Remember that night we got pulled over? Yeah. I do.
Almost 3 hours late. He was supposed to come at 4 and when he still hadn’t shown up around 6:30 I was definitely worried. I set down the book I was reading, (Dear Martin by Nic Stone), and shake my head slowly with a sigh. This is my second book in a row dealing with police shootings and racial profiling, I’d had this along with The Hate U Give on my reading list for a while now. Probably wasn’t a good idea to read them back to back. Probably wasn’t a good idea either to have reached the part where--*spoiler alert*--- one of the characters is shot dead by a policeman.
Now not only am I thinking “Maybe something happened to the car?” I’m also thinking, “Maybe something happened to him?” Yet being late isn’t a rare occurrence, it’s just weird because I’ve called everyone on my usual list of “Who-to-call-when-I-can’t-find-my-boyfriend,” and none of them know where he is either.
When 7 o’clock shows up and so does he, I gotta admit that I’m quite relieved and ready to be done reading the intense chapter I’d found myself in. He quickly explained that it was indeed a problem with the car that he’d spent 3 hours trying to fix. None of that mattered anymore though, it was just wonderful that he was safe and we were together again.
“You want to go to Darlin’s?” he asks, and since we didn’t really have anything else planned I say, “Sure, let’s go!” and with that we’re headed out the door.
I get this sense to grab my wallet in which I carry my license.
It is a rule of mine to always carry my license.
I always think, “The day I don’t is the day I get pulled-over.”
And that night I decided not to.
No reason for it: I just don’t.
I did stash 2000 pesos really quick into my purse though.
Well, Darlin wasn’t home but his girlfriend and dog were, so we ended up waiting for him and watching a National Geographic documentary about lions, because we’re nerdy that way. We had tried to catch a Tom and Jerry episode but it was ending as we found it. I was a little disappointed. But the lions were cool too.
When this friend finally arrives, it may have been seeing the lions hunt down their prey and satisfying their appetites, or it may have been the hour and a half long wait, but now I’m hungry. We chat with Darlin for maybe 10 minutes and then I’m sending all those signals that couples have to be like, “Let’s goooooo, I’m hungry.”
So we set up some plans for another day with Darlin and head down the twisty little staircase and into the street. It’s a game of eenie meenie miney mo but somehow we end up going on this spontaneous date to a restaurant (as opposed to grabbing something quick at the grocery store and eating it in the car), and seeing as we’ve not really had many of those sit-down-in-a-restaurant-type of dates, (it’d only be our second in 2 years of dating), I’m happy, he’s happy, and we’re both a little tired. But the conversation is good, the food is satisfying, and the passion-fruit smoothie I got is top-notch.
We try to not stay out late. It’s dangerous. The waiter won’t come back with our tab. We wait a bit and then a bit more. We’re not terribly impatient because we are still in that developmental stage where we’re invincible (even despite both being in the medical field and knowing that’s not at all true).
Finally our food is paid for and we’re on our way out. We’d decided I would drive but last minute, literally as my hand is on the car door, he says,
“You know what, I think I’ll drive.”
So we switch seats and get going.
Everything is grand.
Everything is swimmingly swell.
But 500 meters before entering my neighborhood that gets changed to:
Everything is not grand.
Everything is not at all swell. Nor swimmingly.
“I think you may need to drive.”
My eyes are still trying to make out what is happening about 50 feet in front of us. It appears to be a mumble-jumble of cars and motorcycles. At first I had thought there was an accident and then I realize that cars and motorcycles are stopping and going. And the people I see standing around the “accident scene” are not any ordinary people.
They’re people with uniforms.
They’re people with guns.
They’re the police.
Keep in mind all this happening in one moment:
“I think you may need to drive.”
He puts it in park.
I unbuckle.
I don’t have my license on me.
He doesn’t either.
Heck, he’s doesn’t even own one.
He unbuckles.
I buckle.
“You have to keep going. We need to keep going.”
Urgency in my voice.
He buckles.
He puts it in reverse.
He goes backwards a little.
We’re both nervous.
(I shouldn’t be reading these books).
Babe.
“Put it in drive.”
He does.
And now I’m thinking.
We’re toast.
No time is lost. As soon as our little orange car reaches them, they’re around our car and telling us, “Pull over.”
I find myself trying to form the words.
“Amor, just...don’t make any sudden movements,”
And unbeknownst to me I’m telling him all the things I’ve read in the book.
