Every Town's Got Something

Every American small town has something it’s proud of: Reddleton, Iowa - America’s Longest Piece of Yarn. Tonala, South Carolina - World’s Widest Galvanized Pipe.
Edensville, Wyoming - Home of the Smallest Goldfish in the World. Sycamore, Oklahoma - Proud Home of America’s Drunkest Native American. 4 years running.

And if one should happen upon these towns, to visit a fifth cousin twice removed, or to simply sample the local talent, all legal residents will proudly exclaim that you absolutely must go down the road to see the yarn. Ain’t none bigger anywheres. No sir.

In small town Mexico, often times the object of pride is something American, or, at least non-Mexican. Si, there is, if you walk across the street, behind the chickens, you can see Pedro’s Ford truck. Normally, on Sundays, me and the husband take a walk to see it. It’s the only one for 50 km. People from the other villages come too.

Si, si, I can take you soon. You remember the green house you passed when you entered the town. They have a washing machine. Usually, they only let people come watch on Saturday mornings, but I know the daughter, Roberta, and she will let us in today. The family throws their clothes in like a garbage can and when they return, everything smells great. You will love it, I promise.

Claro, senor. On the other block, we have a beautiful tall statue of the Spanish fellow, Cortes. Excuse me? No, I’m sorry I don’t know much about history, but the statue is really nice. You must go see.

Welcome to Villa de los Reyes, a small town in the north central Mexican countryside, surrounded by rolling hills, with the faint illusion of mountain type structures in the distance. And no statues, but I did see two large pick up trucks at the town entrance.

It was my first day in Mexico, after a 2 day bus journey from Chicago. I came here to meet an internet friend. One of those mystery avatars who normally remain in Webfantasy. Time to break the 4th wall, meet the molester in person. It’s part of society these days, the Moment of Judgement, when weeks of business emails, or that used couch correspondence, or the stove repair chat room leave the screen for the soil. This isn’t match punto com dating. You don’t have photos of your subject, or fantasies, but surely, a bit of curiosity. It was a site dedicated for travelers who want to meet local people in random (and not so random) corners of the world.

He was waiting in the bus parking lot. With a pick up truck. Wow, he could be the town celebrity. Was he tall? Muscular? Sensitive? Did he smell like worn leather and winter spices? How big were his hands? Did he still have all his hair?
A hug. I got a hug. Avatars hug. Who knew. He looked like any other 30-something mixed blood Mexican who uses the computer to lure people to his small town to demonstrate his family’s slightly used Kenmore washing machine. But sitting next to him, raised up on the seat hump, that part of the pickup usually reserved for the 3rd redneck to join the party, was a fine product of Iberian rape and Indigenous acquiescence. She could probably fit in my backpack, but not for long, with wide piercing blue eyes and that tasty cocoa butter skin white girls get skin cancer for. I didn’t want to disrespect my hugging host, but knee high leather boots and a tight wife beatin’ tank top, stretched to capacity, were gonna be a problem. Shoulders touching, I had no choice but to put on the perv shades and hope for the best.

So, are we off to see the indoor super market, or the largest cactus in Mexico?

Ha. You think all Mexican towns are backward?

No, no more than the U.S.

Look over there. Across the street. You see that, it’s a Laundromat, and next door, an internet café with XBOX. This town is cool dude, trust me.

Whoa, you speak English. Did you live in the states?

Sure, for 2 years in Boston.

And I also lived there for 2 years, in Michigan and Louisana.

Ok. I want to hear about your time up North.
But what’s the plan for today? Where to?

Somewhere cool dude, even Rosa here hasn’t been. It’s a hacienda, just a bit outside town, the Zorro place.

Oh my god, really, we’re going there. I’ve always wanted to go there. Do you have your camera that I can use, I forgot mine?

Zorro lived here. Wasn’t he a fictional character? I didn’t know he had real blood.

Haha. No, it is where they made the movie.

Which movie, weren’t there like 20 movies and tv shows about Zorro?

You didn’t see the Zorro movie, with Antonio Banderas and Caterina Setajones? Oh my god it was so good.

Twenty minutes later, at the end of a gravel road, we drove straight into an abandoned hacienda, sprawled out in various states of decay. A flock of white roses pecked out from the overgrown weeds around the main courtyard. Some of the exterior walls still had Hollywood scaffolding that partially obscured the stage hand’s marigold yellow plaster work on the crumbling façade. Various brick ruins showed signs of tequila distilling and something like a Mayan ball court, where, perhaps the Don of the hacienda sent his weakest serfs to battle it out for his son’s birthday presents. Pieces of American quality construction lumber spiraled up a few walls where the cameras had been positioned, and a clean golden retriever roamed the property, likely forgotten by the film crew as they desperately fled the set after weeks of rural tedium and Antonio Banderas complete monopolization of all functioning vagina.

