In today’s episode:

THE PACHUCA SITUATION

(most names have been changed. not that anyone involved is in touch anymore).

1996 was a weird year. I had many great trips and fantastic experiences, but emotionally, I was a massive wreck. It was also the year I started writing a novel, one that sometimes I hate, sometimes I like. I’m at peace with it now because there’s no point going back to it any longer, it’s a learning experience.

In September of 96, a friend called Jair introduced me to a girl I immediately fell head over heels over. Her name was Teresa. Reddish/brown hair, cool glasses, cooler demeanour. We could talk for hours about movies and music and we went to two classes together, one that was about communication and you had to do small presentations. The other one was mechanics. We both failed the latter one. In ’97, we were like peas and carrots. We once went to a very far cinema and a downpour fell on us. Her car brakes’ failed on a steep road downhill and we barely managed to make it out. It was an old cream blue beetle, which had seen better days.

Teresa was from Pachuca, lived in Mexico City “for reasons”. I found the reasons later from a mutual, and a lot fell into place afterwards. Near the end of the January/May semester in 97, I lent Teresa my copy of Foo Fighters’ self-titled debut. My dad bought it for me the previous year at Macrovideocentro, on one of his buying sprees. I loved that album and it felt weird loaning it, since my dad had a bad health spell that year and I was genuinely scared he was going to die.

The semester ended and we parted ways after drinking cheap mocha coffee at the university’s cafeteria. By the start of the next semester, she wasn’t around. I called but the number was disconnected (hi, Goo Goo Dolls!) I asked people around school, and no one knew. Eventually, I found out she went back to Pachuca. She changed careers, no longer majoring in chemistry, but going into something akin a business major with engineering peppered.

I never found out why she moved without saying goodbye. We had each other’s phone numbers, we had our emails. She just went away. We kept in touch in a very sparse, curt manner. She even went to the university campus one day, unannounced, to say hi to people around. Never saw her and, like the Michael Jordan meme said, I took that personally.

Friendships end, and I had a perception, no, an idea, that even if we never were a couple, we were good friends. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t interested in me romantically and only saw me as a friend. I understood that back then, and was okay with it.

But the fucking Foo Fighters album, man.

I’m 100% sure my dad was neurodivergent and I’m also certain I inherited it from him. The nerdy stuff, the “wanting to know everything about some obscure thing” obsession. The weird packrat, hoarding mentality.

So summer of 99. I had a good friend, let’s call him Magias. We hung a lot and had great times. I met him also in ’96, during a school trip to Mazatlán. We were listening to Prodigy’s Fat of the Land (another album I lost!) and Foo Fighters came to the conversation. He then said “motherfucker, I’ll drive you to Pachuca. Get your CD back”. I guess he was my enabler.

So I mustered up the courage to call Teresa, and she was free the next day. We agreed on noon, and I called Magias. The next day came and 10 minutes before we had to leave, Magias called me. His car’s brakes were off. Fucking coincidence. So I called Teresa and told her the bad news.

There was some sadness in her voice and for some stupid reason, I thought: why not go to Pachuca and surprise her?

Which is a very, very, very fucking stupid idea.

So I got on a bus to Metro Rosario, made a few switches at the pertaining stations, then hopped on a bus at Central Norte. I arrived at Pachuca around half past noon and called Teresa. She wasn’t amused but still agreed to meet, around 6 pm. She gave me the address and I went for a blueberry ice cream at Santa Clara. I bought a map of Pachuca, one of those guia roji ones, and thought I could just walk around for a while. And that I did.

I have no idea how many fucking kilometres I walked that day, but I roamed for ever and ever, even crossing over highways, trying to kill some time. Everlast’s What it’s like was in my head as I walked, my short sleeve flannel shirt dripping with sweat. When it was time to get to Teresa’s home, I took a cab, and gave the address. Turns out, there were TWO streets with the same name, between the same streets. So I had to take another cab, and that cab took me as close as it could, because, you guessed it, the brakes failed.

So I had to walk towards Teresa’s home, but I was really hungry and tired. Bimbo bread delivery lorries were funny back then, with the familiar looking teddy bear in his hat and apron. I asked one of the drivers if I was near the address, he said it was on the other side of a hill. He read my face and told me “hang on tight to the handlebars” and there I was, haphazardly hanging for dear life from the side of a bakery lorry, going up the hill, understanding why Pachuca is called “la bella airosa” (the beautiful windy).

I arrived at Teresa’s home, but she wasn’t there. Her grandma let me in and we talked awkwardly for a few moments. She then said she was going back to watch tv. She was watching Pinky and the brain and they were making fun of La Macarena. I waited for an eternal hour and when Teresa came back, we talk for maybe five minutes, and she drove me to the bus station. On the way there we talked but it was pretty much small talk. I had my chance to ask why she left without saying anything. That chance was lost.

I got on the bus after a curt goodbye, and night fell. I travelled back to Metro Rosario, when it was as dire as possible at night. A couple of fucking assholes started following me down the stairs. There were no buses and I as hell didn’t want to get robbed, so I ran back to the metro station, and grabbed a phone. Just like Vince Vaughn asking for backup in The Lost World, I called a couple of friends who ACTUALLY TOOK FUCKING CARE OF THEIR CARS (sorry) and asked if they could pick me up. One was drunk, the other at a family meeting.

The two brigands were waiting for me to hang up. I hung up, went back to the metro and after using my ticket, I ran out as fast as I could back, out of the station, near midnight. One last bus was leaving and I ran as I never had in my life and jumped into it. I got home around 1 am, my dog Morgana giving me the look as the food I left barely filled her hungry ways. I sat on the sofa, turned up the stereo and played the album. The front cover was smashed, the hinges were broken and I sighed. Once Exhausted finished, I started to cry and knew I would never see Teresa again. We had one last email interchange, were she berated me, very justified, about my idiotic plan and asked to keep in touch. That was a not an invitation, just a courtesy.

Hey, at least I got it back, not like the Alanis one.

-Sam J. Valdés López