“Keep your hands in sight at all times,” is on the tip of my stumbling Spanish tongue but I don’t have time.
“Get out.”
I slowly open up the door, he’s already out and my heart plunges as I see them patting him down and hear them asking, “Do you have any guns on you or in the car,” I turn my face towards them as I’m stepping out, I know my face is terrified which would probably make people look, but it’s also something else: It’s white.
They all look at me. It’s just one moment, and then it’s gone.
American.
They do nothing to me. I somehow find myself at his side. If I put myself there they can’t do anything? If I’m there, those guns won’t do anything? Right? Or if they do, then at least they do it to me too.
I’d like to say I’m being dramatic. But unfortunately. I’m not.
Corruption.
I see him handing the police officer his university ID. That’s all we have. Nothing else. Not even the papers to the rented car (his friend Darlin lent it to us). I hear the policeman say, “You seem scared, you hiding something?” Peter’s face relaxes a bit as he says, “No, we’re legal, we’re all good,” but I know that if I grabbed his hand I’d feel it wet and clammy. I want to grab his hand. But they take him to the other side of the car and I’m told to stand at a distance.
No no no no no no no. My heart has no longer plunged, it’s beating so hard it’s in my throat. If I had something to say I don’t think it could come out. It’s all blocked up.
“Rápido, rápido,” I don’t know why they’re telling him that. I can only watch. Listen. And try to not to imagine things. Peter puts his hands behind his back. In everyday life it would be one of his normal stances, yet my eyes see everything 10 seconds ahead and 10 times worse. I see every movement turning into a trigger being pulled, I see his hands in that pose and I think, “He’s getting handcuffed.”
He releases his hands behind his back and is looking for something.
I breathe.
A pistol on each side. That means that with 5 policemen present, there’s 10 guns.
The man who tells me to stand where I’m standing, he’s big. He looks at me.
“You speak Spanish?”
“Yeah,” I say. Don’t know how I would have understood his directions to stand there otherwise.
“You’re American or German?” That’s a new one. It’s either been American, Spanish, or Italian. I now add German to the list.
“American.”
I don’t even attempt to keep the fright out of my voice. Let them hear it.
“Ah good, ‘cause I don’t speak English.”
I think I see him smile.
I want to relax a bit. But I don’t. I look over at Peter. I read his body. He seems relaxed. Maybe I should be too. Maybe it’s all okay.
I don’t remember much of what happened next, all I know is that suddenly we were being told to get into the car, that we were in the car and our seat belts are on and we’re driving again.
I check my ears to see if there’s a gunshot ringing in them. I check my wrists to see if they’re free. I check his. I want to cry.
“You okay?” He asks. His forehead is a little sweaty. But he looks happy and he’s so totally chill that it makes me feel a little flabbergasted.
“QUÉ FUE ESO?”
But my voice comes out small and cracked almost.
“What was that?”
He explains. It was our fault really that they pulled us over. They were only pulling over motorcycles to check them for papers, helmets, lights, etc.. But us stalling out and not proceeding as usual with the normal traffic was what made us suspicious. I’m a little incredulous.
“Thankfully, I studied with one of them, and he recognized me. Didn’t you hear him saying “Congratulations,” as we left?”
I must have missed that. Congrats on us being in a relationship I guess.
I’m still trying to calm down a bit, and he’s helping.
“These are just some of the adventures that we’ll tell our kids someday, don’t worry.”
I finally smile a bit. We’re home within a minute. Laying in bed by the open window, I hear all the dogs barking and I try to sleep. It doesn’t come. I text Peter. “Can’t sleep. Everything that happened has me all awake.”
Next Day:
In line buying a carton of milk, some cooking oil, and a computer mouse. I reach into my purse. I’d spent 1000 pesos on gas that morning. The other 1000 isn’t there.
“Amor, where’s the 2nd 1000 pesos?”
“Oh, I had to give that to the police.” He says it like it was something I should have realized.
“You gave them money?”
“Of course.”
And I don’t have to say what I’m thinking because he says it for me:
“They’re corrupted.”
“They couldn’t let us go without getting something first. I grabbed the first thing I saw, I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s totally fine, it’s just. Wow. We didn’t do anything. We had to pay them just to pat you down and look in our car? So that they wouldn’t take us to the police station?”
Then again, I guess we weren’t totally legal without licenses and all that. Either way that you look at it, it’s all kinda messed up. Because if we were truly were illegal then an actual legal procedure should have been carried out. Not just a handover of some cash.
