When I Broke My Leg at La Jajoba
“You cannot ride like this,” Alejandro said in sing-song, barely heard over the raunchy cough of the motorcycle engine. We stood in the dark of a moonless light just outside our village. La Jajoba was a smaller village many miles away down a rough, dirt road. Alejandro yelled over the noise of the motor.
“The bike. She can only do so much.”
“Just cinch down that back strap,” I said through a grunt. “No, the other one. Yeah. Tighter!” I could barely see his hands in the shape of night, the headlight ugly and uneven across the quiet desert around us. Everything smelled of gas and exhaust. We were an abomination unto the earth. Only, I wish I’d never been alive that night. Now Esperanza doesn’t even look at me.
“Ai...” Alejandro grumbled. “Chingaderas!”
“That’s it,” I yelled after he gave the strap a final yank. The burden of the motorcycle, though only an old 250cc, combined with the discord of duffle bags and boxes and shapeless cargo strapped to every practical and impractical space, made the bike awkward and difficult to balance. Plus, I had my own weight in backpacks and satchels slung all about at various angles and loads.
Shifting slightly, the thin sole of my sneaker slid in the dust and the whole thing would’ve gone over if not for a quick arm from Alejandro. His hand felt like a club of flesh.
“Careful,” he huffed, righting me. He could barely be heard over the rattling two-cycle motor, popping smoke. “What did I just say about this?”
“Repack the load, well,” I said to the shape of his face, illuminated demonic by the brake light. “On the back.” I watched his face sharpen, looking. “The left side is heavier,” I said.
“Ah.” He nodded with a gaptoothed smile. “And then the left side will be lighter, and the right side will be heavier.” He slapped me on the back. “Just go!” he barked, and I nearly fell over in the shock of his voice. “Go with the grace of God!”
And he slapped me again, only it was more of a push and I found myself rolling forward beyond my will, being pulled down toward the earth in a dozen directions from all the cargo, now swinging and shifting in the motion. And then I kicked it into first gear and the engine blatted louder, echoing into the holiness of night, surging me forward into a chaos of momentum and defiance of all Laws Known to Man.
By the time I hit second gear, I had a kind of control over my body and the mass about me. I heard Alejandro’s voice, incoherent and lost in the darkness and noise from the junker of a motorcycle. I remember that the thing rattled my balls so much that they actually hurt. I wondered briefly if it even had a muffler, imagining the sound bouncing into the oblivion of night desert all around, invisible but for blinking images of struggling cacti, gnarled shrubs, and the dirt two-track illuminated harshly before me. The road was long and lonely, with all the stars pinpricks through a black cloth. I thought about how I was coming in as the hero, maybe even winning the heart of the icy Esperanza. I thought of how the children would know. They would put two and two together. The little presents and candies on Christmas Morning, then me—Uncle Josué! Of course the children would know. Children are smart. I know this because I was one, once. But now...
My mind turned back to the road, to Alejandro’s words. Remember the hill. The one going down to the orphanage. Don’t look away when I’m speaking to you. Listen. The hill. She is very steep. And before I knew it, Alejandro’s voice still swirling within my head, the hill was suddenly beneath me in all its glory and ill intent. The bike became like a crazy woman, and I wanted to jump off, but even like with a woman that’s not a good idea. So I stayed on this bike, bouncing uncontrollably and with a growing, deadly speed down the hill toward the village.
The last thing I remember was The engine! Turn off the engine so nobody hears! And then there was a darkness—a darkness where I didn’t ruin Christmas and lived smiling with Esperanza.