sputtering water out, like a kid blowing into his chocolate milk with a straw. We spent nearly two chaotic hours trying to get my truck out of the soppy quicksand. Buga flagged down a diesel truck nearby. With their help, we eventually got out, but the damage had been done. I became livid with Buga for convincing me to foolishly park the truck so close. With all honesty, I wanted to stay mad at him. I wanted to punch him straight in the face, cuss him out at least. I didn't do any of that, though. Instead, I asked him to be my roommate when we got back home to Tucson.

They say if you want to get to know someone, really test a relationship, then move in together. We shared a place together in Tucson for a few years. It wasn't a regular apartment with your two-bedroom, two-bathroom kind of unit. It was a loft, which means we shared the area upstairs plus two and a half bathrooms. We learned everything we could from each other. How he got his nickname from the movie Breakin' and the dance crew known as Electric Boogaloo. How we both loved to eat the nastiest fast food. He nicknamed me Boo-Boo Burger because of how much I adore burgers. We'd share one alarm for work in the morning, or he'd gripe at me for waking him up on his days off. I'm more than positive our farts created a violent compound overnight, creating a gas of death and we didn't even know it. I loved our weekends. Not one Saturday morning went by where one of us didn't wake up to marijuana smoke and hip-hop blasting from the computer speaker. Also, I've never met another human being who cherished cream of wheat as much as this guy did. We might've been too broke to go grocery shopping, but I didn't worry at all. Every cupboard door I'd open, there was a big shiny red box of microwavable cream of wheat. Living with Buga was the first time I experienced my maturity evolving and my freedom expanding. I'm not going to say our living situation was all sunshine and no rain. This is what I mean by testing a relationship. There were moments we did not like each other... at all. Tensions flared due to the level of privacy we lacked from one another after so much time living together. As heated as our arguments became, though, we'd always find our way back to the living room couch. Roll up a grape Swisher Sweet and ask each other almost through telepathy, "what should we eat?" Eventually, it was time to move on. I came into the loft with a friend and left with a brother.

The world tour simply traveled from Tucson up north to Phoenix. Tucson became too small for us and we needed a bigger playground. Phoenix gave us even more memorable moments, especially since the whole gang was up here. At one point, there were so many of us living under one roof, the apartment was dubbed The Kingdom. It all came to an end. Some of us went our own way. Buga went back to Tucson to get his barber license, some back to Nogales, others scattered around the valley.

The whole gang never completely lost touch. I think people fear distance because communication becomes scarce. The thing about our group is, no matter where we are, our hearts and our memories keep us connected. Afterward, there were still many more trips to the beach, Vegas for a double bachelor party, I can go on. I remember when he finally opened up his own barbershop in Nogales, Salon Rojo. We all shared his happiness. We were all proud of our brother above all else. Last time I saw Buga was at our good friend Steve's wedding in Nogales. We talked and laughed away. It felt like we were back in the loft, kicking it on the living room couch.

These aren’t just random stories or life messages. Trust me, I’m the least qualified person to give you life advice. I’m simply sharing these because I’m sure each and every one of us has a bag full of Buga memorable moments. Buga was a person who I thought would genuinely live forever. He loved everyone, took care of everyone, he had the biggest heart and the most celebrated sense of humor, I mean, why wouldn't he live forever? I think for the first couple of days after getting the text message of his passing, I was angry at him. It didn't fully sink in we lost him. Even saying it now sounds like a sham. Then I became angry at myself for not making more of an effort to talk to him like we used to. I went through a million what-ifs much like everyone else, I'm sure. We have no choice but to question the unpredictable or uncontrollable. It's in our nature.

I've spent the last few days looking at old pictures of us. Although they bring hurt, they also take me back to a time in our lives when we felt like kings. Not because we were royalty but because we had each other, our friendship, our bond was our wealth. In a few days, it will be time to say goodbye. But it won't really be forever. Because you, my friend, will live eternally as a king in each and every heart you touched. Years ago, we shared the most beautiful of sunrises, my brother, but now it's time for that sun to set. I love you and I'll miss you. And like you once told me, TODO TRANQUILO.

If you have friends who you were stuck to like glue at one point and are now distant, call them and tell them how much they meant to you and still do. You might think I'll talk to him/her eventually, but the truth is, eventually and forever are not promised. They never have been. If you're reading this post right now, it's intended as a strong, fierce hug for each of you. To all my brothers and sisters. I love you now, more than ever.

***Please take the time to head over to the GoFundMe page for Salon Rojo Barber Shop Memorial to contribute toward the funeral services. Anything you can give to help out with the services for our dear friend.***