Why I Committed Suicide (15 page)

I may have mentioned before that I don’t find the desert a particularly pleasant place to be, but I am happy to be here with Jenifer. It’s been a hard trip but the adventure is oozing with romance. I get such a good feeling cruising through the crisp evening air, snuggling against her dirty flannel shirt, listening to her warm breath and the lingering smell of Marlboros in the car. It’s never felt so nice to feel so small, like I’m hanging onto the coattails of a Nordic sex goddess as she tears off on some mission involving the fate of the world. Whoops! There go my ‘want to be dominated’ feelings again. In actual reality I’m scared that my bad attitude about some physical problems is turning the notion of “us” off for her. I shouldn’t be frightened though; I’m acting under the impression that she compensates for my surly attitude times the way I’ve learned to adjust to hers. The way we’re so damn evenly matched is sometimes scary.

Tourism has yet to rape the best parts of the beach but there are occasional signs of hotels being planned or built. It’s so hard to believe its December already and so hard to write down every detail of life that I want to keep preserved…

God is telling us to take a look at
this,
and God, we are looking. So much to see, so much to explore. My God takes care of his fools and his children, Jenifer and I qualify as a little of both. Old people seem to like consoling themselves by watching tragedy, maybe believing that the world will fall apart after they are gone. Jen and I both seem to be intelligent enough see the world falling apart today and we’re trying to enjoy it while we’re still here and in control of most of our faculties. Who knows, maybe enlightenment with a more worldy perspective will be of aid to our conscience when we finally have to grow up and sell out, and how about a little bit more sassy wickedness until that conscience is called into play then.

Our love for each other could only be more intensified if it was forbidden. Ours will be a love of legends. I feel so fortunate just to be here now, knowing that most people search the world for a lifetime looking for half the intimacy we share. We take pleasure because it’s not recognized as fleeting, but because
it
exists at all. “Jen, for better or worse,
we are not mere insects
.” (She just looked at me like I was crazy just then. It’s hard to belt out random quotes based on a whole thought process and then have people look at you crazy.) We are better because we abhor monotony and are not satisfied by daily drudgery, I believe there is a flaccid resigned happiness that comes with being satisfied by mere sustenance. I’m just thankful for the chance to write down the events in my life.

We camped outside last night in an out of the way spot beside the Ocean. It was so fucking cold and unbelievably windy but still vivid and incredible in a contrasting sort of way that only life along the Pacific Ocean can be. The highway down the coast has all sorts of dirt road turn offs and the few we’ve taken the time to explore lead to secluded spots of paradise. We parked the Escort on the rocks, actually a mixture of shells, rocks and a variety of Oceanic debris, right near the water. I built a big fire and we cooked semi-successfully and ate some groceries. The wind was gusting so hard that the fire seemed to burn at a 30 degree angle making it impossible to achieve a happy balance between freezing and well done, so we cleared out all of our gear from the hatchback and slept in the car. It was cramped. One day I might remember it as being cozy because it was so cold that we huddled together in a fetal spoon position most of the night. We woke up stiff and grumpy at dawn. However, uncomfortable as it was last night, it was beautiful that I woke up in Mexico to a clear, windless, warming day with the sound of calm Ocean waves gently lapping against the shore and the salty smell of fishy sea air tickling my nostrils. As we both took care of our necessary functions, even being as disheveled as we both looked, I couldn’t help but notice how the cold air brought out a sexy flush in Jenifer’s face. Those pink cheeks and deep red lips that only a white girl can get. I didn’t tell her any of that and maybe I should have but I’m still shy about constantly expressing enamors of her beauty. I fervently believe that too much affection leads to being pussy whipped.

We went to a Mexican market/store today and bought some interesting stuff including a liter of Coca-cola that is actually in a glass bottle. Talk about a sixties relic and conversation piece! I’m not going to drink it, I’m going to put it in the refrigerator to tempt my roommates and remind me of Mexico when I drowsily look for food on those otherwise bleak school days.

