I was young, just days away from my nineteenth birthday. I thought I was sowing my wild oats when in truth, I didn’t even know where my wild oats were. It was spring break 2002 and I was in Tijuana. My parents hadn’t wanted me to go, but they realized I was an “adult” living away from home for the first time, and that I would go, whether they wanted me to or not. And I did. My roommate M and her “good girl” sister C and I were determined to party, and party we did.
I remember the trip there, the excitement building as the scenery changed. The car we were driving was bare bones, no CD player, not even a tape deck, so I held a small boom box on my lap and DJ’d the trip, hours of gangstah rap had us all ready to dance. We left late in the afternoon on a Sunday because M had had to work at the shoe store that morning. We stayed one night half way between St. George and San Diego. The second day we traded in our $20’s for $5’s and $1’s and hit the road. We reached San Diego early in the afternoon, splashed around at Mission Beach for awhile, did a little souveniring, then headed to our hotel to glam up for the night ahead.
M & C were too busy arguing on the way to Tijuana to see the “Last US exit signs” overhead and we actually ended up driving into Tijuana which had not been our intention. We were going to park in the U.S. of A and walk the rest of the way, or catch a cab. Instead we drove across the border, C (she was driving) started freaking out because no one was following the rules of the road, and M locked all the doors and proceeded to scream at C. When we finally found our way back across the border (after having our car searched by the border police) we parked and walked back into Tijuana. We went to M’s favorite club from the year before, “The Zoo”?…”The Animal”? I don’t remember, but the waiter’s name was Juan and he waved us in with the promise of two free drinks for all of us. Which was particularly handy since C wasn’t drinking. We settled into a table by the “window”, really just a whole cut in the plywood walls, and started sipping. My first mixed drink was a Sex on the Beach.
After we had a couple drinks in us and the crowd started to fill out we took to the dance floor. Dancing and flirting with all the silly college boys. I had my eye on one in particular, Josh, he was tall, and thin, and had blonde hair. He wore dark jeans, a black t-shirt and was drinking Tecate’s like they were water. We danced together once, he looked deep into my eyes and kissed me. His lips were like two slabs of raw beef that had been soaking in horse piss for two weeks. In my slightly buzzed state I laughed, patted him on the back, and turned to go back to my friends. That’s when I saw him. He was sitting next to M, who was doing everything in her power to brush him off, she had a thing for brown boys, white boys were “just so predictable”. I walked to our table, told M to go get more drinks, and sat next to him.
“Is your friend always so pleasant when she’s been drinking?” He asked.
“That was M being pleasant.” I replied, “You’re not her type.”
“I wasn’t hoping to be her type,” he said cocking his head and half grinning, “I wanted to be your type.” Then he grinned and looked away, actually blushing.
“Then you should buy me another Sex on the Beach and ask me to dance.”
“I don’t dance.”
“I guess you’re not my type then.”
With that, he walked away, and I got up to dance. Through a few more songs I would glance his way. Some 5’2” blonde bimbo was trying to sink her claws into him and he was polite to her, but I would catch him glancing my way occasionally and I would shoot him a coy look, as was my almost 19 year old girl way. When the first notes of some Shakira ballad played over the speakers I sat down to catch my breath. No sooner was I settled and listening to M talk about “Rick” then a pink cup was placed in front of me and I heard “So ya wanna dance?” I did.
He took my hand and we walked to the floor (a whopping 5 feet away) where he pulled my hand around his neck, wrapped his arm around my waist and took my other hand with his, holding it between us. He pressed his mouth against my ear and asked my name.
“I’m Katy.”
“I’m Bill.”
“Hi Bill.”
“Hi.”
