Freedom is a great topic at the moment; one that our little country is flirting with disaster on - but -instead of commenting on such a thing Iʻm sharing a 30 or so year old story about a moment that I almost lost my freedom on a freeway in Mexico.
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I had no idea my heart could beat so hard as to pump my necklace up and down on my chest, like a tiny maraca. I was in the middle of the back seat and the cop's head craned around past the driver to look at me, the only woman in the car. My boyfriend was driving, his square hands shook on the steering wheel as he tried to calmly reassure the Mexican police officer that we had not, in fact, been smoking pot despite the thick air and glazed eyes that simultaneously refuted his words.
The officer, of course, knew better and looked at each of our faces with the combination platter of I’ve got you nailed kids, a tiny bit of hatred, and maybe a sliver of Papa’s compassion, or at least I was hopefully placing that emotion on his handsome brown face. But I wasn’t looking up much, I was mostly looking down at this wild acrobatics of my necklace popping off my chest.
I was always the only girl in this crew, hanging with the climbing boys and tagging along on their adventures. I had entered into their world like a soup ingredient dropped in from above, making a splash but never fully integrating into their good vibe; maybe I was cabbage? Nah, more like the carrot that never cooked down. I wasn’t of them, but I did love being in their laughter and trouble. Admittedly, this moment was a bit too much for my little sensitive soul.
The cop finally found what he was looking for, a tiny bit of the roach that had fallen onto my boyfriendʻs chest, he picked it off his shirt and held it up victoriously - “Ah-ha!” which translated well, he had his evidence. What followed was more adrenaline than I knew possible as I imagined our near future in the Mexican jail, the car impounded, and my mother called from this border town even though she was 3 hours ahead and 3000 miles away.
But thankfully this man was looking for pesos, or dollars, or jewelry, he didn’t care. I almost offered my jumping jewel but it wasn’t worth anything, just a little piece of costume jewelry. Between us we scraped enough money into a pile that almost sorta satisfied the palm of the officer's hand, he gave us another meaningful look before his fist of American dollars retreated from the car. We pulled away slowly, rolling up the windows while staring straight ahead trying to maintain the innocence that wasn’t real.
We argued whether we should keep driving to Baha at that point or turn around and race for the safety of the border. I was quiet even though my strong opinion was border border omg let’s go home; I knew my vote wouldn’t be counted. Likely just a nuisance; like that fly that was still stuck in the breathless car pinging helplessly against the windows.
The street tacos of Baja won out and we carefully navigated further down the small freeway, further away from our freedom and for that matter, our civil rights. I was just ready for the next Cerveza por favore, I needed to numb and buzz and get out of this body that almost got out of me.
Me re-enacting my climbing days (but sober!) on a recent hike on the Napali coast (exactly 2 feet off the ground! hahahaha) Both photos cred amazing
Oooooh, I’ve had my versions of this! Yes, your heart pounds and pounds and pounds. Glad you get through it okay. You write so beautifully!