Puente

All the leaves are brown..."ALL THE LEAVES ARE BROWNNNNNN!!!" I howled with the radio. And the sky is gray..."AND THE SKY IS GRAY!!!" I continued, alternating between backup vocals and occasionally, singing lead and letting the Mamas back me up. Sometimes, I managed to do both. A border patrol check point popped up out of nowhere. "Are you an American citizen?", "Yes", "Do you have anything illegal in the car?" "No", I answered. I went for a walk..."AND THE PINCHE STOPPED MEEEEE!!"

Five days off. I probably would have signed my contract if I had ever been spontaneously given three days off, starting on a Monday, at my U.S. school. Here, I was actually a little irritated when they told us we didn't have to go back to work until Thursday. I like to plan for long weekends, go somewhere. The other exchange teachers knew they had the break and tried to make travel plans near Mexico City. I unequivocally told everyone I DID NOT have the break. Friday afternoon, my school decided they would give us the days off. I think it's disrespectful. People have lives. Let them know if they have to work or not.

What could I do at the last minute? Alec didn't have the break, I was on my own and had no plane tickets. I attended a pro-immigration rally in San Diego on Saturday. I'm not big on protests. I know they are important but am uncomfortable with the format. Numbers matter, so I went, even if I didn't carry a sign.

"Where are you headed in the U.S.?" the border patrol agent asked me as I attempted to pass through Tecate Monday afternoon. "Joshua Tree National Park" I answered. "Pull into the Secondary Inspection Area" she responded. Second time in less than a week.

After a thorough car thumping, I again felt relieved as a drove through Southern California. I glanced into my rear view mirror and saw a Border Patrol truck behind me. For some reason, that made me nervous all over again. Why? Why?! I asked myself. The border wall looked weird from the American side, different. Iggy Pop came out of nowhere on my radio.

Margaret was on my mind. My old best friend. This was the kind of trip she used to do, after she moved out west. She would take her old Honda to Mount St. Helens, Monument Valley, Glacier National Park, where ever and often alone. I always think of her when I go out west. Not in Mexico, that's my thing, but the American West. That was her thing.

God definitely controls the radio in the borderlands. Occasionally, NPR would break in, only to be interrupted by Mexican radio, and then a little more Christ. I found myself singing to occasional sweaty, sixties hits that would break through the fuzz that took over most stations. I share a distinct American cultural trait that loves having a car and being able to take off in it without really knowing where you are going. In the late, golden part of the afternoon, I entered the Joshua Tree park. As I tore up the deserted road that climbed a rock covered mountain, the opening cords of "American Woman" sailed out of my radio, crystal clear, and I really felt completely right with the world.

The kids had gotten pretty rowdy when they learned they were about to have five days off. Actually, things got kind of rowdy before they found out about the break. I was doing a question and answer activity with my really boisterous electronics group earlier in the week. I strangely have come to look forward to teaching them. We have a good time. "Who do you want to question?" I asked each student before they read their question out loud. I started leaving off "to question" for expediency. Unfortunately, "who do you want" also translates to "who do you love" in Spanish. This particular group is made up of about thirty-odd boys and five girls. "Wooooooo!" the boys shrieked, after boys would select boys to question. It became a pattern, "Who do you want?", wooooo!, and then a question in English. Some boys winked and blew kisses when selected.

Other groups engaged in more sinister activities. There was a group that I taught last semester that was removed from my schedule for the current semester, in order to cut back my hours. I miss them. They gave me so much hell when I arrived and then I was disappointed when they were gone. When we pass each other throughout the school, they scream "We miss you profe!!!" and put their hands over their hearts. I, in turn, put my hand over my heart. They wave at me from their third floor balcony when I enter the school. Five of them were caught robbing other students' back packs while we were in an assembly. The school threatened to call the police if they didn't hand over the stuff; they produced a multitude of cell phones and MP3 players. I was honestly shocked. "Kick them out" multiple teachers said when we heard what happened. I agreed, until I found out who did it. All of a sudden, I felt differently. What the hell got in their heads?

As I drove out of the gate for my return to school, a caravan of federales drove past. Three trucks with men dressed in black, complete with combat boots, bullet proof vests and ski masks that show only their eyes. They rode through town with their machine guns raised and poised for action. A small army, around twenty-five men. I don't know why they are so much more intimidating than the military. Is it because they were black ski masks, instead of the viewer friendly beige? Their reputation?

A Tijuana fire truck sat at the entrance to the school. The firemen wore "San Diego County" fire jackets. As I didn't see smoke, I dragged my mongo box of dictionaries into the school and started my day. "We're going to use them?" the students asked, marveling at their newness.

I heard the message ding ding of my phone..."Can you see the fires?" Alec's message asked cryptically.

"Yes, yes you are..." I answered as they smelled the new books.