Mexico - 5. Chapter 5 of 16

In the morning, I woke up earlier than I wanted. My watch read just after six. Through the frosted panel, the sky was getting light. I rolled over then jerked back.
There was no bedspread on the door.
Outside, there was shattered glass on the cement. And a lone worker, sweeping the street.
I went back to bed but couldn’t sleep. Then I must have, because I woke unsure of where I was.
It was five minutes later.
I took a shower. Shaving, I said to the mirror, “You could go home.”
But that was stupid, and I didn’t even know why I thought it
After I dressed, I packed the last few things I’d taken from my car. Double-checked the room. Left my key by the ashtray with couple buck tip. I still had American money and wanted to use it up. American Guaymas seemed the perfect place.
In the parking lot, Mark was leaning against my car.
I shook my head. Maybe I wasn’t awake.
“Morning,” I offered.
It sounded all right.
“Sleep well?” I asked.
If I was dreaming, I could play along.
“Actually...” he began.
I didn’t have to admit that I didn’t sleep well, either. It wasn’t his business.
“Something wrong?” I asked instead.
As before, he didn’t want to talk. I waited, but he didn’t go on. Or go away.
“You eat?” I asked.
It was dumb. But what else do you say in a dream?
He shook her head.
“Let’s check the hotel.”
“Bad idea,” he replied.
“You know a better place?”
He pointed toward my car then opened the door he’d been leaning on. I thought I’d locked it, but who knows fantasy rules?
I had no idea what would happen, but I got in.
Then I waited for the punch line. For Mark to morph into Chris. For the mystery couple from last night to pop out of my ashtray.
Though I seemed to be awake.
I started my car’s engine.
I rolled down my window.
Mark rolled down his.
I drove.
As we passed the hotel, he seemed to regard it absently. Though he slipped, ever-so-slightly, down in his seat.
I followed his directions. Drove maybe five minutes. Parked at a small restaurant. It was clearly Mexican, though there were no signs.
“¿Hable Español?” I asked him. Though I was sure he’d said No the day before.
“Poco,” he said this time. And I thought, This should be interesting. Bilingual dreams.
Inside, the restaurant was empty.
“Sil vous plait, monsieur,” I said to Mark. May as well shake things up.
I led him to a table.
“Dankashein,” he replied. Didn’t surprise me at all.
A waitress appeared. She could have been one of my students. T-shirt. Jeans. Long, dark hair. “Buenos días,” she began.
“Desi Arnez,” I replied.
Mark said, “Oy.”
“Would you like to eat?” she went on.
“Sí. Mucho mucho.”
“¿Qué?”
“Eggs? Bacon? Toast?” Mark asked these as half-questions. There was no menu. Not even on a sign on the blank wall.
“Hash browns?” I added.
“Coffee? Juice?” the waitress asked.
“Dry martinis?”
She smiled and left. Next, I expected dwarfs.
“I was told that everyone speaks English in Mexico,” I offered to Mark.
“Wish they did in LA.”
He hadn’t seemed so American before, and I ignored it as part of the illusion.
“Is that where you’re from?” I asked. “LA.?”
“Now,” he said.
“And before?”
He hesitated. Again he didn’t want to talk. “Can it wait?” he asked.
“Sure.” I had all the time of a dream. Though I was really feeling alert. And if that was true, I’d better behave.
Waiting for our food, Mark mainly looked out the window. There wasn’t much to see. A dry road. Occasional car. An old pickup. But it gave me a chance to look at him again. This light was better than the hotel’s.
His hair was brown. Medium. Bankerly short. It was parted on the left, but he kept running his hands through it, both of them, which ruined the part. His eyes were blue, lighter than I remembered and pleasantly spaced. His nose was straight but almost insignificant. He had clear skin, ordinary lips, a simple chin. He hadn’t shaved, and the light stubble on his cheeks gave him the hint of a bone structure that really wasn’t there.
Chris’ face was rounder, his hair lighter and very curly. He almost always had a trimmed beard and mustache which somehow made him seem friendlier than Mark. Chris was also shorter by an inch or two. Mark was my height.
They both wore their collars open, several buttons down. You could see hair creeping up their chests. In the restaurant, Mark had his sleeves rolled, and there was light hair on his arms. His hands were clean, with the nails neat and short.
“I’m really sorry,” I said, when I’d been quiet too long. “I wake up slowly.”
By now, I was sure I was awake.
He smiled. “I’m not exactly great in the morning.”
The food arrived. Eggs. Bacon. Toast. Coffee. Juice. No martinis.
We ate. The food was good, but Mark continued not to talk. I chatted between bites. About easy stuff. The restaurant. The waitress. A little about me. At one point, I remember saying, “And that’s how I finished my Ph.D.”
He laughed. “That’s terrible.”
I shrugged.
“Law school was nothing like that,” he offered. “I floated.”
“At Stanford?” It had been mentioned at dinner.
He shrugged but added nothing further.
When the check came, Mark apologized. “I only have credit cards. American cash.”
“I’m sure they’ll take that.”
