Outwitting Manic Depression: "Only Fools Rush In..."
My earliest Mexican fling took place while I was teaching at a discount language school without “papers”. I looked up from my students one evening and, like King David, saw through the large glass windows darkly a young teacher named Araceli Buenrostro giving her class across the way. Being fair skinned with long, dusty brown hair, she struck me as a veritable Venus of Milo in her modest attire. She never looked across at me. I was impressed by her work habits and her professional approach to teaching. Her command of the English language was remarkable.
Eclipse
What could I so treasure more
Than those two hours of twenty-four
When my eyes encounter thine
And your world eclipses mine.
Oh, those few, short, fleeting hours
When I wholly surrender to thy power,
O’erwhelmed by your beauty and your grace
In orbit about your Venus of Milo face.
Made subject to thy sov’reign shadow
Illumined by your youthful glow,
Those brief, brief moments before your smile
Live long enough to last the longest while.
Would I could my mother tongue delete
So as to learn it all anew at thy feet,
Teach me to speak soft words of love
And sing of how you send me far above.
But, alas, the high heavens do not heed
Should their designs make my heart to bleed,
When stars and planets do realign
All eclipses must eclipse, even yours and mine.
As soon as I could finagle it, we were discussing the finer points of English grammar, and I was smuggling marvelous poetry into her notebook. Then I began carrying her books home from school at night. I explained to her that this was the American way to court a lady, something I had learned from watching My Three Sons. She deadpanned in reply that it was the Mexican way as well. Occasionally, a former or alternative beau would show up at the school after classes, but he did not seem to be at an advantage. I started winning a goodnight kiss on the cheek and abrazo (hug) at her doorstep. Finally, Araceli invited me to have evening cena with her family in their apartment. Her mother and sister were very cordial to me. They enjoyed my jokes and encouraged me to come back. In later visits, Araceli would lead me up to the apartment rooftop. I was cruising on Cloud Nine.
With the summer break fast approaching, I invited Araceli and her mother to join me for a package tour to the beach. We had not been seeing each other that long. We were not even novios (boyfriend and girlfriend) on a formal basis. I hoped to move the relationship along by a long, romantic weekend at the coastal resort of Ixtapa. I thought it would be good politics to bring her mother along as chaperone. So, I rolled the dice on $700 USD, that being roughly half of my entire savings at the time.
We stayed at a four-star hotel on the beach. The first day was relaxing as we basked in the outdoor pool. It was a bit crowded with other people on our package tour. Araceli could not swim so I offered to hold her up horizontally, Houdini-style. She liked bobbing in the warm water. She was smiling up at me and I was wholly captivated. I wished that I might prolong this moment for the entire trip, if possible.
Then I noticed a chubby boy treading water right alongside of us, intent on joining in our reverie. He was like a fly that could not be whisked away. I became a bit unnerved by the fact that I could not shoo him off. Didn’t he want to play with kids his own age? Where were his parents? He appeared to heartily enjoy my predicament. I made some mean faces at him to no avail. I moved with my darling to another part of the pool. Nothing doing. He was right behind us. I was about to start splashing water at him but, instead, controlled my temper and, with a heavy heart, led Araceli out to dry off on the beach chairs.
Later that day we went for a stroll along the beach. The surf was very mild as it extended far out into the orange horizon. We had some fun splashing at one another. Two gringas in bikinis were approaching and I looked their way. What a mistake that was! I was only reacting to their existence and not to their bodies that hardly merited attention. Much to my dismay, my barefoot Countess went into a snit that I was more interested in these women than in her. I reacted in disbelief that I had wronged her. We silently returned to the hotel. “Chubby” was running about the lobby with his screaming little brother. I repeatedly apologized to Araceli for my supposed failings. Of course, in this situation, a macho man would have blown her off to most Mexican girls’ delight.
For the rest of the day, I found myself watching television in my hotel room - alone. Araceli was in the room with her mother. This was not what I had intended for our romantic weekend. Eventually, I sheepishly went over to their room to join them watching the Pope on television. He was saying a Mass in Denver at the World Youth Day of 1994. I was astonished to see a couple of my “numerary” friends of Opus Dei receive communion from the Pope. My mention of this did not impress Araceli. It was dawning on me that she was not a practicing Catholic, but a practicing skeptic.
The only other thing that I can remember from the remainder of that disappointing sojourn was the flight home. We three were all seated together. I was in the middle. I somehow got it into my head that Araceli was ready for a big smooch that I proceeded to deliver. At first, she was most responsive - which was most gratifying - but as I leaned back on my seat, she bowed forward as if she was going to throw up. She remained in that position for the rest of the short flight to Mexico City. We all said our good-byes at the airport. I do not remember her thanking me.
The next few weeks she went hot and cold on me. I tried to be patient. Then when I told her that I was moving to the southern part of the city since I was getting a new job, she flipped! I was astonished. She begged me not to leave the area. I told her that all of my arrangements had been made. She took this badly and gave me the freezer treatment from then on. I thought seriously about quitting my job with a real company with papers. So we “broke” up what had never been together.
A couple years later, I invited Araceli to get together and catch up. I had heard from her mother that she had traveled to Brazil. She agreed to meet me at a subway station near my home after work. She got off the train and walked towards me without a smile. Being filled with foreboding, I was reminded of the final scene of The Third Man where Joseph Cotten gets a super snub from his heartthrob, the leading lady, Alida Valli. Araceli thereupon greeted me like a cold fish and said something I could not understand – probably some lethal verbal dagger. In these kinds of situations, my Spanish can desert me. The subway station was full of noise. Before I could blink an eye, she had boarded the next train and was gone. I do not think that I ever called upon her again. Decades later, she had no memory of this incident and completely denied it every happened. Later, Araceli had me help her son develop his artistic portfolio for university applications.
