Goodnight to My Thoughts of You

by Chelsea Rotunno

  Chapter Two

  Mexico

  Paul was coming with us to Mexico.

  After we heard the news, a few of the girls and I went nonchalantly to the bathroom to check our hair. When we came back to the parking lot, there he was: black spiked hair, a black sweater, black glasses, and a big smile. He was talking with Jeff, who was his best buddy. Jeff was a little bit younger than Paul, but he was married and had two kids.

  My lungs buzzed and my face flushed. “Hi Paul!” I said, trying not to act too excited. “I’m so glad you are coming with us.” He waved at me. Oh my gosh, he’s wearing awesome Euro shoes, I thought. He is so cute.

  I sat with my friend Ansley in the van. She and I had been tent-mates in Mexico the year before and had become good friends. Even though she was a year younger than me, we had so much fun together. We both liked to laugh at everything, and when we were together, everything was hilarious. Ansley and I were going to share a tent again, and we were very excited.

  Jeff and Paul sat in front of us, which made the trip go by faster.

  “Do you know what my nickname was in college?” Paul asked.

  “Let me guess,” Jeff said. “El Paulo Loco.”

  “Nope.”

  “Neo,” Ansley guessed.

  “Maverick,” I said. “Every guy who is into himself has that nickname.”

  Paul looked at me, a little disappointed. “You think I’m into myself?”

  “No. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. You do look like Tom Cruise, though.”

  He smiled.

  “What was it?” Jeff asked.

  “Now I can’t say it. You guys are going to think I’m conceited.”

  “Come on!”

  He paused. “My nickname was Hot Sauce.”

  We groaned. “Aw, come on! That’s a terrible nickname!” Jeff almost fell out of his seat because he was laughing so hard.

  “What, I eat a lot of hot sauce!”

  “OK, we all need nicknames in Mexico,” I said. “What’s yours, Jeff?”

  “I call him Bro,” Paul said. “So …”

  “Hermano,” I said. “It’s ‘brother’ in Spanish.”

  “I like that,” Jeff laughed. “What about Ansley? Short stuff?”

  “Chiquita—little girl,” I said.

  “What about you, Miriam?” Paul asked.

  “Well, Ansley calls me Mimi.”

  “Aw, how cute!” Jeff said.

  “That’s it,” Paul said. “Mimi.”

  Once we crossed the border, we headed for Tent City, a site named by Azusa Pacific University’s Mexico Outreach program. It was called Tent City because there were tents as far as you could see. Hundreds of high school groups from the States and Canada sent teams during spring break to serve in the iglesias, (churches) and local parks.

  As soon as we arrived, we set up our tent in the last glimmer of daylight. Ansley and I decided to walk around to stretch our legs and see if we could find any cute guys. We walked through Tent City and took in the familiar sounds and smells: the creak-clunk of the baño (bathroom) doors opening and closing, the manure-scented earth, the crow of roosters. The stars, without the LA smog to hide their beauty, were so clear and bright.

  The next morning we ate Rice Krispies and then walked around the local neighborhood with fliers, inviting children and families to join us for VBS, Vacation Bible School, in the park. I was assigned to a group of two other students and a leader, Kelly. To my delight Paul chose to join our group. As we strolled up and down the neighborhood, Paul glided to my side. How did I know he was going to approach before it happened? Again, I felt a connection between us. I tried to ignore the feeling, but he continued to ask me some questions.

  “So, Mimi, what’s your favorite subject?”

  “Oh, definitely English and Spanish,” I said.

  “Nice. What kind of music do you listen to?”

  I glanced at him and then looked straight ahead again.

  “Why?” I asked with a shy smile. I thought back to the postcard he sent me.

  “Everyone likes music, right?”

  For a moment, I tried to think of what a cool person would say, like The Beatles or Radiohead. Then I decided to be honest with him. “I grew up listening to classical music. That’s what my parents listen to. And I’ve taken ballet most of my life. But I like all kinds of music. I like anything that’s good.”

  At the next house I tried to lose him. I didn’t want Kelly or anyone else to think I was one of the puppy dogs who had a crush on him. But he persisted. He stayed right by my side as we walked down the street. I was flattered and disconcerted. I wondered if Kelly noticed.

  I tried to focus on the people we were there to serve. We had some very positive responses from the residents, and all the neighborhood children were looking forward to our program.

  “Hasta mañana,” I called to the last family we met. “See you tomorrow at the park!”

  From then on, I couldn’t get Paul off my mind. Regardless of my efforts to rationalize what his intentions were—something beautiful and mysterious, yet threatening, began to sink deep into my heart. I had a heavy feeling in the pit of my chest. It was painful and exciting at the same time. I had no idea how painful it would become.

  Back in Tent City, the large group of students gathered for dinner and the evening meeting. We sat in lawn chairs facing a large stage. Even though the stage was lit, the night sky was so dark that I could see a million stars.

  During the worship songs, I looked up at the sky and prayed, talking to God about what had happened that day. As I sang, I raised my arms in the air and felt very free, a saved soul in the crowd of thousands of American students who felt clean enough to be in God’s presence because they were standing in the dirt of Mexico. I felt safe, like God’s arms were wrapped around me, but I argued with him in my heart. I prayed, Lord, I don’t want to like Paul, be interested in him, or even remotely venture to guess that he’s interested in me. I give it to you. Please take away this gnawing, exciting, distracting thought. I don’t want it, God. I don’t want it.

  And God answered, in my heart, this word: No.

  No? The crowd continued to sing, but I stopped, my heart ready to snap. I felt imbalanced and thought I might fall over. No? What the heck does that mean? No, you won’t take away the thought? No, because—this feeling of connection is real? We are meant for each other?

  No.