We laughed, but he still seemed embarrassed.
“It’s okay,” I assured him. “This can’t cost much.”
The bill was under five bucks.
I paid, and we went back to my car. I started the engine. “Where can I drop you?” I asked.
I still wasn’t sure why he’d wanted breakfast. As he never explained why he was outside my motel.
Returning to last night’s break-in? Was he the dark Mexican?
No, this morning, he was probably wandering around. Trying to tire himself. He said he hadn’t slept. And he’d recognized my car.
Whatever the reason, it started my morning well. Well, made it better. If he hadn’t talked a lot, at least he’d been great to look at. Since Iowa, I’d mainly been reading newspapers over meals. Local ones, when I could find them. When I couldn’t, I’d compromise on USA Today.
“You have a map?” Mark suddenly asked.
I was tempted to joke, “No, I’m traveling for three-months, in places I’ve never been, without one.”
But there seemed no point. Instead, I pulled a huge map of Mexico from under my car seat. He unfolded it.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“Where you’re going.”
I laughed. “It’s not really planned. I’m just kind of heading toward the Yucatan. Stopping wherever interests me.”
But I pointed out Guaymas. Showed him the location of the dig. Traced my probable route.
“Nice,” he commented.
“You know the roads?”
“Never been south of Guaymas.”
“That’s too bad. From what I’ve seen, Mexican roads are a constant surprise. Be nice to be warned.”
He smiled. “Wish I could help.”
When he said nothing more, I refolded the map. Then he asked, “You want company?”
There was almost a catch in his voice. He was nearly hoarse. I looked at him, amazed.
He quickly stared through the windshield.
I grinned. “What brought that on?”
He didn’t look at me.
“I’ve always wanted to hitchhike,” he said. “I wasn’t born at the right time. You don’t even see people thumbing anymore.”
He turned briefly to me then back away.
It would be fun, I thought. To have company. I wasn’t used to traveling alone.
Actually, I wasn’t use to doing anything alone. Not for the last six years.
But I wondered what Mark would be like. There were friends you traveled with and those you couldn’t. And sometimes you discovered that along the way.
Chris and I always traveled well. We’d driven a lot. Mostly to friends and family. Though we’d been to Europe.
I had a memory of Chris in a hotel room in Prague that I hoped never to forget.
Which suddenly brought me back to Mark. In a bad way. If I said yes, I wondered if I could keep my distance.
That was stupid. I knew plenty of straight guys. Guys I’d never touch. Though they knew I was gay. Mark didn’t.
“Don’t you have plans?” I asked abruptly. “With Anne?”
He was still looking away.
“So you don’t want company?” he replied.
“I didn’t say that,” I answered. Quickly. I didn’t want to scare him off. “I was just thinking about…”
“Let me worry about Anne,” he said. He was staring straight into my eyes.
For a long moment, I let him. Then I turned away first. Wondering how much he could see. He didn’t seem to be an idiot.
“Should we pick up your stuff?” I asked. Stalling as I stowed my map.
“No,” he answered.
“No?” Another surprise. And he was staring ahead again.
“I’ve got everything I need,” he went on. He wiggled his wallet out of his pocket. Flashed bills and credit cards. “This should hold me.”
“Don’t you want to tell Anne?”
“I left her a note at the hotel. Told the guy at the desk that if I didn’t pick it up by nine to send it to our room.”
It was after nine.
“Where does Anne think you are now?” I asked.
“I left her another note, on our mirror. She knows I walk when I can’t sleep.”
“You haven’t murdered anyone,” I said impulsively.
He laughed. “No. I just need to get out of here.”
He said it simply, but his voice was strained. Had he and Anne fought? Over what? I doubted he’d tell me if I asked. In his silence, I studied his profile.
“Look,” I pushed on, “I have no idea what’s happening with Anne. But if you want to talk about it...”
He kept staring ahead. For so long, I didn’t think he’d speak again. But I wasn’t taking him anywhere till I knew what was going on.
“I don’t want to talk,” he said, finally. “I wouldn’t know what to say. And I honestly don’t know what I want. I only know what’s finished.”
And that was it. It was all he’d give me. Or could give. And I could take it or drop him back at the hotel.
I didn’t have to be brilliant to know how much he’d be hurting Anne. And I didn’t want to be part of that. I knew how unhappy Chris had made me.
And how long would Mark last? A few days before he felt too guilty? Before he called Anne. Rented a car. Flew home.
I wanted to leave him there. I didn’t want to be involved. But somehow that seemed more cruel.
“I’m heading south,” I told him quietly. “You’re welcome to come along for as long as you want. And if you think you can do it in just what you’re wearing...”
He grinned and exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath. “Let’s go,” he said. “Once she reads that letter, she’ll be checking the airport.”
It was a letter now. I wondered when it expanded from a note.
And it seemed he was leaving Anne no matter what.
I started to drive. I pulled slowly onto the highway. Then I had to laugh.
“I don’t know how to ask this,” I began. “But am I really awake?”
He looked at me as if I was crazy.
I was awake.