In Pursuit of a Dream

I was almost 60 when I moved from Detroit to the highlands of central Mexico to escape old hopes and expectations. I imagined an idyllic life there with my ravenous former street dog, Duke, and a cat I had been in love with until he ate my cockatoo. The only thing missing was a man.

Having not yet learned you can’t find love by searching, I went out in pursuit of it. My small truck bounced down the cobblestone streets that led to Pepe Guizar. My goal was the California Restaurant, sure to be filled with expatriates getting in touch with their souls while eating a turkey dinner, the Thursday special.

My elbow leaned out the window as I waited for one of Chapala’s few traffic lights to turn green. My dream man rode up on his horse alongside me, his steed prancing to the mariachi music that played on his radio. He tipped his sombrero and blew me a kiss. Our eyes met in dreamy contemplation. In slow stride, we made the left-hand turn together. I wanted the moment to last forever, but fate intervened with the sound of a horn blaring behind us. This startled the charro’s stallion, and they galloped off, making a quick turn onto the street which led to the back entrance of the bull ring.

Surely my man wasn’t gone forever, I thought later, chewing on a slice of turkey thigh at the California although I’d ordered white meat. Perhaps my dream man would pass by Tom’s restaurant. It often sold beer to charros who left their horses tied to a tree out front. I could park beneath the giant Ficus tree and idle my afternoon away until he ambled up. But there was no magic in such ploys.

It was an unlikely dream his steed would pull up beside me at our intersection the following Friday. As I sat at the red light, finally ready to give up, a dog with long legs strode up beside me, panting. Why, that dog is the spitting image of Duke. He jumped up and stuck his head through the open window. I recoiled as unwelcome saliva from his dripping tongue ran down my leg. It was then I realized it was indeed Duke. I opened the door before the light changed, and he jumped in.

Duke’s snoring at the foot of the bed that night woke me. I got up to get a cookie. Duke rose too, as he had guessed my intention. As I leaned over to offer him a bite, I noticed the petal of a flower blossom hanging from a hair on his lower lip. I hated it when he ate the azaleas yet smiled when I reflected on the magic in my new life. After all, I didn’t need a man to fall in love. I knew that for certain because I had fallen in love with Mexico.