My bus leaves for Tucson, AZ at five this afternoon. Here I sit at the Percolator Cafe in downtown El Paso for the last time. Yes. The last time! When I arrived three years ago I was shocked and saddened that all the good people I had known left for other destinations: San Antone, Austin, San Francisco, Tampa, other exotic countries. What were left was the dullest, most uninteresting lot of characters I could ever meet. And yet I stayed in a futile attempt to be responsible. I even left briefly to Tijuana on a miss-matched encounter to pursue a dead internet relationship which failed miserably and I still came back. It got worse. For me, anyway. To be certain, I had met a few people, yet they were never interested in staying on a close friendship basis, we still remain uninvolved friends via the internet. Not enough so to warrant sticking around.
I am quite excited on finally ridding myself of this insidious desert. I never liked the climate or the ignorant people. I will not return. There is really nothing to return to.
I remember back to yesterday, my last day in Juarez: A light wind rustled through green trees as I sat on a concrete bench munching on two burritos picadillo. As burly Mexican workers busied themselves constructing the various machines for the upcoming Cinco de Mayo celebration, lithe rentboys darted about through the dappling shade as the old men chased them. A stray dog, scrawny and with a look of utter sadness in its eyes stared at me as I ate. I threw him my scraps in which he devoured.
A smiling woman approached vending delicious packets of chopped fruit. I stated that I just ate and would have rather ate the fruit instead of those ill prepared burritos. She smiled and moved on.
While I watched the ever flowing stream of men and boys enter the Park’s restroom – a dark and vile place where willing cocks go unsucked under the lazy eye of the lounging attendant – a great gust blew plums of gritty dust across the vast park. A wave of absolute depression consumed me. Why am I leaving…again? Why am I here in the first place? I felt so severed – so utterly alone.
Here I am leaving a locale where I will not miss or be missed by no one. Under that sunny, azure Mexican sky, I felt so cold inside. I sat and pondered how I am literally throwing myself onto the streets once again to live in an existence of distrust, aloofness, and constant sorrow. I attempt to alleviate the decision by thinking that it is not how I get there, but where I wind up. That is the disturbing part – where am I to wind up? I am coming to the sinking acceptance that I truly am getting too old for this life. Too tired of living out of a suitcase from exotic locale to grungy grotto.
Though I have formed another wonky plan for this trip, I constantly weigh the other lines to travel down. Would I stay in Tucson and settle if they offer me a place through Public Housing? Will I continue on East to a far away tropical island? Or will I try to woo an ever suffering specter in Los Angeles to stay with him and pursue a fantasy inspired relationship with someone who I barely know?
Well, I have made the final step to go. Leave Mexico forever or at least the foreseeable future. I really don’t want to come back, anyway. There is nothing there for me. Though I will miss the open-mindedness on sexuality, the annoying attributes have out weighed the positive. Everyone staring in hostile contempt at my white gringo ass when I enter a public space. Rentboys banging on your door at all hours begging for pesos or being the obligatory free drinks guy every time I enter a bar really taxes ones enjoyment of the situation. Plus, my Spanish is not that good and I do miss having intelligent face-to-face conversations with people.
So, buckle up and see what fate will hurl at you, son – you made your bed. Sleep in it…