We are human

I was excited all week. I woke up at 5:30AM, caught a taxi to the border and waited in line to cross it. "What are you bringing back from Mexico?" the American agent asked me. "Ummm, my clothes, some shampoo...I live in Mexico" I finally answered. I wasn't returning, I was going. "Where are you going in the United States?" she demanded. "San Diego" I answered. "Why?" she shot back. "To catch a flight" I returned. "To where?" she retorted. "Phoenix".

Ahhh, Phoenix. What a yucky city. Tucson is funky, Phoenix is just sprawly. I met my sister in the airport before noon. We immediately wheeled out to the Hispanic part of town in search of Sonoran hot dogs, my sister's chosen birthday meal.

"¡El pueblo!, ¡Unido!, ¡Jamas será vencido!". "¡Obama!, ¡Escucha!, ¡Estamos en la lucha!". The chants surrounded us as we marched down the street, surrounded by thousands of people carrying signs and banners. "¡Arpaio!, ¡Racista!, ¡Tú eres terrorista!". I felt happiest when I would see Hispanics in cars, at taco trucks, in yards, their eyes widening when they saw us, followed by horns honking and fists raising. Cholos, grandmas, families. Obama....eschucha....estamos en la lucha...I only wanted to cry when I looked at the children, on shoulders, in strollers...this is for you, I found myself thinking, THIS IS FOR YOU.

After a morning of activism, Holly and I arrived at a ritzy spa to relax for the rest of our birthday weekend. I jumped around on my big bed and dug through all of the drawers in our fancy room before heading out to the super pretty, pool side bar for some snacks and drinks. People sat around fire pits, drinking and talking. I am not much of a mixer. Why would I want to meet strangers while I was in Phoenix with the only person I really wanted to talk to, my sister Holly? We laughed and drank and talked about the rally. While finishing what we thought was our last beer, a voice called "Ladies... would you like to join me at the fire?".

"And what do you do?" we asked our host, an older yet cool looking woman with a cigarette in one hand and a red wine in the other. "I am a conductor. I drive trains" she answered, a mischievous look in her eye. You don't hear that everyday and it fueled the conversation for another quarter of an hour. "I'm on leave" she explained, removing her hat to expose a soft, downy fuzz that covered her scalp. "I had this little problem". "Are you good now?" Holly asked. "Yes" she said and smiled "all clear".

She ordered us another round of drinks. The waitress rounded the pit to come to her side. "I can serve these ladies and I can serve you, but I cannot serve them" she whispered, motioning toward the indoor bar. The conductor laughed. "My partner is inside watching the game with some guy we just met today" she explained. Two old men promptly staggered out the door of the bar and plopped themselves by the fire. One looked like Christopher Dodd. The conductor's partner began the usual round of questions. "What do you do?" he asked us. "I'm a teacher..." I began. "That's nothing!" he barked "Pay attention to this woman! She drives trains!". I felt the giggle rising in my throat while he lashed out at Holly in a similar fashion. "What were you doing in 1978?!" he demanded. Well sir, I was trying to pull my other leg out of my mother's womb. "See!" he growled "Pay attention to this woman! She drives trains!". He ordered us another round of drinks, took a guzzle of his wife's wine and turned to Holly. "So what do you do?" he asked, beginning the cycle anew.

The senator suddenly tumbled from his chair, wedging himself between a stone wall and Holly's leg, after putting out the fire pit with his foot. "Stop that" the conductor hissed, relighting the fire with her lighter and flicking her cigarette in it. He had propositioned Holly, who inadvertently burst out laughing and asked "Are you kidding?!" The man could not get up. After a laborious effort, Pay Attention to This Woman hustled Chris Dodd to his feet and dragged him up the stairs to his room.

It seemed like as good a time as any to get going and Holly and I bolted to our room, trying to control our laughter until we were out of earshot.



*in case you weren't sure, Chris Dodd is my pseudonym for the crazy drunk man that nearly set himself on fire.