This Book Excerpt is Copyright 2010 by Titus Anderson
Rough Draft
for
Nogales
Time to go. When your skin catches fire, you have to move.
I stood in my cousin's small apartment, looking around. I was going to need a few things. As I walked around gathering clothes and toiletries, I knew this was probably going to be it for me. I was not likely coming back and I think my family and friends knew it, it was just a matter of time before I should realize it.
What a mess I had created. Even now, after six months of sobriety, I had drugs in my system again. I was an embarrassment to my friends because I often lost control. I was an embarrassment to my family for the same reasons, and they also knew I owed a number of people money. No matter how many years ago an incident might have occurred, everything was standing here now, in my present. I was increasingly unwelcome almost everywhere and now, from time to time, I felt as though drugs were in my body. Drugs that I hadn't taken.
Get out of here.
I started down the road in my Honda. No tears yet, just a state of utter disbelief. Wow. I am leaving the United States for Mexico.
I stop by a gas station and once again I feel the stares of strangers upon me. I have no idea how this is possible. I don't know them. They seem to know me.
The reality of my situation was hardening like cement. I couldn't live anywhere. I couldn't work anywhere. I couldn't get a straight answer from anyone about anything. I couldn't rest my head or my mind anywhere and it was driving me mad. I pull away and start driving down the interstate. It is unbelievable that a man should come to this point, and I hadn't done this by myself. Without being able to get a straight answer from friends or family, it was nearly impossible to address or solve any problems--although, subconsciously, I probably knew all the answers.
There are not many cars on the road and it's about eight in the evening. The sun is setting. The sky has a dusty hue to it; it blends into the horizon in front of me. Now then, where am I to go? Ha. Mexico City, I suppose. I can find work. I can do almost anything. I can learn the language. I have a few hours of practice under my belt already. I have to stay positive and figure something out, it shouldn't be too difficult. I have some money on a credit card.
After several hours of driving, I stop to rest. I am getting tired. It is night-time. I look down the road in both directions. Nogales, Mexico is just a few more miles ahead of me. Phoenix, is several miles behind me.
More driving and then I pass through the gates into Mexico. Ha. This is not funny. It is striking how different Mexico is. The city of Nogales is old, dilapidated. There are potholes in the road occasionally. Bam. The signs are in Spanish. The streets are mostly empty; devoid of life. Occasionally I see a few people walking about. They look destitute. And here I am, looking for a place to rest.
After driving through several streets, I finally find a place, and curb my car. I tilt the seat back, and begin to rest.
***
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I pull my eyes open. It's a kid at my car window.
"Hey, my friend, you cannot park here. Do you live here?"
"No. I just stopped to rest here, I'll be leaving soon." And now I notice that he has three or four friends with him and they are standing a few yards away.
"You just stopped to rest here? You need a parking pass for this street. I can hook you up if you want. You from Arizona?"
"Yes."
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know for sure, Mexico City, probably. Can you tell me where I can find work around here?"
"Nah, man. There's not a lot of work around here. You got i.d.?"
"No."
"I could probably hook you up, if you want." At that point, his friends walked toward my car and stood around it. I realize now they are very young, probably twenty to twenty three years old. We talk some more and I meet the rest of his friends. They seem friendly enough, and after a few minutes, they invite me out with them. They are going to a party.
"Okay." I say. This actually makes me laugh. Although I'm ten years older than these guys, I still look fairly young. I might as well make some new friends. They live in a nearby apartment and we go up the stairs. Everyone starts getting dressed and ready. They let me shower and give me a shirt to wear. Too small. I wear it anyway.
The five of us pile into my car and start away. We are talking and jabbering along just fine. It must be close to midnight. I notice the streets again, they are dark. Small houses dot the lanes and they fade in and out of my view. My car stereo is up just a little louder than I would usually have it, and three young Mexican kids are smoking and laughing in my back seat.
"So, my friend, you don't have a job?" one of them asks.
"No. I am coming to Mexico for a new start. I am tired of Phoenix. I need to get away."