In the meantime, I had been attentive to the knockout secretary of one of my doctors. Her name was Gloria. We frequently went out to lunch together. She said that we had to speak in English. She put off my invitation to go on an evening date. One day after lunch, I dropped my wallet on the sidewalk upon boarding a collective van to return to work. I did not realize my loss until two hours later. I called Gloria and asked her if she had found my wallet. Reluctantly, she said that she had. Right after work, I rushed to her office to pick it up. As I checked its contents, I saw that I was missing $300 USD in pesos. However, I felt so foolish to challenge the honesty of my sweetheart that I never asked for my money. I could see one of her co-workers shaking her head in disbelief when I showed up the following week for another lunch date. Then there was the day she invited me to her home. I showed up in a friend’s car. When I arrived, she told me that no one was home and dared me to come in, saying, “Isn’t that what you have always wanted?” I got turned off by her making fun of me. We could have had a nice time together, but she made me feel like a rapist. I did not go inside with her and, after a while, left her at home. Eventually, I finally accepted the fact that she was seeing my married doctor. She spoke so glowingly of him. This was all for the best since we had little in common. She asked to see me a year later, but she had put on weight and looked completely different.
Over time, I became so conditioned to rejection from mexicanas that I would not know how to react if one expressed interest in me. At times, women who showed great interest in me turned me off, even if they were good Catholics. In another case, a cute petite woman who I met at a business conference became so enamored of me that she left a message every morning with the guard where I was working. He thought that they were interesting reading before handing them on to me. Once we went on a date to Coyocan, but we didn’t have much to talk about. We ended up at her tiny apartment where we kissed and hugged for a while, but, frankly, I got bored. There was no “click”, as was the common expression.
While on a business trip and following an evening celebration of my fortieth birthday with business associates, I entered my hotel room and found my bed strewn with little papers with kisses drawn upon them. I called the concierge, and she told me that they came on behalf of a beautiful colleague in a nearby room. Now that is room service! I simply could not believe it. I had always been attracted to this woman, but this was her first sign of her being interested in me. What a birthday present! I intrepidly knocked on her door. Soon we were kissing and hugging about her bed which certainly could have gone much further rather easily. Suddenly, I pulled myself together and excused myself. As I starting to leave the room, she headed for the shower. I was so close to following her, but I safely made it out of the room. About an hour later, I was knocking on her door again. She let me in, but quickly jumped snugly into bed. My guardian angel had worked overtime and her passion for me had abated. The next day I saw her closely accompanied by another fellow from the company. She ignored me for the rest of the trip and from then on.
During business school, one of my classmates kindly introduced me to his secretary. We had lunch but there was no chemistry. I would have preferred to have met one of his wife’s friends. They had a wonderful family. While shopping at a store near my apartment, I met a dreamboat saleswoman. While she appreciated my attentions, she told me that she was afraid of Americans because of something that happened to one of her friends. I kept bringing her gifts, but the relationship didn’t go anywhere.
Even though I would regularly “strike out” with Mexican women, I always was a hit with Mexican grandparents and children who loved my routine as a bumbling gringo in need of a lot of help with his Spanish. I kept my trench coat’s pockets filled with penny candy and cheap toys. Countless ordinary Mexican families have welcomed me with brazos abiertos y manteles largos (open arms and spread-out tablecloths). I have even been honored by being made padrino of several babies for Baptism and “coming out” parties or quinceañeras. Godfathers are expected to sponsor an element of the celebration such as the dress, the meal, the shoes, or the music. Once I was the godfather of the chupe (booze), although I did not have a drop. And there were dozens of people at the event!
In Mexico, as probably everywhere, corporate romance has a problematic recipe for success, unless you can keep the relationship buried inside of a monstrous conglomerate. On many occasions, I felt that I was on the set of “Mad Men” as excited executives and managers made merry chase among their maiden underlings. I started going out with one secretary who thought that I was an “expatriate”. That relationship lasted until the moment when I asked her for a ride home. My broken heart remained wounded for many months thereafter. One evening, I called her at home, and I got the impression that she was talking to me while in the arms of another man. A couple of my colleagues worked in training, and they constantly were taking out the best of the new crop. Once, they invited me to partake, yet when I indicated who I was interested in, my request was jealously shot down.
Later, I invited a hard-working, intelligent and stunning intern twenty years my junior on a date one weekend. When she arrived very late, I told her over and over again not to ask for forgiveness. We went out to eat and dance. She had the idea that I was an ex-patriate. As I was taking her home in the taxicab, she received a call from what turned out to be her jealous boyfriend! I could not believe it. Fulfilling the complaint of Marlon Brando in On the Waterfront, I was not a contender. A few weeks later, she called me for advice about whether to remain in the company or get a better job. I strongly recommended that she take on a new challenge and she was very grateful for my advice. Never saw her again.
Over the years, I was invited to many weddings and unbelievably endless receptions. A good tip for foreigners is to remember that the invitation time in Mexico may be at least one-half hour earlier than when the ceremony really begins. I found that out the hard way. On several occasions, I attended weddings by myself, and I ended up sitting among strangers. Eventually I learned my lesson that this was not a good formula for meeting a nice señorita. Macho, macho men would invariably look upon me with suspicion as a potential rival for their dates. One time, a husky fellow went from table to table introducing himself to everyone while yanking around his anonymous and voluptuous companion. Apparently, she had no problem going by the moniker of “Thing” (I know that I would have treated her with greater dignity). Maybe she liked being shown like a prize cow. Fat chance that I or anyone else had of getting a big abrazo from her.