The Move

The Move

Friday, August 7, 2009.

“It just died.” I said.

She rolled down her window with a blank look on her face. “What!?” She said.

“It just shut down. Can you steer it as I push?” I said.

“What do you mean it died?” She said.

“It’s Michael Jackson. Will you just get out and help.” I said.

She moved her car to the median and hopped into mine. We were at the border inspection about 90 miles East of El Paso, TX. My car had seized. I was driving a Korean SUV and after a spat of mountain driving it decided to go on strike.

“Where are we going to push this?” She asked.

“Do you think we can make it to Austin?” I responded.

“This is not funny.” She said.

As she finished a fleet of green clad, sunglass wearing men and women ran to our rescue.

“We are not mechanics.” One man said.

“Ok.” I responded.

“You need to get this car out of here ASAP.” Another man said.

“We are pretty much working on that now.” I said.

“Can you pop the hood?” One woman said.

“I thought you weren’t mechanics.” I said.

“You’re right. We aren’t.” The first man responded.

“Then why would you want to look under the hood?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Look, just get the car out of here.” The second man said.

“Working on it.” I said.

Traffic was stopped, cones were moved, a dozen people were behind the U-Haul trailer with the mural of basketball players on the side, we were safely out of the way of the Border patrol. My girlfriend had moved her car to the shoulder and mine was soon behind it. I popped the hood to make it look like I knew what I was doing.

“I’m not a mechanic. But here is the number to a tow truck.” The first man said.

He handed the number to my girlfriend who put it in her cell phone. The border patrol agents left without searching my or my girlfriend’s car.

“What should we do?” She asked.

“Wait a few minutes. Try to start it again.” I responded.

“And if it doesn’t?” She asked.

“Call Ghostbusters.” I responded.

The closest town was Sierra Blanca. It was about five miles from the Border Patrol stop. We had waited to start the car. It did and made in another two miles and stopped again. My girlfriend picked me up and we were off to meet the fine people of Sierra Blanca to try and get some assistance.

A Chevron gas station was immediately off the exit to the right. The GPS we used told us the location of this gas station. The locations of the other two gas stations in the town and the one motel, El Camino Motel. El camino translates to “the road,” which makes ironical sense as that is where my SUV was located with flashing lights.

“Excuse me, do you have a phone we can use?” My girlfriend asked.

I walked around the store. It was a normal, American convenient store. There were aisles and aisles of snack food and drinks. I grabbed a few gallons of water in case I needed to replenish the car. I also grabbed a few energy drinks and water.

“No one can help us.” My girlfriend said.

“At this time on a Friday, everyone is unavailable.” The gas station attendant said. She looked like an old mother and as juveniles played in the ice cream aisle she kept her eye on their mischievous actions as she helped us with the tow truck.

“Is there anywhere we can try to go?” My girlfriend said.

I lost contact and began watching the children. They were playing some sort of hid and go seek game in the freezer. They would lock one of their mates in the freezer and see how long they could last. They seemed to be having a blast and I was curious what would happen if I joined?

“Just these.” I said. I placed the waters and drinks on the counter. I handed the money to the attendant and she promptly yelled at the kids. My girlfriend was about to have a breakdown and I would have two overstressed pieces of machinery to worry about.

“Everyone is off. They like to drink when it comes to Friday.” The next attendant said. This time we were at a Texaco station two blocks over. It was next to a pair of establishments that looked abandoned with the relics of cars littered around the locations. My girlfriend remained in the gas station and I went for a walk to check to see if a human existed at either of these shops.

In between the two shops was a restaurant. The restaurant was a Bar-B-Q pit that had music blaring from the entrance. It looked to be the only open place in the town outside of the gas station. The closer I walked to the restaurant, the louder the music became.

The song was My Girl. Rather than the Temptations bellowing out the lyrics, a cast of latino men with thick accents rattled the vocals. It would appear that the entire town was inside of this establishment. It would also be obvious that these men love karaoke.

“Hey, I was wondering, do you have a tow truck that could possibly pick up my car?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Where is it?” He responded.

“Back by mile marker 183, about three miles away.” I answered.

“I don’t know. Let me ask.” He responded.

Between the wreck yard and the restaurant there were a pair of Winnebago’s. Between these Winnebago’s were a few milk crates, a transistor radio, a cooler of Miller High Life and three men. One of the men was rugged. It looked like life had it’s turn depleting this man of any sense of self and at this point, he was just holding on for dear life. He disappeared to the restaurant and I was left with two Latino men drinking beer and casing my every move like Americans do when they watch a Panda at a zoo.

“I’m eating.” He said.

“I’m sorry to bother you.” I said.

“I just started.” He said.

“Ok, well is there anything you can do?” I asked.

“Let me finish and we’ll see.” He answered.

The man ate a roll and walked off. He was the owner of the shop and needed to finish his meal prior to his availability to help us get my car out of the Texas desert. My girlfriend drove over from the gas station and picked me up.

“Wait, let me give you my number.” The weathered man said.

“Ok.” I said.

“My name is Gene.” He said.

I would have never guessed his name was Gene. I was expecting T-bone or Veins, but not Gene. He gave me his number, which is still saved in my phone. So, if you are ever caught in Sierra Blanca with a busted up vehicle, let me know and I can get you Gene’s number as he is the man around those parts.

“I am going to run across.” I said.

“Is that safe?” She asked.

“I don’t think so, but the options are a bit limited at this point.” I answered.

“I’m going to pull across up there. If you get it started, I’ll meet you at the gas station.” She said.

“I love you.” I said.

I opened the door to her vehicle, timed the traffic properly, and jetted across the six lanes of highway. I had a gallon water jug in each hand and Usan Bolted it to the vehicle. I hit the unlock button on my keys and hoped in. I turned the ignition and it fired up. It had some juice and I was off. I timed my re-entry into traffic and cruised to Sierra Blanca for gas and to meet with my girlfriend. We were back on the road.

My car did not have another issue that day. We drove about 40 miles and stopped in the town of Van Horn, TX. We ate dinner at a McDonald’s and spent the evening watching Shark Week in a Super 8. The next morning we embarked on a twelve hour journey that launched us to our final destination of Austin, TX.

Last week was the week of liberation. It was my final week in Arizona I had been in Arizona for fifteen years. I had grown up there and went to college there, twice. I now was about to disembark on a journey that will take me from college student to professional. It would begin in Chandler, AZ and end in Austin, TX. 1,000 miles, a trailer full of stuff, a girlfriend following and a whole allotment of dreams.

The trip started on a Friday. The original plan was to take one day to drive from Arizona to Texas. After calculating that the trip would take about 17 hours a change was made and we broke it up to two days.

Looking back, this was my first encounter as an adult. I did not have the safety net of my family nor the luxury of avoiding the situation. Sierra Blanca was my threshold guardian before I embarked on my life journey to Austin, TX. I think that I passed and it was a bit fun when I look back on it. It is a unique experience to be caught in the middle of nowhere with no one to turn to except the person you are starting your life with. I don’t really know what the word Love means, but I think that experiencing and surviving these little trials along the way allow for a clearer understanding.

Moral: Border patrol agents are not mechanics and life is a comedy, you just have to look for the levity.