Death and Tijuana

I woke up. 6:30am. Fuck. I just fell asleep three hours ago. My mouth is dry as hell and I feel some sense of urgency to get out of here. Not out of this hotel. Out of this country. Out of Tijuana. Out.

I don’t even want to take a shower. I am packing my bag and checking my pockets. My ID and passport are here, thank God. Holden insists I shower. I hop in and rinse the filth off from last night. What I can remember of last night anyways. I put on some clean clothes. My hands are shaking a little – dehydrated. We eat the mediocre hotel breakfast, drink three bottles of water, and we book it.

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Holden and I don’t say a word. We know what happened last night can’t be mentioned. My visa card is missing; my cell phone is gone too. Thank God I locked everything else in the safe. Holden still has his cell – I dial my bank and cancel everything. A replacement phone will have to wait.

Holden and I try to fill in the gaps from last night. Neither of us want to remember what the other has to offer. We leave it at that. Thankful for forgotten memories. That’s how it will stay.

It hits me. We have to come back tomorrow. I’ve never felt such dread from having to return to a place. We’re on foot by this point heading back to the US/Mexico border. We get in a cab – $1 each. That’s when I see it – the busiest boarder on earth. 300,000 daily crossers hustling in both directions.

I think back briefly – the whole night was a blur. I remember beautiful Mexican women – they were on us like a bunch of tweens at a Justin Beiber concert. We saw them do things I can’t believe. Beautiful amazing things. The beer, the tequila, too cheap. We took advice from a taxi driver and a stranger – that might have cost us. I see two American guys – they hand me a rum and coke. I drink. I drink. Drink.

They kick us out. Holden and I aren’t willing to pay for sex – the other two guys do. We leave. That’s when I woke up in the hotel. That’s why I have to get the hell out of here. My memory is destroyed. The only thing I can recall is bits and pieces of shit I wish I couldn’t.

The border again. Focus. It’s packed. We pay some guy $5 to get us to the front of the line. I’m still a little drunk. We get into a van. I’m not sure if this is the right thing to do. Are we being robbed? No. There are normal people in here, good.

Thirty minutes later we are across the border. Long trolley ride back to San Diego – I have to come back tonight. For now I want coffee – I want air I can breathe. We get to San Diego and I feel better – a good taco helps my mind and my stomach smooth things over with last night.

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4 thoughts on “Death and Tijuana

  1. Jon

    Damned, it sounds bad. When you mentioned Tijuana a number of posts ago (or maybe on one of mine). I kind of had a bad feeling, I was there very briefly many years ago, and remember it wasn’t the type of place you’d want to seek out. But I was only there for a few hours and didn’t get a chance to have a big problem. Sh*t.

    Reply
  2. Holden

    Personally, I had a ball. Atty simply can’t hold his liquor like he used to be able too. Like a veteran ball player with bad knees trying to keep up with up and coming hot shots out on the field.

    Reply

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