When Bill said he didn’t dance, it didn’t mean he couldn’t. He could, very well, and we did, very often. After another hour or so of getting to know each other, he asked if he could kiss me, and I let him. We talked, we danced, we drank, we laughed, we talked about school, the future, our families, everything. He invited me to go to San Diego Zoo the next day with him and his friends, and I said yes and gave him my cell phone number, neglecting to write the area code. Then he had to go. He kissed me goodnight and walked out the door. The rest of the night was a bust for me. I didn’t want to talk to anyone else, dance with anyone else, I just wanted Bill, there was no doubt in my mind that I would see him again. When M and C were finally ready to leave it was about 4 o’clock in the morning. Bill had left around 2, and I was ready to be done. I had danced with a couple of the waiters after the crowds thinned out, C had fallen madly in lust with a waiter named Enrique who was old enough to be her father, and M had spent a lot of the evening wrapped around Rick in a dark corner.
We walked back to the border, showed the nice men our ID’s (which is a whole other story) and walked through the double doors back into America. Three boys were half asleep on a bench at the bus stop. One of those boys was Bill. They had missed the bus back into San Diego. He walked over to me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and hugged me like he hadn’t seen me in 10 years. We held hands and walked to where we had parked the car, still talking non-stop. He wanted to know about Utah, when he found out I was Mormon he asked about that too. He was genuinely interested. We went back to my hotel because he couldn’t tell us how to get to his Uncle’s house where they were staying, and we called him a cab. While we waited for the cab to come we snuggled on the curb and he started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“This.” He replied
“What this?”
“Coming here, meeting you, what I’m about to say.”
“What are you about to say?”
“I know it’s crazy, but I fell in love with you tonight.”
“Me too.”
The cab came, they drove away, and I went to bed in a daze.
He didn’t call the next day. Actually, I tell myself he did call. That he called all day but that my phone was being it’s usual stupid self squared. Which is valid. This was before the time of “The Network” and my phone which a Cellular One brick at the time would only work when I was sitting, leaning to the right, just outside the hotel door. So he called. He wanted desperately to see me again but the communication age hadn’t quite worked out all the bugs, and destiny missed its chance.
To Bill, you were the best 7 hours of my life.
I remember the trip there, the excitement building as the scenery changed. The car we were driving was bare bones, no CD player, not even a tape deck, so I held a small boom box on my lap and DJ’d the trip, hours of gangstah rap had us all ready to dance. We left late in the afternoon on a Sunday because M had had to work at the shoe store that morning. We stayed one night half way between St. George and San Diego. The second day we traded in our $20’s for $5’s and $1’s and hit the road. We reached San Diego early in the afternoon, splashed around at Mission Beach for awhile, did a little souveniring, then headed to our hotel to glam up for the night ahead.
M & C were too busy arguing on the way to Tijuana to see the “Last US exit signs” overhead and we actually ended up driving into Tijuana which had not been our intention. We were going to park in the U.S. of A and walk the rest of the way, or catch a cab. Instead we drove across the border, C (she was driving) started freaking out because no one was following the rules of the road, and M locked all the doors and proceeded to scream at C. When we finally found our way back across the border (after having our car searched by the border police) we parked and walked back into Tijuana. We went to M’s favorite club from the year before, “The Zoo”?…”The Animal”? I don’t remember, but the waiter’s name was Juan and he waved us in with the promise of two free drinks for all of us. Which was particularly handy since C wasn’t drinking. We settled into a table by the “window”, really just a whole cut in the plywood walls, and started sipping. My first mixed drink was a Sex on the Beach.
After we had a couple drinks in us and the crowd started to fill out we took to the dance floor. Dancing and flirting with all the silly college boys. I had my eye on one in particular, Josh, he was tall, and thin, and had blonde hair. He wore dark jeans, a black t-shirt and was drinking Tecate’s like they were water. We danced together once, he looked deep into my eyes and kissed me. His lips were like two slabs of raw beef that had been soaking in horse piss for two weeks. In my slightly buzzed state I laughed, patted him on the back, and turned to go back to my friends. That’s when I saw him. He was sitting next to M, who was doing everything in her power to brush him off, she had a thing for brown boys, white boys were “just so predictable”. I walked to our table, told M to go get more drinks, and sat next to him.
