Tijuana Gringo |
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Julie will welcome me into the refurbished old home. We will sit down in her kitchen -- "I hate the living room, it's so big for just two people."
She's right. Kitchens are always cozier. The sea breeze keeps it from getting hot in summer. "Been warm in Tijuana?" she will ask me.
"Not bad. I live only seven kilometers from the ocean. Nice breeze in the afternoon. The park across the street is full of tall, shady trees."
We will chatter about local geography of these borderlands. Warmer valleys, hot mountains, sweltering deserts.
On our second glass of ice tea she will finally produce an envelope from a box on the kitchen table.
"Your father's last letter to me. I've been meaning to show it to you, and now... well, you'll see why I must, now."
Her remark will puzzle me. As I open the letter, a photograph will fall out. With a shock I recognize the location: zebra painted burro cart on Revolution Avenue. My father and a young woman who looks familiar are both posing in straw hats beyond the zeburro's striped head and shoulders, under the painted sign of Aztec warrior Popocatepetl rescuing princess Ixtacihuatl. Above that mythic scene, letters spell out TIJUANA MEXICO 1972.
I read:
I will look up. My aunt's eyes are locked on my face. I'll see she's been following me. "Yeah," she will say, "that's your Maria's mother's name, isn't it? You remember how I dropped my drink at the 4th of July barbecue when she said it?" and shake her head, "Read more, Michael."My Dearest Sister:
I've got to tell someone. I can't tell Janet -- not yet, anyway. Don't know if I ever can. Don't even know how serious it was -- except that I dream of her now, in the photo, not of my wife, not Janet. It happened after Janet screamed at me to get out of our house because I told her I wanted to extend for another tour of duty. After she yelled at me to choose her or choose the Navy, I went downtown on the bus and started walking around. The Hare Krishna freaks were drumming and dancing in Horton Plaza by the old fountain. I thought about calling you, but ran into a couple armament mechanics I knew from my first days flying off the Kitty Hawk. They convinced me to go with them to Tijuana. But once we got there they informed me they wanted to buy girls, and that was the last thing I wanted (although it was tempting, yes, but I was afraid of catching something, and worried a little about Janet) so I left them down in the red light zone and walked up to the more legitimate bars on Revolution Avenue. Ended up drinking tequila in a classy enough joint -- the Hotel
CeasarCaesar (however it's spelled). That's where I met Guadalupe ---
That's where I met Guadalupe -- who speaks very good English. She looked like she'd been crying. Eventually told me her boyfriend -- ex-boyfriend -- had gotten her drunk the night before and tried to force her to have sex with him, fast, and slapped her when she asked him to slow down. Called her a teasing whore, etc. She took off her engagement ring and told him to take it back, she would never marry anyone who treated her like that. He just took it and threw it at her, turned his back, and walked out. The ring cut her cheek, but he never saw that.
Oh Julie the whole time she's unfolding this story, I'm sitting there watching her, sometimes in the big mirror, sometimes in the flesh, and wondering when does she start asking me for money? Typical American reaction, eh? Well, she never did ask me to give her money. After a while, I ask her to dinner. Little place on the corner near the Jai Alai palace. Spanish food, not Mexican. Chiki Jai, I think it's called. When we finally left, they were closing up, and Lupe asked me if I like to dance.
I said sure, and we went to a club a block or so away where a band was playing really hot rock'n'roll. Those guys could play all kinds of songs, Beatles, Stones, Credence, all the big hits. Then they switched gears and started playing some of the Mexican country music -- you know, with the acordion? Lupe taught me to dance "northern" style, as she called it. Real close and fast. I think that was when I decided I really like this woman, really, really like her.
Later, sometime around twelve or one, she asked me if I wanted to see her house. I only hesitated a moment before I said yes. Very nice place up on the hills. We went up in a taxi, and when we got there she said her family had gone to Ensenada for the weekend. Now, Sis, that was when I should have left. I'd seen her safely home, and... but no, I let the taxi drive away, and followed her inside.
We spent the night together. Yes, and I mean together. After the first time, she thanked me for going slow. Then twice more before dawn. We went out the next day and took tourist photos. I got two. Sending you one so you can see how pretty she is.
Julie, I'm sorry to burden you with this but I can't stop thinking about her. Didn't use any protection but haven't had any symptoms of clap or anything and she seemed such a nice girl -- but she'd been hurt, and I worry now I may have taken advantage of her. And I only know her first name. The people in the restaurant seemed to know her. Maybe I can find her again. I hope so. Thank you Sis, for listening. I love you, as always, for always.
I put the letter down. "You don't think...?"
My aunt will only shrug, then touch my hand. "When did Maria say her mother is coming back to Tijuana to meet you?"
"Tomorrow. We're going to have dinner together... oh my God -- at THAT restaurant..." a chill runs up my spine.
"Do you want to borrow the letter and the photo?"
"Yeah." Now I am about to cry, goosebumps prickling my arms and neck. It can't be. It can't be. "I guess I better... thanks."