tijuana no
by jennifer
a white guy in a yellow t-shirt and jeans passes us by and says, "y'all sure are pretty." i notice that his shirt has a tropical screen print with the words "tijuana, mexico" emblazoned in red cursive. i roll my eyes and wonder if he's chosen that t-shirt for the night's spanish language rock band.
the white guy returns and stands next to my friend. he smiles broadly and tries to chat us up. i feign interest, but once the music begins, my attention is diverted to the stage. my, more polite, friend continues to engage him in small talk.
though the music cries out to be danced, there are too many people crowding toward the stage. no room to move. i dance a cumbia step in place. i feel the tijuana t-shirt guy (TT) watching me dance. in one swift movement, he grabs one of my hands, pulls me toward him, and spins me around. i look at him, surprised. he says, "you're welcome."
i am self-conscious as he dances me around the tight space on what would be the dance floor. i try to move small and am still bumping into band fans. i realize that TT is a salsa dancer, not a cumbia dancer. i find that, in spite of myself, i am having fun with him.
as the set moves along, i break away from TT to flirt with handsome chicano boys. dance once with someone who has caught my eye, but TT is always there. ready for me to be ready. another dance.
TT's friend, a tall and handsome brazilian guy, has found my friend, and they are similarly spinning around the dance floor. the crowd begins to thin and we continue dance and dance. the floor is wet from everyone trudging rain in the club and spilled drinks. broken bottles litter the floor, but we continue.
the band begins to play a song of a slower tempo. i decide to grab a glass of water and rest. in my peripheral vision i notice TT giving me the Look. i scurry to my friend and ask if she is ready to go. she requests one last dance. TT and i also dance again and then we are standing side by side. i turn and catch him casting a long sideways glance at me. he smiles.
"you caught me checking you out," he says through an unbroken smile.
the dancing has been fine, even fun, but i am not interested. i decide to play the age card.
"can i ask you a question?"
"yes," he says.
"how old are you?"
"i'm going to be 26 this year."
"oh," i say, in what i hope is a patronizing tone.
"i know how old you are," he says.
"oh really?"
"yeah. you're friend already told me she's 36."
"i'm not 36."
"27? 28?"
"can we not play this game?" i request. "i'm older than you. by a stretch."
"ok," he says with a wounded inflection in his voice. "but just for the record, i don't think you're too old for me."
i continue to stare ahead at the stage and say nothing while sipping my water.
moments later he nudges me and directs my attention to the corner. i see TT's friend dictating his number to my friend, who is punching the numbers into her cellphone.
"he's 22!" TT declares. "and she's 36!"
"she's not going to call him," i tell him plainly.
"what?!"
"she's not going to call him."
"that's messed up."
feeling slightly guilty, i recant. "maybe she'll call him." but i know that she won't.
my friend and i say our good-byes and make movements toward the door. TT takes my hand and kisses it lightly. tells me that he has had a lovely time. maybe sometime we can go salsa dancing.
maybe.
but i know that we won't.
raining on a saturday night and we are ready to dance. the club packed with chicano/a hipsters waiting for the band to begin. my friend and i position ourselves close to the stage and near friends.
a white guy in a yellow t-shirt and jeans passes us by and says, "y'all sure are pretty." i notice that his shirt has a tropical screen print with the words "tijuana, mexico" emblazoned in red cursive. i roll my eyes and wonder if he's chosen that t-shirt for the night's spanish language rock band.
the white guy returns and stands next to my friend. he smiles broadly and tries to chat us up. i feign interest, but once the music begins, my attention is diverted to the stage. my, more polite, friend continues to engage him in small talk.
though the music cries out to be danced, there are too many people crowding toward the stage. no room to move. i dance a cumbia step in place. i feel the tijuana t-shirt guy (TT) watching me dance. in one swift movement, he grabs one of my hands, pulls me toward him, and spins me around. i look at him, surprised. he says, "you're welcome."
i am self-conscious as he dances me around the tight space on what would be the dance floor. i try to move small and am still bumping into band fans. i realize that TT is a salsa dancer, not a cumbia dancer. i find that, in spite of myself, i am having fun with him.
as the set moves along, i break away from TT to flirt with handsome chicano boys. dance once with someone who has caught my eye, but TT is always there. ready for me to be ready. another dance.
TT's friend, a tall and handsome brazilian guy, has found my friend, and they are similarly spinning around the dance floor. the crowd begins to thin and we continue dance and dance. the floor is wet from everyone trudging rain in the club and spilled drinks. broken bottles litter the floor, but we continue.
the band begins to play a song of a slower tempo. i decide to grab a glass of water and rest. in my peripheral vision i notice TT giving me the Look. i scurry to my friend and ask if she is ready to go. she requests one last dance. TT and i also dance again and then we are standing side by side. i turn and catch him casting a long sideways glance at me. he smiles.
"you caught me checking you out," he says through an unbroken smile.
the dancing has been fine, even fun, but i am not interested. i decide to play the age card.
"can i ask you a question?"
"yes," he says.
"how old are you?"
"i'm going to be 26 this year."
"oh," i say, in what i hope is a patronizing tone.
"i know how old you are," he says.
"oh really?"
"yeah. you're friend already told me she's 36."
"i'm not 36."
"27? 28?"
"can we not play this game?" i request. "i'm older than you. by a stretch."
"ok," he says with a wounded inflection in his voice. "but just for the record, i don't think you're too old for me."
i continue to stare ahead at the stage and say nothing while sipping my water.
moments later he nudges me and directs my attention to the corner. i see TT's friend dictating his number to my friend, who is punching the numbers into her cellphone.
"he's 22!" TT declares. "and she's 36!"
"she's not going to call him," i tell him plainly.
"what?!"
"she's not going to call him."
"that's messed up."
feeling slightly guilty, i recant. "maybe she'll call him." but i know that she won't.
my friend and i say our good-byes and make movements toward the door. TT takes my hand and kisses it lightly. tells me that he has had a lovely time. maybe sometime we can go salsa dancing.
maybe.
but i know that we won't.
posted @ 10:14 PM
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