Rafael said:
I was so poor when I was a child in Villahermosa that I had to cut a picture out of the newspaper for something to play with. You Americans had those figures and soldiers -- G.I.Joe -- and star wars, yes, well, I had a picture of a soldier printed on newspaper. I would put him in my mother's shoe and pretend it was driving a car. One time I found a beautiful dry turd in the road, it was so solid, so dry, so perfect, that I used it as a toy. But I had to hide it. My mother would have been very mad if she knew I played with turd in her shoe. My father never was around, he had other women and didn't seem to care for my mother or my sisters or for me. Maybe that's why I am still looking for older men to be my friends. Like the men I live with, one American, one Mexican, both in their forties, yes?
I told Rafael about my developing relationship with Maria, and he said:
You need to find someone, Miguel, you need to find someone to love and to live with. If it is this woman, good. But you need to find someone. There is a darkness in your heart. Only one candle stands there, flickering faintly in the breeze. You need to find someone to bring more fire and light into your heart.
Agustin was going out to a party last night, but of course I wasn't invited. I never am. Not that I should be, his friends don't know me from Adam. But he likes to come by and check on me and tell me he's going out and would I make sure the gate is locked. Little landlord things like that. Security is a big issue, here, and everywhere. Didn't used to be that way, not here, not anywhere, but now it is. But Agustin got suddenly very nervous when he saw Rafael and me sitting in my kitchen. I haven't had anyone over to visit in all the nine months since I moved from the beach, except for my Mom and Maria. No one else. So this morning Agustin started giving me the treatment.
-- Where did you meet him?
-- In the park last spring.
That's when he really freaked. Oh mai god don't you know they are all putos and thieves there and you let them into my locked gate!?
No, I didn't let 'them' in. This One Person isn't some guy I just picked up yesterday! I've known him for almost six months! Been to his house, met his roomates. He doesn't live on the streets. He's a student, and an artist. Been in the army, everything.
Tell me the truth, how much did you pay him?
Pay? For what?
For sex, you pinche gringo, what do you think, he's going to give it to you for free?
I didn't pay. And we didn't... although I must confess it would have been tempting if he... had wanted to....
Ach! You had better think about moving, gringo. I don't want you bringing anyone except your mother here. Or this woman, what's her name? How can you be chasing after her and still have a man over to 'talk' with you -- if that's what you call it? What would she say if she knew?
She would probably say what she says about my talking with you and watching movies with you in your apartment.
What?!
She knows that you are gay. And that what I do about that is my problem, and yours. She's a big girl, knows all about the world. And she is definitely worth waiting for. I don't want to threaten my chances with her by having sex with you or with anyone else.
Miguel, that's not very considerate, comparing me with this... this, alright, this friend. I... but... but you better watch out for people you meet over there. You can't trust them, you don't know them like I do, let me tell you....
So, you know them, eh? And just how do you know them so well, then?
Oh, don't try to turn that around on me!
You're the one who said it.
But what can you want from those people, if not sex?
I want more than sex, Agustin, I want their souls. I want their stories, I want their lives and histories and realities....
Oh mai god you are totally weird, Michael. Maybe you had better move, maybe... maybe you can just go to the park and talk with them, but don't bring them back to my building, behind my locked gate. You don't know them, don't understand them like I do. You don't know how to tell who is safe and who is not. I told you how one attacked me once, didn't I, when I brought him back to my place a second time...?
Then we had a visitor, an elvish looking man, a bearded prophet carrying a clipboard with a butterfly sitting on it, not pinned, just sitting, alive, gently moving its wings, free, but resting on the page....
The tourist office at the foot of Revolucion told me yesterday that to work as a guide, legally, I need to either be a citizen or get an FM-3 permit. They said the University of Baja California gives examinations and classes in turismo -- tourism. I walk through downtown memorizing places and streets, learning where things are, thinking more and more that I want to escort my countrymen, mis paisanos, mis gringos, my fellow Americans who might want to see Tijuana but don't want just the typical get drunk and buy stuff stereotype. Want to see something about the real people here, the markets, the museums, the shopping centers, the factories. Cultural tourism. Turismo cultural. Culture and lunch.