- You have 2 minutes to leave or else I’m taking the key back.
- Alright alright. Jeez chill out.
- I will if you leave now. I’ll get the bill, JUST FUCKING GO!
We fled Salina Cruz with cravings and fantasies. Being in San Cristobal for the Semana Santa made them worse. I found tranquility in the café La Frontera, my peaceful garden, while Marco itched of hornyness. He spent his days chasing girls around cultural activities, and not-so cultural ones.
Marco and I disagree on how to make a move on girls. He is an old school gentleman: highly educated, shy, and well-mannered. He seduces with his intelligence, and keeps talking until the girl makes the first move. In contrast, I act fast. I listen, observe, and talk with my body. Besides, time is not on your side when you are travelling. Every person you meet could be parting the next day.
My last experience in Puerto was still haunting me. So, I kept a low profile and focused on Marco. Helping a friend get laid brings me a proud feeling of accomplishment, like scoring a goal after a one-two pass combo. I wanted to coach Marco on how to use his tong for other than talking.
Emma, a school teacher, was staying at the same hostel as Marco. She was German but had a Latin soul. She spoke perfect Spanish, loved Latin music, and had fallen in love with Mexico. I met Emma around the camp fire. She was witty, smart and smoking hot. Marco, like all the guys, had his aim on her. Loving the attention, Emma shuffled men like a dealer shuffles a deck of cards.
At the end of the night, Marco gathered his courage and kissed Emma. Nice! Then Emma kissed the hostel manager right after Marco. She was single and looking for fun. Marco was about to give up when I convinced him to fight. It would be a one-night stand so he might as well be the lucky one.
The next day, the same crew from the hostel went to a rooftop rave party. The hostel manager was following Emma like a guard dog. On our way there, I pressured Marco to strike first. Otherwise, she would think he was not into her, and downgrade to her guard dog.
The rooftop rave party was packed. I left Marco, Emma, and the guard dog at the bar, and looked for a less crowded spot. There were three girls sitting in the garden with an empty chair next to them. I approached them and asked if I could sit down. They were Mexican tourists from Sinaloa. The most talkative one was, like Emma, also a school teacher. We debated about feminism while teasing each other on every disagreement. To mark a truce, she took out a pipe and filled it with strong smelly weed. I got high until my soul left my body, thanked the ladies, and teleported to the van.
The next morning, Marco stated his report. At the rave party, Emma made out with him again, and then with the guard dog again. I was laughing my ass off, poor Marco, but I also wanted him to prevail. Emma was leaving San Cristobal the day after. That night was our last chance.
The guard dog was working until 8pm. We invited Emma to a wine bar happy hours for her last night, making sure to exclude that fucker from the hostel. I told Marco he must take Emma for a walk after the first bottle. Then, they would make a stop at the van, have a smoke, and boom!
Before we finished the first bottle, seven people from the hostel saw us and crashed our party. They arranged chairs around the table. I made room for Emma to sit between Marco and the door. I had invested too much in this project. No room for improvisation.
Emma did not like the noisy crowd. She was getting impatient; her body screamed LET’S GTFO! But Marco was slow, as usual, and drinking, as usual. I had to threaten him with an ultimatum before he offered to take her for a walk. I saw Emma’s face lit up. Finally! It was about to happen. Spread the love!
I stayed with the lousy crowd at the wine bar to give Marco enough time to do his business. The bar closed, and we ended up at the hostel. The guard dog was in a grumpy mood and sent them all to bed. I wandered the streets, ate a hotdog in the park, and circled the block a dozen times before knocking on the van. I slid the door open and found Marco and Emma sitting on the couch. The room was in order. Something went wrong.
I refused to see all my efforts wasted. So when Emma said she was going to Palenque, I replied, "Oh really? We’re going to Palenque too! We leave tomorrow at noon. Wanna come with us? It would be cheaper than taking the bus."
Palenque was not planned but it was the best I could think of. Emma was stoked. We agreed to meet at noon the next day. She left the van. I stood up and closed the door. Arms crossed, I stared at Marco the way my mom used to stare at me when I brought home bad grades. Silent disappointment weighed the room.
Marco looked down and mumbled in his shirt. He brought Emma in, but then he got high. He was gonna make love to her, but then he got high. He got so high he forgot where he was and who he was. He forgot about the plan, about the girl, about time, and just sat there and got high. I could not keep a straight face.
We played Afroman song Because I got high and sang, and laughed, and laughed, and laughed.