"Oh, I see." he says. "So whose car is this?"
"It's mine." I say.
"Huh. And you don't know anyone in Mexico?"
"No."
We pull into a driveway and meet some more people. They almost immediately gather together and start making calls on their cell phones. And then one of them, the tallest boy, peels away from the group and walks over to me, where I am leaning against the car, waiting.
"So, my friend, you want a beer?"
"Sure."
"Do you want cocaine?
"No."
"Or girls?"
"No, man. I just thought I would hang out with you guys until tomorrow and then maybe you could help me get a Mexican ID card."
"Sure man, no problem. So what happened? Why did you leave Phoenix? You're in some kind of trouble, aren't you?"
I laughed out loud. "No, ha. I just need to get my head clear and I want to do that in Mexico instead of Arizona, that's all."
"You don't do drugs?"
"No."
"You like girls?"
"Oh, yeah, man."
"Okay, I see." he said. "Well, we are going to another house, now, so let's go. My friends are going to follow us."
"Okay. No, problem." I say. The five of us get back into my car with one or two other cars following behind me. We drive for several miles. I have no idea where I am. It's getting late. Occasionally we hit a pothole that reminds me to stay awake.
After a while we stop at another house where there are more girls inside. The house is older--that's okay. But the music is loud. They are standing around talking each other. I decide to sit down on the couch. I drink another beer. Then the tall one sits down next to me again.
"You want to lay down somewhere? You too tired?"
"Ah...I might in a while. It's almost three o'clock."
"Yeah, it's getting late, but we like to party. You can go lay down in one of these bedrooms if you want."
I declined. The night continued to drag on. I look around. I see a dozen people in this living room standing around with drinks in their hands, laughing and talking. I see their lips moving and smiling but I can't hear anything except the music. Finally, I decide to walk back outside.
Around my Honda, now, there are about six young gentlemen standing around talking on their cell phones.
"Hey, Titus! You want another beer, my friend?"
"No, thanks, man. Hey, listen, it's getting kind of late. Maybe I could meet up with you guys tomorrow or something."
All of the men looked at each other and shook their heads.
"Actually, we are going to another house party. We need you to drive us."
"I'm sorry man, I'm just too tired."
"You don't want to party? You don't want another beer?"
"No." I said. Finally catching on. Get out of here, Titus. I got into my car and started the engine. The tall fellow, who was inside the house, came outside and stuck his head through the passenger side window.
"Hey, Titus. We are going to another party right now. Where are you going?" He looked like a con-artist to me now.
"I think I'm going to go ahead and take off, man."
"No, no.You don't want another beer?"
That was one question I didn't need to hear again. I knew what these guys were up to now and I started to pull away. "No." I said.
.
"Dammit!" he said and slammed the open palm of his hand onto the roof of my car.
***
That was close enough, I thought. Losing my car on my first night in Mexico was not what I had in mind.
Still, I wasn't entirely beaten. Although very tired, I felt like sooner or later an
opportunity would present itself. I just had to find it.
I drove around a while--stopping here, stopping there. Getting directions. It was now about four in the morning. From time to time I would get mildly concerned about my situation. I brushed it away. I found a convenience store. The clerk says I can sleep in the parking lot and use the bathroom if I need to. But only for a while...
At about six in the morning, I decide to go. Before I leave, I ask the clerk if he knows where a church is. I will probably be needing one. Ha. I have now been awake for about two days. I think most of the crystal meth I had in my body is about gone. And my body is very tired. I keep driving.
Some time passes, and I see a small town. People are outside, walking, shopping. This is not Santa Monica, let me tell you. I get out of my car and walk the streets a little bit. I hear spanish being spoken and I see children running around. I see dogs running around as well. There are tall grey buildings around me and dingy yellow storefronts in spanish. Large windows display cheap clothing and jewelry. I realize I must look out of place myself. I've been up for two days, my hair is gelled, I'm wearing a shirt that's too small and I'm looking for a church.
