Juarez, Mexico - 2004
She was 18. He was 17.
It was a bad night. She can’t even remember why she was upset, she just remembers watching her friend flirt while she drowned her sorrows in a tequila sunrise. This guy kept circling the club, asking her to dance every time he passed. She repeatedly said “No.”
4th time he asked: “I don’t like to dance while I’m drinking” was what rolled off her tongue.
5th time he asked: “You don’t have a drink now.” Damn it! She was caught. She racked her brain for another lie to tell him. She chose to roll her eyes and force herself out of the chair.
The music was so loud, yet he wouldn’t stop asking her questions. “Can you not talk while we’re dancing?” she asked, annoyed. He laughed but shut his mouth. She needed to get off the dance floor. Best excuse that always works: “I need to go to the bathroom.” BAM! She was free.
Tequila Sunrise number 100 was needed. Stat. She made her way back up to the bar. She casually glanced at the person next to her. She sees him looking back at her. Cue eye roll again. He talked, and she did that thing where she nodded her head to what he was saying just to act like she was listening. Finally she asked if he wanted something from the bar, anything to shut him up.
A cherry bomb was their first shot together.
Maybe she was desperate for company, or maybe it was the many drinks she had that finally caught up to her, but she made her way up the stairs and sat at a table with him.
That was their first conversation.
She remembers smoking a cigarette, not paying attention as her fingers pulled it away from her mouth, burning a small hole in his white button up shirt. She apologized profusely. He kept smiling, saying it was fine. He slid her a napkin. She took out her black eyeliner and wrote her number on it. They headed to the bar one last time.
He still has the napkin. I still have his burnt shirt.
& we fell in love.