  I decided that “no” to taking away the situation had to mean “yes” to us being destined for something heavenly.

  OK, Lord. I’m listening.

  Someone was kicking my lawn chair behind me, and my prayer was interrupted. I glanced down and saw a pair of Toms. I turned around abruptly to see who it was.

  It was Paul. I couldn’t believe it. The mischievous smile left his face.

  “Are you OK?” he asked.

  I turned back around quickly, biting my lip, praying frantically. Was he was sitting behind me the whole time? Right when I am praying about him he kicks my chair? What does that mean, God?

  It was clear that he was flirting with me. So I decided something: I would entertain the idea of being in a relationship with this 27-year-old man. The heavy feeling nestled in a place where I couldn’t retrieve it.

  After the meeting we were dismissed to go back to our tents and get ready for bed. Jeff dug a small hole in the dirt, and we used it as a spit hole. Jeff, Ansley, and I stood around the hole brushing our teeth. Paul came over, not to join us, but to watch us. I tried not to get toothpaste all over my face. But suddenly, I got really self-conscious. Before I was just a student. Now I saw myself as his peer. I retreated into shy mode, finished brushing, and left the jokesters to themselves.

  Ansley joined me in the tent about a half hour later. I was reading the first chapter of John, which was what the keynote speaker suggested we read that night. After Ansley climbed into her sleeping bag, I turned off my flashlight. In the darkness, I told her in my quietest
whisper what had happened that day. I told her how Paul had gone out of his way to walk next to me and ask me questions. I told her how God answered my prayer. She listened and then thoughtfully asked, “Do you think he likes you?”

  I nodded, “Yes.”

  “Do you like him?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, after a long pause. It was crazy, but I truly believed that God was doing something big. I didn’t know what God had planned. But I trusted God and his mysterious ways. I expected that whatever God had in store for me would be perfect.

  The next day, Tuesday, was our first day of VBS ministry in the park. Our efforts to pass out fliers the day before were successful and we had a crowd of kids waiting for us. Our youth group had to split up to teach at two different sites because we had so many participants. Paul chose to stay with my group.

  The day started with games and songs. I was responsible to help lead singing time and coordinate the memory-verse activity. We were prepared, and the lessons went very well. We had a great response from the kids.

  Having missed our weekly meetings and planning prior to the trip, Paul stayed on the sidelines. He was observing more than anything else. And he was observing me more than anyone else. So I did what I always do when I like a guy: I pretended he didn’t exist. I focused all my attention on the kids. It was the only way that I could stay centered and accomplish what I’d come to do.

  By lunchtime, each of the kids had chosen a gringo (foreigner) with whom to link arms or ride piggyback. I had three of the older girls, Susana, Olga, and Laura, as my new best friends. I spoke Spanish fairly well, so I was able to chat, platicar, and sing, cantar, with them. I explained that we would return to the park after the siesta, afternoon nap, and we would be in the park every day for the next three days. They were ecstatic.

  Our team left the park and rode to another, more remote one for the siesta. We chose a spot that had spigots where we could wash our hair. One teammate, Lauren, braided my wet hair into two French braids, which was supposed to help prevent me from catching lice.

  Paul called out from the other end of the park: “Miriam!”

  “Did he just call me?” I asked Lauren.

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “What?” I called.

  “Come here.”

  “What?” Now everyone’s ears perked up.

  I stood up slowly, my mind racing to find a way out of it.

  “Ansley, come with me!” I begged. We walked across the field of grass—our long, modest missionary skirts brushing the tops of our Converse shoes. As we approached, I saw that his hair was full of soapsuds. He was unusually familiar with me.

  “Ya brought Ansley, huh?” he laughed. “Will you rinse my hair for me?” He said it in a big brother tone.

  “Why?”

  “Because I need help, I can’t see the back,” he said.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Just make sure all the soap is out.”

  He gave me a large cup and turned the water on. He leaned down until his head was level with the spigot that was a foot off the ground. I filled the cup with water and poured it over his thick black hair until there were no more white bubbles. I tried to do it without actually touching his hair. But I let my fingers touch his neck ever so slightly.

  Jeff joined us as we were giving Paul’s hair the final rinse.

  “What are you guys doing?”

  “They wanted to wash my hair,” Paul smiled, shaking his hair dry with a towel.

  “Oh, come on!” Ansley and I said, disgusted, and we all laughed.

  He had left me no choice but to do what he asked. And that big brother role that he took on—he had never spoken to me that way before. It was intimidating. But I liked it.

  Me. He asked me to help him.

  That night after the large group meeting, the four of us—Paul, Jeff, Ansley, and I—went to the van where Paul and Jeff were spending the night. We climbed in the back, sat cross-legged, and told stupid jokes and stories. We were having so much fun. Of course, the joking somehow turned into wrestling. I told Jeff I had my money on him as he tackled Paul. Soon we were in hysterics, laughing even harder because it was after quiet time.

  After we calmed down and got sleepy, Ansley and I climbed out of the van to head back to our tent for the night. As I stepped down, Paul reached out to hand me something.

  “You dropped this,” he said. I looked at his hand. He was holding my bracelet. It must have fallen off my wrist while we were joking around.

  “Keep it,” I said.

  He got a funny look on his face, like, Why would I want a girl bracelet? I insisted anyway. “Keep it to remember this night!”

  He gave me a half smile. “OK, Mimi.”

  Ansley and I skipped away. I glanced back and saw Paul’s silhouette in the door of the van, looking at the bracelet.

  It was dark outside and all we had was the moonlight and our flashlight to help us find our way back to our tent. Most of the camp was asleep. We held our breath as we passed the stinky bathrooms, and then tiptoed past the night shift security van. Whispers and occasional giggles echoed quietly through the tents.