The truck came to a stop on the side of a half filled promenade fountain that probably doubled as the Help’s bath. Rosa ran out of the truck, camera in hand, and disappeared like a horny rottweiler in search of Zorro’s forgotten panties.

Eddie, as my host preferred to be called, self nicknamed after his favorite movie, Eddie and the Cruisers, walked me over to the former tequila distillery. We took a seat on the collapsing brick walls of a deeply dug well. An instant later, Rosa appeared from a second story window, her dwarfish zeta jones screaming out for Zorro, or some apparent line from that award winning movie.

Now was the time to get the juice on our 3rd mate, lost in the abyss of Hollywood dust and wet Hacienda dreams.

So, what’s the story with Rosa, you guys been together for a long time?

Rosa? No, well, it’s complicated dude. She’s just a friend, really.
Is she a friend that provides beneficiary services?

What is that about?

You know, does she give you the keys to the palace, let you give her a good zorro-ing?

Dude, can you maybe tell me in Spanish, because I haven’t spoke English in a few years.

Are you intimate friends or only friends?

Something in the middle.

Fine, I could wait for another stunning Mexican to accidentally sit next to me. No need to ruin a new friendship, even if it is only internet deep.

So is this thing, the Zorro house, really the biggest attraction around?

Yes. People come from all over Mexico to visit it.

But it’s a story invented by an American, and portrayed in this movie by a Spaniard and Welsh girl, who married a Jew, if that matters.

But he is suppose to be Mexican, and that is why the people come. He is like Pancho Villa.

He kind of looks like Robin, but from the black & white version.

The women love him though, but Robin is considered a hero for the gay men in Mexico.

Yeah, in the States too, him and Sean Penn.
So that’s why we came then, for Rosa. I get it.

Eddie gave one of those you caught me smiles, and defensively claimed, “I thought you would really like the place, its our biggest attraction. And, well, sure, Rosa had never been here either.”

Right on cue, Rosa appeared from the rooftop this time, waving down at us, and chanting something about ‘I can be yours.’
I contemplated searching for the cape and mask to make it happen, but I couldn’t show up Eddy.

Hey, tell me about life in the states, how did you find Boston, compared to life here?

The city was really cool. I worked a lot. I was doing drywall work in office buildings. 20 dollars an hour. That’s how I bought the pickup truck.

And how did you find the people, the lifestyle, things outside of money?

There isn’t much outside money. That’s why we go there. I didn’t have problems with the people, my boss was good, and most people were nice. But I missed my home, my family, and my people. Here, in Mexico, there is always life, people outside enjoying and eating and friendly. There it seemed like people either worked or stayed inside their house. People would say hi to you, but nobody on the street was sitting around laughing like you see here. Very busy all the time.

Would you go back?

Sure, for a couple of years to save some more money, but I would come back here again. I make a lot less money here, but I enjoy the life better here. It’s more free, less restrictive, you know.

Rosa had found her way to a balcony, and was shouting something about a camera. She wanted a photo of herself hanging over the balcony. “Just like Caterina setajones” Eddie said with a smile.

We strolled through the forgotten gardens, like two old men contemplating something that old men contemplate. Interests, disgusts, ideals, our history, cup size, we went through it all. The clean cut retriever started playing with a gringo looking couple. Did they bring their dog to Zorro’s home? Was that permissible? Off leash?

This is the freedom of Mexico. We don’t have
Rules like the U.S. And we have stray dogs everywhere anyway, so the people don’t care.

I can’t believe other Americans found this place. Why?

Why do you think they are Americans? Cause they are white? You know, we have a lot of white Mexicans, they just don’t come to the states cause they own all the land here. Eddie laughed at that last part.

And to prove me wrong, he went up to the dog masters, and asked them what they thought of his town’s international draw. And in perfect Mexican Spanish they responded.

I thought it was only appropriate that a fellow whitey asked them a question.
Who is sexier, Zorro or Robin?

The one in the baseball cap, pulling the ball from the dog responded bluntly, “Neither”

Did you come here just for the architecture?

“No, we came because Caterina setajones was here.”

And then I realized, that not only does Mexico have white people, but they have white lesbians too. No mestizo offspring for them.

Rosa came running out from behind a rotted wood door, swinging from a piece of metal scaffolding. She’d been touched by the ghost of Zorro, her tank top slightly askew, revealing the black sateen of her lucky bra.

Did you know Zorro was really a metaphor for gay men living in the closet, trying to fight off the society that wouldn’t accept them?

Liar. Don’t you remember how he kissed Caterina setajones?

Rock Hudson kissed a lot of women on screen too. Then he got his manhole filled with Hollywood’s best milkshakes.

