(A creative piece)
I am from Sinaloa, Mexico, the glory ground for all drug lords and drug wars. I grew up on drug land, but I always promised myself that I would make it out and not fall into that life. I wanted what everybody else in my country did and that was the American dream in the states. I was never 100% sure how, but I was going to get there.
I went to school in Sinaloa- ironically to one of the schools that El Chapo built. He was the biggest druglord in Mexico. That man was idolized in my pueblo. He gave us more hope and the things we needed than the Mexican government ever could. Narcos typically love to do the impossible and the unexpected. To Americans, narcos are murderers, selfish, and horrible people, but in reality, they give back to the community.
On the last day of classes, before the month and a half that we had off for what Americans call summer break, I met this guy. He was 16 and I was 15. He really didn’t like school and I did. He never tried to keep a high profile, which is why I never noticed him until that day when our classes merged for the end of year party. The party was possible, because of course, the school had recently gotten a donation from El Chapo.
My friends knew his friends and it was a very typical introduction. He would not stop staring at me, but he wouldn’t say anything either. His looks would do all the talking. After that, I never saw him at the plaza, where we would all hang out. I never got his name either, so I didn’t think much of it.
During our summer break was my birthday. My rancho was small, so my friends would invite their friends to my birthday celebration. It was a small get together with my family and friends. We would eat mole con arroz and homemade tortillas, my favorite. Then we would cut a cake, and if I got any presents I would open them. Usually, they didn’t come from my extended family, but my dad would spoil me after everybody left. On this particular birthday when I turned 16, my friend dragged me outside to my gate, and there he was. The big brown eyes on a medium light skin guy were at my gate. He was handsome and about six feet tall, and if it weren’t for the darkness, I would’ve seen when I stepped out. The guy had no name to me, but he did have a dozen roses and a small jewelry box in his hands. I walked up with my eyes wide open. I couldn’t believe he was there.
He said hi and asked who I was, like the typical Sinaloan guy I had predicted he was: shy, mysterious, and quiet. I said I was doing good, that my name was Aileen, and then he wished me a happy birthday. He came near me and gave me the dozen with the small box that carried a sterling silver necklace with the letter “A.”
“I hope you like it, I picked it out myself,” he said. I asked him if he wanted to come inside and eat a plate. He insisted he could not stay and he hoped I had a great night. Just like that, I still didn’t know his name.
I saw him again once we went back to school, and on the first day he brought me lunch. It was the best three tacos de al pastor I ever had. Despite him not knowing me, he knew my favorite toppings: cilantro and red salsa, and just a tad bit in case it felt too spicy. The agua de horchata was fresh and cold, just like I like it. He had five tacos but with a glass coke. His tacos were topped with lime, cilantro, white onion, and green salsa. He finally gave me his name-Axel. Our 30 minute lunch felt more like two minutes as it became clear he wanted to learn more about me.
It wasn’t until a month after that I finally thought I knew him. He was named after his great-grandpa and said he would name his son Axel to keep the name going in his family. His birthday was on February 23rd, and his favorite food were the tacos we ate for lunch every other week. He had two younger sisters and only his mom in his life. Axel was only in school, because they asked him to finish high school. We got to know each other over the span of a year, and before we knew it, we were celebrating our one year anniversary. Time moved so fast between us, but a good fast. A fast that felt right and everything was falling into its perfect place. Things were great between us, but my family was a hurdle too.
Not having my dad around made it easier for Axel to come around. My mom was one of my best friends and always sensed when something was wrong. She was my go-to and I couldn’t hide him from her forever. My mom met him when he came over to give me some flowers for our six month anniversary, on the 16th. The vase on my desk was never empty, because he always made sure to get me a dozen roses monthly. Axel always came crisp and clean in case my mom or sisters ever saw him. We always tried to meet at my gate, which was about half a mile away from my doorstep. But that day my mom had me on a tight leash. She wanted my “friend” to come up to the door so that she could see him. They met that day and even sat down for a cup of coffee. Axel was nice to my mom. He laughed at her jokes and agreed with every single thing my mom told him was wrong with me. He was the sweetest to me, and my family.
At that moment I realized there was no need to hide Axel anymore.