Movie Date

She said yes! I had a date with the prettiest dark-eyed girl at Buena High School.  Oh, how I had longed for this day. I had a secret crush on her since she showed up at our Freshman Orientation. It took a year to work up the nerve to talk to her. Her name was Marisa, which gave hint to her Hispanic heritage.

            There were problems, however. I only had a learner’s permit. I’d have to take Mom along when I picked her up. Worse yet, I’d have to drive Dad’s old truck since she lived on a dirt road in Palominas. Luckily, I was smitten and could endure these humiliations for the sake of romance.

            Mom and I arrived at her ranchette out on Clinton Lane ten minutes early.

            “Should I go in?”

            “You might as well. You’ve got every dog on the place barking.”

            I stepped out of the truck and was greeted by a large white pit bull with blood-red eyes. I recoiled as it sniffed me and began to raise its hind leg.  Fortunately, the stream only hit my right shoe. I resumed my long walk up the driveway to a double-wide trailer that had seen better days. I knocked as there was no bell.

            I heard heavy footsteps coming toward me. The knob turned and the door creaked open. A bloodshot eye peeked out through the crack. The chain was lifted, and the door opened. I gasped as I saw the heavy-set man with three days worth of grey whiskers.

            Marisa’s step-dad was none other than Ben Spencer, the leader of the militia group, Palominas Patriot Patrol.

            “You Mike?” he asked, patting the Glock on his hip. The gun was intimidating, and I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to use it. He had gotten some recent notoriety for shooting up his neighbor’s garage when he heard a noise outside.

            “Yessir.” I gulped.

            “Marisa ain’t ready. Come in and sit a spell. Tell me about yerself. You on the football team?”

            “No, sir. I play soccer.”

            “Soccer? Hmph. You ain’t one of them furruners are ya?”
            “No, sir, my people came over on the Mayflower.”

            “Near as bad being a damn Yankee,” he retorted.

            We were interrupted as Marisa made her grand entrance. God, she was beautiful. Her long, dark hair perfectly framed her gorgeous almond face. She wore turquoise earrings and a necklace to match. Her little black dress was perfect. She flashed me a smile as big as the Lavender Pit. My heart soared.

            “Who’s that in the truck?” she asked.

            “That’s my Mom.  She needs to use the truck while we’re at the movies.”

            Mr. Spencer jabbed me in the ribs with his elbow.

            “You ain’t no Mama’s boy?”

            I melted into the floor at this veiled attack on my masculinity.

            “No, Sir.”

            “The movie ends at nine. You git her home by ten.”

            “No problem, Sir.”

            When Marisa, the pit bull, and I reached the truck, Mom exited and introduced herself. Although Mom sometimes berated Mexicans for coming over here and taking her welfare benefits, she was gracious toward Marisa.

            “Oh, you look so nice.”

            “Thank you, Ma’am,” cooed my date.

            Clearly, Mom was signaling me that I needed to lay onb some compliments.

            “Uh um, nice place.”

Mom let Marisa in first, so she could sit by me. I pulled the seatbelt out from where it was stuck under the seat and brushed the crumbs off. Then I helped her get it fastened. I stepped on the clutch and turned the key. Old Blue started up, letting out a puff of its namesake smoke. The dog backed off from the leaky muffler. I checked the mirrors like I was taught in Drivers Ed, slipped the shifter into Reverse, and let the clutch out. It lurched backward. The engine died.

A few minutes later, we were finally on our way. Mom did most of the talking.

“Bumpy road. Your hair looks so nice. Mike wants to be an engineer.”

I turned onto Highway 92 and headed North. In a-half-hour I could ditch mom and have this deliciously sweet thing all to myself. Should I put my arm around her? Do people do first kisses in the movies? I wish my Dad were here. He knows about women. He just ran off with one.

Suddenly, I looked in the mirror. Lights were flashing. One of Arizona’s finest was pulling me over. As I slowed to a stop, two Border Patrol vehicles came out of nowhere and hemmed me in. This was a high-enforcement area. I must have aroused their suspicions by coming from the border. What excuse would they use this time? I wondered. Too much window tint, dirty license plate, air freshener on the mirror? It didn’t take much.

Stay calm, I told myself as the trooper approached.

“License and registration.”

I fished out my permit as Mom fumbled in the glove box for the registration. A Border Patrolman reached past her and grabbed the stash Pop had left in it.

“Your name, young lady?” he asked looking at Marisa.

“Marisa Lopez.”

“Got an ID?”

“No, I’m on a date. I left it at home.”

“Hmmm. US citizen?”

“Dreamer, I’ve got papers at home.”

Marisa spoke with a bit of a Spanish accent. The agent noticed.

“Get out of the truck, all of you.”

The next thing I knew, Mom and I were handcuffed in the back of a deputy’s car. We had just been read our rights. Human smuggling? Can this be real?

I looked back to see where Marisa was. Zip-tied and crying, she was being helped into the back of a Border Patrol van. She was headed for an ICE detention center in another state. We would get to call a lawyer from the Cochise County Jail. Marisa would not be so privileged.

How would I explain this to Ben Spencer? Would I ever see Marisa again? Life can be tough on the border.

LDT May 28, ’25

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