Huh? Its such a beautiful story. Look over there, by the fountain, you see that bench? That’s where Don Diego asked Zorro to help save Elena. And over there, look, that is where Zorro first appeared in his cape. And above us, on the roof, he had the fight with that evil brother, the one who was guarding Elena.

It’s amazing. I’m really fortunate to be able to see such a place. Hey, you lived in the states also, right?

Yes.

Tell me what you thought about your time there, and the lifestyle, and people.

She switches over to English, for the first time today, in a nearly perfect accent, well, more Canadian Deaf than American, but better than average. I love the U.S. I want to go back really bad, but I can’t because they revoked my tourist visa when they found out I worked. It was the best time of my life. I was working three jobs at one point, and would sleep just a couple of hours a night. I cleaned rooms at a motel, and I was a hostess than a waitress at this family restaurant, and I worked at Subway too.

All at once. Weren’t you tired? Didn’t you worry that you’d become a fatty American from Subway?

I loved working. So much, I really loved it. And oh my god, I really love Subway. Jared lost weight only eating there. It’s healthy.

Jared is fat again.

No.

Yes.

Well, it’s because he stopped eating Subway. I made so much money, and I had my own place. The people in the hotel and the restaurant would be nice to me, and leave me tips. Lots of tips.

Did you offer extra services while you cleaned the rooms?

What do you mean? Oh oh. Nono. I think sometimes the men thought that but nothing happened.

I would have left an extra tip for that.

Eddie gave me a look, and then turned his head away. I could see him laughing.


Are you serious? You worked the lowest skill jobs in America and you loved it. I don’t understand, you have a college education, and you come from a middle class family based on what you said earlier.

Yes, but you can not understand. Here, I am not free. My family expects me to live in their house until I get married. Anything I do, everybody knows about, cause somebody knows somebody that will know one of my sisters or cousins or somebody. And everything is so expensive here on Mexican salary. In America I had my own car, and I drove everywhere, and my own apartment, and I could do what I want, and nobody cared. If I worked harder, I made more money, and I could buy whatever I needed. And here I can’t do that. Even a job in my field, psychology, if I can find one, doesn’t pay enough to leave my house. But with those jobs, in America, I was free. I’m going to get back one day.

Don’t you miss the people here? The warmth and friendliness of the culture.

I don’t think that. The Mexican people are closed minded, and as a woman who doesn’t want to get married now, I’m not respected, and in America, it’s fine. No. I want to go back.

Ok. If you need a green card husband, let me know. I’ll make a good price for you. Maybe even barter.

What is that?

Nothing, we can talk later.

The retriever had vanished, along with his moms, and Rosa finally put the camera away after another 12 shots, maintaining the same mannequin pose, in front of the main hacienda mansion. Why do tourists obsess about having there photo taken in front of famous places? Is a photo of the Pyramids without your forced mug not enough proof that you went there? Why don’t people ever take photos of stuff they should want to remember about themselves? Like that blowjob on a ferris wheel in Istanbul, or vomiting on a military officer in Moscow. Those are the moments you need photos for.

The girl was happy and satisfied. And when the girl is happy and satisfied, you can go. And not a moment before. Eddie and I both made for the pickup, Rosa wandering innocently behind.

We drove through the outer reaches of the ranch, probably passing several bushes where Antonio relieved himself. This urinary history was lost on Rosa. It was a different gate than the one we entered. Locked. We drove to the other end of the property. Passing more bushes with the slightest hint of Zorro pee. At the gate, another lock. We circled the property, completely lifeless except for the phantasm of zorro spluge petrified in those dark corners, off the dirt rail. Eventually all specters of zorro juice behind, we reached the original gate of our arrival. Locked. Cool. We were going to sleep in Zorro’s place. My first night in Mexico would be curled up next to the cute little celebrity stalker, whispering hints of our future together, then I would suddenly mount the scaffolding and perform Zorro like feats in the dark of night. This was the Mexico I wanted. But my new friends didn’t look so happy. Maybe they needed to get online, and resume their avatars.

Rosa, her glowing zorro whore smile reduced to a worried pout, and Eddie, went from his cool collected self to a bit frantic.

I needed to break the awkward silence.
Hey, what’s the big deal. It could be a lot of fun. I bet you don’t know anyone who has slept in Zorro’s place before.

Rosa, irritated, and possibly falling out of love with me, reverted back to Spanish, and pleaded, “You don’t understand. This is Mexico. This is not the U.S. Somebody did this on purpose. It’s not funny.”

Eddie added, “Yeah, something isn’t right, I’ll go see if I can force the gate open.”

Rosa and I sat in silence, her worried look finally weighing down on me. Eddie didn’t seem to be having any luck with the gate. Well, I thought, if I’m gonna be kidnapped or shot by Zorro, or his imposter, at least that’s a good story. I kept imagining my parents explaining how their son died. He was stabbed by a man dressed as Zorro, in the same place where they made the movie. And the Americans would respond, ‘which one’ and then they would have to tell them about Antonio and Catherine.
And then the town would really have something to be proud of.