Unfortunately, Jenifer either got pick pocketed while we were in the store or left her pesos behind when we left and we had driven for half an hour before she realized her money was all gone. We drove at high speed all the way back to the store in an intense quiet fashion and of course all her dough had vanished. The clerk even acted like he wasn’t even sure he remembered us. I was kind of mad, well not mad exactly, I was just out of sorts because I didn’t want lack of money to ruin our vacation. I’m sure I acted like an asshole. I’m more pissed that I have to be solely responsible for our well being, as it relates to all things financial, for the rest of our trip. Jenifer is notorious for losing her losing her money and having some quirky twist of fate bring it back to her. Except for the one time in Europe when some Italian stud smooth talked her while he lifted her wallet and passport and caused her to miss her flight home, Jenifer has recounted lots of stories where she’s lost and got back all her cash while vacationing. The luck of the mostly innocent maybe? It was pretty obvious to both of us when everyone suddenly lost their knowledge of the English language that Jenifer wasn’t going to be getting her money back this time. Jenifer looked so sad and embarrassed that I felt like a fool for getting angry. No problem. We both brought a lot of money and I gave her half of mine, we went on our way and everything was cool. I still love her and her silly ways.

Random thought

Being an artist is seeing the world’s single file line and stepping out of place at the risk of losing rank. Then look inwards, backwards and finally forwards. Take a shortcut, but don’t get too far ahead of the pack lest ye be labeled a progressive madman AND don’t let too many people see you cutting in front of them in line lest ye be a fad.

Wow! We found the most spectacular beaches today, different but no less exciting or beautiful than the white sand beaches I saw in the Bahamas. Jenifer and I spent the day frolicking around the warm sand and because there wasn’t anybody around we were naked most of the time. We had sex and a picnic and we played in the massive sand dunes and collected seashells while drinking sodas and lukewarm Tecate beer. The water was very cold (it’s the Pacific, duh!) but I bodysurfed until my skin and lips were blue. I kept worrying that a big fish would come by and chomp on my dick, maybe thinking my cold shrinky penis was a minnow or something, but I stayed in the waves most of the time. I don’t know if staying in the waves makes any difference to fish that chomp, but it helped me not to worry. Hey I can worry about my penis if I want! It is also very relaxing to know that I could drown or get carried out to sea and nobody would be able to save my ass. When did I start thinking about stupid shit like that? Ever since I popped out of the womb I guess. Honestly the isolation made me get a peaceful feeling inside, partly because of the minute danger. The danger just reminded me how we were the only two people on Earth at that moment in time. The ONLY two people on Earth and it wasn’t scary, it wasn’t worrying about grades, it wasn’t having to go to a job or buying gas or dealing with our respective insane families it was just…nice. No that’s just the salt in my eyes really. It was a windy and tiring day but great. We found a couple of great beach spots, unfortunately a majority were spot marked with telltale litter. We just explored the oceanside with no particular agenda.

Today Jenifer and I drove down to the beach again in RedOne and just played in the sand off the coast. The water is still a little chilly, but the sunshine and the secluded embrace of the Pacific makes the wind and sand feel great. To stand and lean forward at a 45 degree angle while a sandy ocean breeze holds you aloft on top of giant dunes of Sahara-esque sand is incredible. We are still so alone out here and there are many more miles and miles of beaches to see. We had to alternate between warm clothes and total nudity, favoring warm clothes for the most part. It took forever to finally get warm again yesterday after swimming out in the Ocean. True to Mexico, a lot of the easier to reach beaches seem to have remnants of long forgotten parties; beer cans and used rubbers and the like, but for the most part it’s still an untapped desolate paradise. Each day we’ve explored a different path off the “road” in an effort to find the perfect beach but it’s all perfect for the most part.

Today our expedition got waylaid slightly due to the low clearance threshold of RedOne’s tires and the soft sand. We were temporarily stranded out in the middle of nowhere by a patch of moist beach sand where our tires could not find any purchase. We tried digging and putting driftwood under the tires in the back but only ended up peeling more sand out from under the car. It wasn’t a big deal as far as survival goes, we had all our food and camping equipment in the car, but it seemed like it could be weeks before anyone might come along this area.
Or so we thought.
From out of nowhere, an entire family of yuppies—Dad, Mom and 2.5 kids in a brand-spanking-new Land Rover with all the trimmings—comes bumping along the same road. We were waving our arms like crazy intent on getting their attention while I could see the wife on the passenger side in her soccer mom sweater telling her husband that they should get out of there, as if we might be vicious “banditos” or something. I think they realized our predicament pretty quickly, and once they confirmed we were white people, they seemed glad to help. Besides there was no place they could have turned around on the sandy path before getting to our car.

