en la biblioteca
in the library
read poems by
bajacalifornianos
pull down
un libro de historia
about
la villa de Guadalupe
deja vu flickering
en mi cebrebro
in my brain
been here before
this
o ya pense
or thought this before
ruedas
spinning
en aire
in the air
I
no se que escribir
don't know what
to write
so
nothing
nada
Oh, I went to class, yes, and felt good about it all the way there, ignorant, innocent fool leading myself to the slaughter. Across town from the park, through the busy downtown streets, down toward the river past the blocks of fish and produce markets, into the modern, sterile Zona Rio. Came down Mina behind the big brown cultural center (CECUT, with its big ball IMAX theater).
Heard Maria's voice calling me.
-- Miguel!
-- Ah, Maria, como estas?
But she refused to hug me hello. I knew then that something was wrong.
-- Did you forget?-- She asked.
-- Forget what?
Stamped her foot. Looked at the watch on my wrist.
-- Did our date fall into a black hole?
Agujero negro, she said. The word puzzled me, but I understood "nuestra cita." And remembered. "Oh no." Bent my head, my stupid head that forgot.
-- Si. Se me olvido.
-- Pues, now it's time for class.-- She frowned. -- Tell me the truth, gringo, you're only here now because you remembered the class, didn't you!?
I began to blush.
After class, she let me accompany her downtown, to where she gets her taxi to La Mesa. Here in Tijuana they have "route taxis" that go all over town, following set routes along main streets into all the neighborhoods. They fill them up with people, and off you go. Five pesos a head. They'll pick you up at corners along the way, if there's room. A station wagon can hold two passengers and driver in front, four in back, and three in the tailgate.
But before going to her taxi stand at 4th and Constitucion, I asked her to walk with me for a while. We went down Revolucion through the evening madness of nightclub doormen and storefront hustlers "come on in, take a look, got naked ladies, got shoes, got tequila, got pullovers, got lots of nice things for your lady...."
At 1st & Revo, where the mariachis sing and the government is trying to build a big arch over the street, we turned into Plaza Santa Cecilia, and walked up the pedestrian space, past the souvenir carts packing up for the night, and the cantinas and restaurants making noise, food, drink. Maria started reading the names of celebreties who put their hand and foot prints into wet cement twenty years ago. It was her first time here in six years.
-- You know something (sabes una cosa)?-- she said, -- You, gringo, are taking me places I never went before. Maybe living in the old center of town is good for you. And me, too, to learn from you, imagine that, from the foreigner.
At the corner I told her how sorry I was, how absent minded I am, but that there is no excuse, it was just completely wrong of me to have forgotten our date like that.
-- Yes-- she said, and finally took my hand, -- and I don't know if I will ever forgive you.
-- I'll show you I won't ever forget you again. Let's meet here tomorrow.
-- I won't fall into your black hole and disappear?
-- No. Never again.