Eddie got back in the truck, and we sat there. Silent minutes taking hours. A boy appeared, on the side of the passenger window, barely able to see in, about 10 years old holding a rifle in his hand.

I thought I was best prepared to handle the situation. Can you shoot the lock for us, so we can get out. I’ll buy you an ice cream cone.

Rosa kicked me under the seat and gave me a look that said no marriage, no bartering.

The kid just stood there, stoned face, and unresponsive.

Eddie asked the little soldier what the problem was, why were all the gates locked.

You are not suppose to be here. It’s private property. And when people do come, they have to pay. You didn’t pay.

Kid was like one half of the RedRum twins. Evil little fucker. Eddie told him we didn’t know, that there was no one there when we came in. What we were suppose to do.

I added, it’s the law, every small town has one famous thing and this is yours. Im a visitor, I had to see where they made Zorro. Everybody loves Zorro.

Rosa kicked me again. Not even an incidental breast rub was possible now. She pleaded with our jailor to let us leave. We wouldn’t do it again. But he just stood there, rifle in hand, face frozen.

I whispered to Eddie to just step on the gas, and break the gate, make our own movie. Rosa tried to use her cell phone but there was no signal. Eddie told the little twerp that he had to let us out. But the man child flatly said, “You are here illegally.”

What the fuck does that mean? This little shit. Guns, goddamn guns. Its what led to Mexico’s fall, and 500 years later the offspring were getting revenge. I wanted to shout, “Im from the States, I’m innocent.” But then I remembered we stole about half our nation from them. Then I thought about explaining that I was the grandson of immigrants. You don’t want me. But all that came out of my mouth was ‘Por favor”

The news is littered with stories of Mexican gang violence. And I’ll admit, I had a back of the mind fear about getting caught up in a drug cartel shootout. But the international media isn’t reporting about pre-pubescent rifle wielding children who patrol the ruins of Hollywood’s wake, taking hostages at will and forcing them to descend into abandoned tequila wells with no retriever in sight.

Rosa was on the verge of tears. Eddie decided to offer the kid money. But he wouldn’t listen. I thought Rosa should offer some kind of sexual treat. He probably was getting ready for puberty, just hours ago. I doubted it would be penetration, and if so, how bad could it hurt. He’d probably lose it if she just showed a nipple, maybe some butt crack. I’d get bystander benefits, like those guys in strip clubs who never buy a dance. But Rosa was ready to take the rifle and extrapolate my balls from their father. I shut up.

The three of us sat there. Staring at the fence, a mere 50 feet away. Silence. And off to the side, mini PanchoVilla stood in silence as well. His face malnourished but stern, his right index finger on the trigger of the rifle. The sun was starting to set, and there wasn’t a person, vehicle or well diving animal around.

Finally, after an eternity of stillness, Eddie reached into his pocket. Did he have a small knife he could throw at the boy’s eyeball? No it was smaller. I couldn’t see it. Then he went into another pocket. This time I saw a bill. Ah ha, he was going for the bribe again.

He looked at our hostage taker, didn’t say anything, leaned over, and handed him the package. The tiny warrior examined it for a moment, resumed his stare, barely visible over the rolled down window, and then, without notice, he walked toward the fence.

Was he going to stand in front of us execution style? I figure he would be slow to load the second bullet and I could get out, snap his little shitty neck, and then win back Rosa. Or, I could quickly prepare a mask, slip out through the door while his back was turned, climb the nearby rooftop, and then jump on him. I would then vanish, leaving Rosa wanting me even more. I would wait a few weeks before the return though, guaranteeing sufficient buildup of her feminine juices to warrant her complete submission. As I prepared to pull my shirt over my head for the mask, my fantasy was about to be ruined, once again, by this crappy little punk. He grabbed the lock, and moments later, the 10 foot high gates were opening.

I could have taken him. That bastard. It was my turn to be mad. As we drove out of the compound, I looked back and said, in English, ’cocksucker, I better not see your face in town.’ Rosa didn’t even bother to kick me this time. Just a stare. One of those, You are pathetic stares that I’m accustomed to.

Screw her. How did we get out of that disaster? I thought the kid wouldn’t except money.

How much did you have to pay him?

50 pesos.

That’s it. 4 fuckin’ dollars. It cost $1.33 each to save our lives from that maniac.

That’s the average wage a day in the countryside. Kid may not even make that.

And what was in your other pocket, poison?

No. Bubblegum.

Unbelievable. Now this little Mexican town can tout a new national attraction: ‘Home of Mexico’s Youngest Gum Chewing Bandit.’