The husband got out and the wife and children stayed in the car. I imagine their conversation went like this “Stay here honey, I’ll handle this. If they try anything funny, lock all the doors.” I love to see the traditional family roles in action that people feel like they should still play out. (Just like when I go to Home Depot I had to explain to the guy what the problem was, what’s not working and the logistics of the formulas I’ve tried to work everything out with.) Jen and I could
almost
get our tires out of the hole the rear tires of the car had dug with her driving, but in order to get the guy to help me push we had to go through the motion of turning on the car, letting the tire spin and putting wood und the tire and show him that it wasn’t working. I told him “Look, if she can drive the car the two of us can push it out of this hole pretty easily. The car is not that heavy.” This must have seemed too easy for him or he really wanted to use his new toy because it just so happened that ‘family man’ went for the extra-extra option package on the Land Rover and got a winch for the front. So this desk jockey goes off on his repressed manly parade, determined to show off his outdoor survival skills for the sake of his watchful family, who by now realized we actually needed help and felt it was OK to get out of the car and stare at us from a distance. The guy attaches his winch to our bumper and I should mention that the bumper on a Ford Escort is just a piece of plastic with about the same strength as a cheap Storm Trooper Halloween mask from the early Star Wars days. He’s very careful not to get his dry cleaned Eddie Bauer pressed flannel “outdoor” shirt dirty as he’s attaching the winch while we are trying to politely convince him to just help give us a little push out of the sand instead of ripping the bumper off our car. Our clothes have been slept in for many days and both of our hair is starting to ‘dred’ up so we look as comfortably grungy as any decent road trip adventurer should, but we’re not vocal enough to protest since he’s trying to help and we don’t appear observably smart enough for him to want to listen. We’re tired and finally just let him play out his manly role and finally, after he almost rips the back bumper off of the car he acknowledges that I am right and within minutes of our combined efforts to simply push the car, we have the hole cleared. We politely said our thanks and drove off quickly to another beach to spend the night.

It’s still bitterly cold here at night. The wind off the Pacific on both sides is pretty intrusive. I think the cold water in my ears is making me come down with a cold, but it might just be the inhalation of saltwater wreaking havoc on my sinuses and grinding against my skin. We both slept in the car (again), no biggie, and I lit a giant fire to cook some food and get little stinky warmth before we huddled in the car and listened to the great roar of the ocean.

Yes, I’m definitely getting a little bit of a cold, nothing major though. I am man, I am tough. GRRR! The drive is getting even more spectacular because the farther we go south, the more we see signs of a completely different culture becoming evident. The mountains are treacherous and the highway has huge potholes hidden in the black road. Especially ominous curves are often marked with shrines of the Virgin Mary or dotted with flowers and crosses to remember the people who died on particularly bad sections of this road. Sober reminders of the dead, but beautiful in an eerie way.

We are now glimpsing views of long
white
sand beaches, straight out of a postcard, with crystal blue water that looks so inviting. We stopped to swim at one nice looking beach where there were a lot of parked RV’s and
touristas
everywhere, crazily thinking that maybe this crowded beach might be better than what we’ve already seen. It wasn’t anything special though, just crowded. We took a picture and left pretty quickly, I had a really weird feeling that someone might break into our car there.

We smoked the last of my pot and got into a deeply buoyant philosophical discussion about life, love, mountain shrines and all the rusted out remains of cars that are everywhere along the highway now. That’s a major difference between the U.S. and here; nobody gets their cars towed to a mechanic when they break down. Sometime during the night people rape cars parked along the highway of every usable part and by usable part, I mean that
every
tiny screw, knob or bolt is entirely stripped off the car until all that’s left is a crumbling skeleton of rust. The presence of so much symbolic death just serves to remind us we are alive. It’s poetically beautiful in a Morrissey sort of way. We stopped and took a picture of ourselves (auto timer!) leaning out the window and waving bottles of liquor in a decrepit VW van, pretending to be
baracho.
Why is it I know the word for “drunk” but can’t remember “salsa”? I have a feeling a car left on this highway overnight wouldn’t be much to speak of the next day.