“Is your friend always so pleasant when she’s been drinking?” He asked.
“That was M being pleasant.” I replied, “You’re not her type.”
“I wasn’t hoping to be her type,” he said cocking his head and half grinning, “I wanted to be your type.” Then he grinned and looked away, actually blushing.
“Then you should buy me another Sex on the Beach and ask me to dance.”
“I don’t dance.”
“I guess you’re not my type then.”
With that, he walked away, and I got up to dance. Through a few more songs I would glance his way. Some 5’2” blonde bimbo was trying to sink her claws into him and he was polite to her, but I would catch him glancing my way occasionally and I would shoot him a coy look, as was my almost 19 year old girl way. When the first notes of some Shakira ballad played over the speakers I sat down to catch my breath. No sooner was I settled and listening to M talk about “Rick” then a pink cup was placed in front of me and I heard “So ya wanna dance?” I did.
He took my hand and we walked to the floor (a whopping 5 feet away) where he pulled my hand around his neck, wrapped his arm around my waist and took my other hand with his, holding it between us. He pressed his mouth against my ear and asked my name.
“I’m Katy.”
“I’m Bill.”
“Hi Bill.”
“Hi.”
When Bill said he didn’t dance, it didn’t mean he couldn’t. He could, very well, and we did, very often. After another hour or so of getting to know each other, he asked if he could kiss me, and I let him. We talked, we danced, we drank, we laughed, we talked about school, the future, our families, everything. He invited me to go to San Diego Zoo the next day with him and his friends, and I said yes and gave him my cell phone number, neglecting to write the area code. Then he had to go. He kissed me goodnight and walked out the door. The rest of the night was a bust for me. I didn’t want to talk to anyone else, dance with anyone else, I just wanted Bill, there was no doubt in my mind that I would see him again. When M and C were finally ready to leave it was about 4 o’clock in the morning. Bill had left around 2, and I was ready to be done. I had danced with a couple of the waiters after the crowds thinned out, C had fallen madly in lust with a waiter named Enrique who was old enough to be her father, and M had spent a lot of the evening wrapped around Rick in a dark corner.
We walked back to the border, showed the nice men our ID’s (which is a whole other story) and walked through the double doors back into America. Three boys were half asleep on a bench at the bus stop. One of those boys was Bill. They had missed the bus back into San Diego. He walked over to me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and hugged me like he hadn’t seen me in 10 years. We held hands and walked to where we had parked the car, still talking non-stop. He wanted to know about Utah, when he found out I was Mormon he asked about that too. He was genuinely interested. We went back to my hotel because he couldn’t tell us how to get to his Uncle’s house where they were staying, and we called him a cab. While we waited for the cab to come we snuggled on the curb and he started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“This.” He replied
“What this?”
“Coming here, meeting you, what I’m about to say.”
“What are you about to say?”
“I know it’s crazy, but I fell in love with you tonight.”
“Me too.”
The cab came, they drove away, and I went to bed in a daze.
He didn’t call the next day. Actually, I tell myself he did call. That he called all day but that my phone was being it’s usual stupid self squared. Which is valid. This was before the time of “The Network” and my phone which a Cellular One brick at the time would only work when I was sitting, leaning to the right, just outside the hotel door. So he called. He wanted desperately to see me again but the communication age hadn’t quite worked out all the bugs, and destiny missed its chance.
To Bill, you were the best 7 hours of my life.
6 Comments:
*ssssssssssssiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh*
I have a couple of "Bills" out there. Alas, that's another life ago.
*sigh*
Wondermos story. I'll be sighing all day now.
stupid blogger cut off my long heavy sigh. Oh well, you get the idea.
big sigh for me too.
It's like a hot teen romance movie. 'Cept in the movie you'd run into him at work five years later - and you'd instantly rekindle that moment and live happily ever after.
Where was he from? Maybe you can stalk him.
holy shit, katy.
find him.
Go get him girl.
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