Finally, I happen upon one. I go inside where there are already people congregated, praying. The sermon hasn't started yet and I too, get down on my knees for a while to pray. This is a large church. Catholic. The people inside are mostly women. I ask if I can speak to a pastor. No, they say. No? No. He won't be available for a long while. Do you know of a shelter or something similar where I can get some help, I ask. No, a woman says. Not around here.
Time to get down to Mexico City. I am wasting my time around here. I walk towards my car and notice that there are three or four men standing not too far away from it. They seem to be watching me behind their sunglasses. I get in my car and start down the road.
While driving, I occasionally look in my rear view mirror. I can't tell one truck from another. Those guys had better not be following me. Occasionally I hear something that makes me look down at the radio. The lyrics on a familiar song seemed different there for just a second.
I hear the grumble of a car's engine next to mine at a stop. Vroom. I don't pay it too much attention, but I can't exactly ignore it either. I look up in the rear-view mirror again. There's a truck behind me. I don't know if it's the same people by the church or someone else.
A question passes through my mind, Is someone honestly trying to kill me?
I stop at a gas station for fuel and snacks. While there I go to use a restroom that is on the second story of the building. Locked. I trot back down the stairs and look down at the parking lot below. People seem to be looking up at me. People are following me. I'm sure of it now. I can't stand paranoia.
There are a couple of gentlemen standing next to my car. "Can I bum a cigarette from you?"
"Sure." he says. I take the cigarette from him. It's a rolled cigarette without a filter. I get in my car and drive away.
There are more cars on the road now. It's early morning. I take a drag on the cigarette. The smoke is harsh. I keep driving. Vroom--there it is again! I know one of these knuckleheads is trying to give me a good scare, revving their car's engine at me. I look in my rear view mirror. There must be a dozen trucks back there. I feel like I've seen them all before. I get mildly concerned. They all look the same, these trucks. Why are they following me? Why do I feel like they are following me?
I take my right foot off the gas pedal to step on the brake for an upcoming stop and notice my foot is asleep--or numb. Next, I reach for the gearshift, and notice that my right hand is also growing the same tingling sensation. And now it is in my chest. Vroom. I feel a funny feeling in my chest and look up into the rearview mirror. My eyes are open too wide. My pupils are dilated and my face is shaking. My face is growing hot. I just got poisoned again. It was the cigarette.
I laugh out loud and then start to cry out loud. I can't control myself. This is not going to work. This is impossible! Vroom. I look at the car to my right and the driver quickly looks away from me, shaking his head. I am going to die out here. The feeling in my body is overwhelming and unmistakable now. I look up in the rearview and see cars and trucks, nothing in particular. They seem to be shaking. The muscles in my body feel too tight. I can't swallow. I need water. Sweat is streaming down my face and my clothes are wet from perspiration. It's hot in here.
This is not going to work. I realize I have no place to go now. I have no home to go to. I have no friends, anymore. I lost my family somewhere along the way. I can't find a place to work. I had been drugged before in Phoenix and in Los Angeles. People think I am evil or a drug addict. I have no place to drive to, now. People are following me again. I know that for sure now.
I hear a song on the radio, and the lyrics don't sound the same to me. I can't take this
anymore anyway. I reach into the bag of groceries I bought at the convenience store and pull out a beer. I open a can and drink some of the beer. Ha. This is it! I've had it! I pour the rest of the beer into the passenger side of the car, onto the floor. It fizzles. The feeling in my body is strong from the angel dust. I feel as though there are eyes staring at me and now I am finally frightened.
I fold the aluminum can into a shank, or a dagger. Over and over again, different events from my past play before my mind. I look in the rearview mirror at my eyes, and they are dancing. Vroom. Another car behind me. I pull to the side of the road and finally decide to do it. I am numb now from head to toe in my car and there is sweat and beer everywhere in the vehicle. I hear the laugh of a baby coming from my car speakers.
