Looking out my Backdoor: Piggy, selfish me

This afternoon I waved goodbye to Don and Denise, with hugs and kisses and tears, as they got into the taxi to carry them to the airport. Now I’ll feel an empty place inside me for the next couple days.

I’m still in Mazatlan. I was supposed to take the bus back to Etzatlan today.

Phone conversations this week went like this: “Sondra, it is Leo. You stay. Is cold and storm every night, just like rainy season. Too cold for you. You stay.”

And this from Josue, “If you can, stay in Mazatlan. It is cold and wet and miserable.”

And Kathy: “Stay, you piggy, selfish woman. Winds 100 kph.”

The couple from Edmonton on the elevator who were checking out and going home: “Oh, stay. Life is too short. Stay.”

I don’t mean to snivel. My cold is not your cold. However, you do have a heated, well-insulated, house. In comparison, my rustic little casita is like a sieve. An unheated sieve. All the heaters in town sold in December. On the coldest days I wear my zarape, taking it off only when I bake bread and pre-heat my oven six hours prior to actually baking. I can’t bake bread every day. Not even to give to friends.

January and February, are, admittedly, winter months. To us in Etzatlan, that means cool mornings. The sun rises and warms our day with delight; sun sets on cool nights. We dress in layers. No problem.

With the weather upside down, we seem to be experiencing a second rainy season. The “boys” tell me, they’ve never seen storms like this in the winter; every night, thunder and lightning and buckets of rain. These are the dry months. These are the months for sugar cane harvest, when fields need to be dry.

So I climbed the stairs to Amalia’s office to beg. She manages this place. She gave me “The Look.” You know, the look that says, “You want me to do what?” What she actually said was, “We usually make these arrangements well ahead of time.”

I considered options before opening my mouth, such as “It’s too cold to go home.” (Too whiney.) I thought about getting on my knees and pleading. (Drama queen.) What I answered was, “Yes. I know.” And closed my mouth. I’ve learned a little about negotiation.

Amalia tapped keys on her computer, keeping one eyebrow raised. “Yes, I can give you one more week. What is your room number?” A few more taps. “You can keep the same room.”

I don’t know if mental hugs can be transmitted, but my gratitude was heartfelt and I hoped my words of thanks were enough.

Then I had to battle three days of guilt over extending my holiday on the beach. Residual guilt from childhood. It would pass.

After my friends departed, I walked to the Oxxo, a convenience store found on every corner in Mexico, and lugged back water, ham, cheese, bread and mayo. I’m tired of over-eating restaurant food, good as it is. A couple days of restriction will see me back at my favorite loncherias and restaurantes.

I’m on my balcony, looking at sunlight reflecting on quiet water like glitter on glass. I don’t intend to fill the empty space left by my friends departure with anything more than the beauty and warmth of being. If I’m not on the balcony, you’ll find me on the beach, second palapa from the left at the bottom of the stairs.

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Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com. Email [email protected].