Before we get too far into the story, let me clarify that I, personally, was not doing anything illegal in the Federal District of Mexico. That being said, associating with people who do illegal things while in a foreign country, a foreign country in which the police force is notoriously corrupt, is not the wisest decision.
What can I say? I was 22.
Jeff Polish, the director of the Monti, said August’s StorySlam theme might be Heat. Well, this story has two kinds: the kind that slaps blue lights on the roofs of their cars, and the kind that makes you feel all tingly in your bits.
My friend and roommate, Sarah, had this boyfriend, Cristian. Cristian was a good dude, but his cousin Juan Pablo was pretty much a delinquent. He and his brother “owned a garage” in which they supposedly “fixed cars”… I just know that he used a customer’s Jetta as his own personal vehicle for a good month before returning it.
Juan Pablo was constantly trying to get in my pants, but I brushed him off. It wasn’t that he was unattractive or anything. He was cute. I just knew that he was bad news, and I was trying to maintain the tiny bit of self-respect I had left after a debacle of a relationship with a guy who, turned out, hadn’t actually broken up with his girlfriend who, turned out, was pregnant with his baby. That’s a story for another time. The point is, I didn’t think hooking up with Juan Pablo would do good things for my self-image.
It wasn’t easy though. I was 22 and in Mexico City. My body was saying, ¡Ándale, muchacha!
(Continuará…)
This is tantalizing.
Why, thank you, Jonathan. I’m glad you’re tantalized.