That would be the last thing I would hear. I stabbed the shank into the left side of my neck as hard as I possibly could, with both hands. It didn't make much of a scratch. That was actually funny. I stabbed myself again, as hard as I could. Then again. And again. Again and again. I was trying to contain the hysterics in my body. I growled outloud. I saw my eyes looking back at me from the rearview, and how crazy they looked. Then there was blood from my neck. There wasn't any pain. I actually bent the shank sideways. There was blood from my neck but not as much as one might expect.
My cries outloud came involuntarily.
And then, there were police around the car.
***
"What are you doing?!!" one of them asked. "Open your window!"
I opened the window and got out of the car. They looked around the car and took my wallet.
"Let me have your cell phone." the other demanded. Then they stood me behind my car and I waited while they conferred with each other and on their radios. They looked shaken.
"What are you doing in Nogales?" an officer asked.
"Nothing." I said.
"We are taking you in. I think you just tried to kill yourself." he said.
We drove down to the police station. It wasn't far from the Arizona-Mexico border, I remember that.
Once inside, I noticed the grey walls. The same grey feelings they evoked. There were small holding cells around an arc. People were inside. I heard their voices. They were trapped.
It wasn't long before I had about six or seven police officers standing around me while I was sitting down. The most potent part of the drugs had worn down and I looked at them looking back at me, male and female.
They asked me a series of predictable questions that I answered.
"One of our officers here is going to take you to the hospital." said one man. "I think you tried to hurt yourself and you need medical attention."
"Okay." I said. The man who would take me was a short, stocky gentleman with a shock of brown hair at the top of his head. We walked outside and I remember the bright sunlight. There was a line of automobiles somewhere. We must be near the border of Arizona. Heat from the concrete and automobiles danced from the streets. I smelled exhaust and gasoline.
They put me in a (bed with wheels) and loaded me into the back of an ambulance where the officer also went.
"There are two hospitals you can go to." he said. "You can go to 'Lady of Guadalupe' or the 'Nogales Center'--
"Lady of Guadalupe." I immediately replied.
"Okay." he said.
We pulled away and he was seated next to me in the ambulance. Sunlight showed through the car's windows. It had a surreal quality to it. There must have been potholes in the road because we started bouncing and shaking around.
"Mr. Anderson" he said. "You tried to hurt yourself, did you not?"
"Yes." I said. He asked me a series of questions, leading up to the point where I found myself in Mexico.
"Did you hurt someone, Mr. Anderson?" He asked.
Tears started streaming down my face again, in disbelief. "Yes." I said.
"Male or female?" He asked.
"Female." I said.
"Uh-huh. I see." he said. "And did you cry when you hurt this girl?" he asked.
"No." I said. And that was only because I didn't realize that I had. Literally.
He nodded his head, understanding, and then a few moments passed while the ambulance bounced around.
"Mr. Anderson" he said. "I am going to ask you a series of questions. First of all, what day were you born on?"
"May ninth." I said.
"Wrong." He said.
What? "What year is it?" he asked.
"Two-thousand five" I said.
"Wrong." he said. “What day is today?”
“Friday.”
“Incorrect.” He said.
What? "Why are you doing this to me?" I asked.
"You, Mr. Anderson, have been doing drugs. And that is a problem. I don't want to see you out here again. So we are going to drop you off at 'Lady of Guadalupe'. I don't want to see you running around. It gets dangerous at night. Do you understand?"
"Yes. I said.
"When you get to the hospital, they are going to ask you some questions. I suggest that
you answer as I have instructed you. You don't want anyone finding you out here wandering around. I don't want to see you out here. Do you understand?"
"Yes." I said. I had no choice.
We bounced along some more and then finally arrived. They wheeled me into the reception room. It wasn't much different from the police station. About thirty minutes passed and then a friendly old gentleman approached me. He was my doctor.
"Mr. Anderson." he said. "How are you today? I understand that you tried to hurt yourself. Is that correct?"
I wasn't sure how to answer that one. It wasn't my fault that I had been drugged. "Yes" I said.
Copyright 2010 Titus Anderson