God truly protected us though. My eyes still carry the images that they didn’t see, but that they imagined: I shiver. It could have been much worse.
At the end of the day, at least I learned something:
My superstition that something happens to you if you don’t have your license with you is actually correct.
Now not only am I thinking “Maybe something happened to the car?” I’m also thinking, “Maybe something happened to him?” Yet being late isn’t a rare occurrence, it’s just weird because I’ve called everyone on my usual list of “Who-to-call-when-I-can’t-find-my-boyfriend,” and none of them know where he is either.
When 7 o’clock shows up and so does he, I gotta admit that I’m quite relieved and ready to be done reading the intense chapter I’d found myself in. He quickly explained that it was indeed a problem with the car that he’d spent 3 hours trying to fix. None of that mattered anymore though, it was just wonderful that he was safe and we were together again.
“You want to go to Darlin’s?” he asks, and since we didn’t really have anything else planned I say, “Sure, let’s go!” and with that we’re headed out the door.
I get this sense to grab my wallet in which I carry my license.
It is a rule of mine to always carry my license.
I always think, “The day I don’t is the day I get pulled-over.”
And that night I decided not to.
No reason for it: I just don’t.
I did stash 2000 pesos really quick into my purse though.
Well, Darlin wasn’t home but his girlfriend and dog were, so we ended up waiting for him and watching a National Geographic documentary about lions, because we’re nerdy that way. We had tried to catch a Tom and Jerry episode but it was ending as we found it. I was a little disappointed. But the lions were cool too.
When this friend finally arrives, it may have been seeing the lions hunt down their prey and satisfying their appetites, or it may have been the hour and a half long wait, but now I’m hungry. We chat with Darlin for maybe 10 minutes and then I’m sending all those signals that couples have to be like, “Let’s goooooo, I’m hungry.”
So we set up some plans for another day with Darlin and head down the twisty little staircase and into the street. It’s a game of eenie meenie miney mo but somehow we end up going on this spontaneous date to a restaurant (as opposed to grabbing something quick at the grocery store and eating it in the car), and seeing as we’ve not really had many of those sit-down-in-a-restaurant-type of dates, (it’d only be our second in 2 years of dating), I’m happy, he’s happy, and we’re both a little tired. But the conversation is good, the food is satisfying, and the passion-fruit smoothie I got is top-notch.
We try to not stay out late. It’s dangerous. The waiter won’t come back with our tab. We wait a bit and then a bit more. We’re not terribly impatient because we are still in that developmental stage where we’re invincible (even despite both being in the medical field and knowing that’s not at all true).
Finally our food is paid for and we’re on our way out. We’d decided I would drive but last minute, literally as my hand is on the car door, he says,
“You know what, I think I’ll drive.”
So we switch seats and get going.
Everything is grand.
Everything is swimmingly swell.
But 500 meters before entering my neighborhood that gets changed to:
Everything is not grand.
Everything is not at all swell. Nor swimmingly.
“I think you may need to drive.”
My eyes are still trying to make out what is happening about 50 feet in front of us. It appears to be a mumble-jumble of cars and motorcycles. At first I had thought there was an accident and then I realize that cars and motorcycles are stopping and going. And the people I see standing around the “accident scene” are not any ordinary people.
They’re people with uniforms.
They’re people with guns.
They’re the police.
Keep in mind all this happening in one moment:
“I think you may need to drive.”
He puts it in park.
I unbuckle.
I don’t have my license on me.
He doesn’t either.
Heck, he’s doesn’t even own one.
He unbuckles.
I buckle.
“You have to keep going. We need to keep going.”
Urgency in my voice.
He buckles.
He puts it in reverse.
He goes backwards a little.
We’re both nervous.
(I shouldn’t be reading these books).
Babe.
“Put it in drive.”
He does.
And now I’m thinking.
We’re toast.
No time is lost. As soon as our little orange car reaches them, they’re around our car and telling us, “Pull over.”
I find myself trying to form the words.
“Amor, just...don’t make any sudden movements,”
And unbeknownst to me I’m telling him all the things I’ve read in the book.
“Keep your hands in sight at all times,” is on the tip of my stumbling Spanish tongue but I don’t have time.
“Get out.”
I slowly open up the door, he’s already out and my heart plunges as I see them patting him down and hear them asking, “Do you have any guns on you or in the car,” I turn my face towards them as I’m stepping out, I know my face is terrified which would probably make people look, but it’s also something else: It’s white.
