Miss Universe and Me (or, “Bad Moses in Mexico”)
We flew to Mexico City for Thanksgiving break. We were on the same flight as Miss Mexico. She was in El Salvador for the Miss Universe pageant. This pageant is a big deal, evidently, but only in the country hosting it. Nobody else, anywhere in the world, or outside it in the broader universe, which is clearly welcome to participate in Miss Universe, is aware it’s happening. But back in the host country billboards spring up, announcing to you that Miss Universe will soon be crowned here, where you live. You drive by and feel moderately excited about this. Many beautiful people will come to your country. They could possibly notice you. But, when you get realistic and weigh the odds, probably not. Your moderate excitement turns to light disappointment. But you feel mollified by government officials who assure you “the economy will benefit from this.” You then suddenly feel unexplainably bullish. It’s now been seven seconds since you passed the billboard and you’ve forgotten there is such a thing as Miss Universe, but you find you’re whistling “You’re Beautiful” by James Blunt and you don’t know why, and you are ashamed.
In the boarding area, really flamboyantly dressed Mexicans kept approaching Miss Mexico for photos. We didn’t know who she was. She was wearing a black tank top and a bright pink blazer. “I think she’s on TikTok,” said Grace. “It’s definitely someone from the Great British Bake Off,” said Shannon. “Could be everyone is playing Pokémon Go and there is a Pokémon sitting on her head,” I offered. Eventually we figured it out though. When the Abu Halen family puts its heads together, somebody usually gets a concussion but we figure stuff out eventually. On the plane Miss Mexico sat by herself in first class, and later in the Mexico City airport immigration line she stood alone at the front of the line. She was Moses and everyone else was the Red Sea. Violet nuzzled my arm and Shannon held my hand. I was Pharaoh’s magicians who couldn’t keep the water parted, but I discovered a long time ago I like it better this way, warm against my skin.
Everybody likes Mexico City. I would like it more if I were a car. Mexico City was made for cars. It’s all concrete veins and a backbone made of broken glass and rebar. They built this Mecca for cars on top of Tenochtitlan, the Mecca of the Mexica people. I would’ve liked Tenochtitlan more than I like Mexico City, I bet. A pretty city on an island in a lake. Cool boats. Once they cut out my still-beating heart though, and stuck my skull on a pole, maybe I’d start to think that street tacos and brunch in Polanco is preferable.
Our plan was to experience the history of Mexico City. We’d hit the historic center of town, see the canals at Xochimilco, and explore the famous ruins of Teotihuacan, which would’ve been one of the largest cities in the world from around 250 through 500 or 600 A.D. The collapse of Teotihuacan may have been due to darkened skies and cooler temperatures worldwide starting in 536 A.D., caused by massive volcanic eruptions in Iceland. One scholar of the medieval world has opined that 536 A.D. was the worst year ever to be alive. He is obviously wrong though, because the worst year to be alive was objectively 1986, which is the year my mom realized I was essentially blind, so I got glasses, and I inexplicably chose glasses with large decorative Smurfs adorning both temples. This obliterated my social standing until at least the year 2009, though people who know me well may suspect I’m still reeling a little. I’m sorry about your crops, humans of 536 A.D., but things really hit rock bottom in 1986.
Shannon got sick our first night in Mexico City, and the girls quickly followed suit. I tucked Shannon and the girls into bed in a hotel on a busy grey thoroughfare, walked out the front door, and turned onto the gritty small streets behind the main strip. I hunted for food. Found a woman with tortillas on a stove and a big, hot pot of rice and beans. Ordered a kilo or two. Stood on a sidewalk built atop a lake in the Mexican highlands, called my son 2,000 miles away in college while my order simmered and warmed. Pallid sunshine pushed through space, past the invisible moon, down through the heavy air, ricocheted off the green leaves and pocked blue storefront, settled in my tired brown eyes. My son’s voice is in my ear but he’s so far away. Shannon and the girls are feverish in bed a few blocks from here but they’re so far away. There are moments like this when I wander alone in a world that doesn’t know me. It peels apart to let me drift by, then zips itself back into place behind me. So I drift back to the hotel with street food for the girls. Thanksgiving dinner is hot chocolate and ibuprofen. We watch movies together. A daughter nuzzles against each of my shoulders. The world is settling back around me, warm against my skin. I’m a bad Moses. I like it better this way.
