My Neighbors Son Died

It was March 15, 2002. I attended my grandmothers funeral that day in Vacaville, CA. I was emotionally wiped out. My son and I returned home to our apartment in French Camp.

We lived at the Deville apartments which were the only apartments in French Camp. They were ghetto. It was all I could afford as a single mom. I didn't know my neighbors and didn't want to know them because of all the chaos. There were stabbings, shootings and pitbull fights. I kept to myself.

After we had returned home we went to bed. My son was 10. I was in a deep sleep and was awakened abruptly to a loud noise. I jumped out of bed, grabbed the phone and opened my front door. There I seen a man lying face down in front of my apartment. Other people were outside of their apartments. They were all standing around. But no one came near. I yelled if anyone knew what happened. No one responded. It was really weird. I yelled again. Someone said they thought he may have been shot. I dialed 911. I asked someone to grab a blanket.

As the 911 dispatcher asked me questions I checked for any exit wounds. I didn't see anything. I had never examined someone for bullet holes before so I didn't know what I was looking for. There was a female to my left who kept crying saying Raymond. The dispatcher wanted to know his name. I asked the girl if that was his name she said yes. My neighbor who lived right next door to me was off to the right staring and crying. He was an older hispanic man who spoke very little english.

I stayed on the line with dispatch. I kept talking to Raymond telling him to stay with us. I told him who I was. I think he tried to speak to me twice but it only sounded like he was gurgling. I will never forget the chilling sounds. As the sirens neared the girl started freaking out about how she had a warrant. I told her to sit in my apartment and shut up. After the paramedics and police arrived the girl came out. She said she was Raymond's girlfriend. She left with Raymond to the hospital. Raymond was pronounced dead.

The girl had left her purse in my apartment. I figured she would eventually return to for it. A couple days after Raymond's death the Hispanic from next door knocked on my door. I let him in. He had cookies for me. He was teary eyed. He told me, in very broken English, thank you for being there for my son. I gave him a hug. We never spoke again but in passing there would be a small smile between us.

Another couple days passed when the girls mother came by my office at work. She said she was the girls mother and wanted to get her purse. I told her they could come by my apartment to pick it up. The mother asked if I could bring it to work with me the following day and they would both be by. So I did.

When they came by the mother shared she knew I worked there because she was a client there and had seen me before at the apartments. The girl cried and talked about Raymond. They had children together. He was shot by some guys over a green card. They weren't even there for Raymond but for his older brother. Her and Raymond had left but had returned to lock the apartment to make sure his dad would be ok. Raymond was 21 years old.