They all look at me. It’s just one moment, and then it’s gone.
American.
They do nothing to me. I somehow find myself at his side. If I put myself there they can’t do anything? If I’m there, those guns won’t do anything? Right? Or if they do, then at least they do it to me too.
I’d like to say I’m being dramatic. But unfortunately. I’m not.
Corruption.
I see him handing the police officer his university ID. That’s all we have. Nothing else. Not even the papers to the rented car (his friend Darlin lent it to us). I hear the policeman say, “You seem scared, you hiding something?” Peter’s face relaxes a bit as he says, “No, we’re legal, we’re all good,” but I know that if I grabbed his hand I’d feel it wet and clammy. I want to grab his hand. But they take him to the other side of the car and I’m told to stand at a distance.
No no no no no no no. My heart has no longer plunged, it’s beating so hard it’s in my throat. If I had something to say I don’t think it could come out. It’s all blocked up.
“Rápido, rápido,” I don’t know why they’re telling him that. I can only watch. Listen. And try to not to imagine things. Peter puts his hands behind his back. In everyday life it would be one of his normal stances, yet my eyes see everything 10 seconds ahead and 10 times worse. I see every movement turning into a trigger being pulled, I see his hands in that pose and I think, “He’s getting handcuffed.”
He releases his hands behind his back and is looking for something.
I breathe.
A pistol on each side. That means that with 5 policemen present, there’s 10 guns.
The man who tells me to stand where I’m standing, he’s big. He looks at me.
“You speak Spanish?”
“Yeah,” I say. Don’t know how I would have understood his directions to stand there otherwise.
“You’re American or German?” That’s a new one. It’s either been American, Spanish, or Italian. I now add German to the list.
“American.”
I don’t even attempt to keep the fright out of my voice. Let them hear it.
“Ah good, ‘cause I don’t speak English.”
I think I see him smile.
I want to relax a bit. But I don’t. I look over at Peter. I read his body. He seems relaxed. Maybe I should be too. Maybe it’s all okay.
I don’t remember much of what happened next, all I know is that suddenly we were being told to get into the car, that we were in the car and our seat belts are on and we’re driving again.
I check my ears to see if there’s a gunshot ringing in them. I check my wrists to see if they’re free. I check his. I want to cry.
“You okay?” He asks. His forehead is a little sweaty. But he looks happy and he’s so totally chill that it makes me feel a little flabbergasted.
“QUÉ FUE ESO?”
But my voice comes out small and cracked almost.
“What was that?”
He explains. It was our fault really that they pulled us over. They were only pulling over motorcycles to check them for papers, helmets, lights, etc.. But us stalling out and not proceeding as usual with the normal traffic was what made us suspicious. I’m a little incredulous.
“Thankfully, I studied with one of them, and he recognized me. Didn’t you hear him saying “Congratulations,” as we left?”
I must have missed that. Congrats on us being in a relationship I guess.
I’m still trying to calm down a bit, and he’s helping.
“These are just some of the adventures that we’ll tell our kids someday, don’t worry.”
I finally smile a bit. We’re home within a minute. Laying in bed by the open window, I hear all the dogs barking and I try to sleep. It doesn’t come. I text Peter. “Can’t sleep. Everything that happened has me all awake.”
Next Day:
In line buying a carton of milk, some cooking oil, and a computer mouse. I reach into my purse. I’d spent 1000 pesos on gas that morning. The other 1000 isn’t there.
“Amor, where’s the 2nd 1000 pesos?”
“Oh, I had to give that to the police.” He says it like it was something I should have realized.
“You gave them money?”
“Of course.”
And I don’t have to say what I’m thinking because he says it for me:
“They’re corrupted.”
“They couldn’t let us go without getting something first. I grabbed the first thing I saw, I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s totally fine, it’s just. Wow. We didn’t do anything. We had to pay them just to pat you down and look in our car? So that they wouldn’t take us to the police station?”
Then again, I guess we weren’t totally legal without licenses and all that. Either way that you look at it, it’s all kinda messed up. Because if we were truly were illegal then an actual legal procedure should have been carried out. Not just a handover of some cash.
God truly protected us though. My eyes still carry the images that they didn’t see, but that they imagined: I shiver. It could have been much worse.
At the end of the day, at least I learned something:
My superstition that something happens to you if you don’t have your license with you is actually correct.
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