Daniel Baig, Russell’s Stereo

It made sense.

That’s what he told himself as he slammed the car door, hoping that it would echo with the finality of a chapter being closed. Then again, he hoped for that same resonance when he turned off the radio and rolled up the car window. Nor did it happen when she closed her door and made her way into the bar, not bothering to wait for him. He trudged dutifully behind her, adjusting the front of his pants due to the slight sticky discomfort caused by the residue of saliva and cum from the road-head she had given unenthusiastically, and he received almost equally unenthusiastically – at least until the moment of climax as was wired into his brain. It seemed like something to do – anything to do – because there was nothing else left for them to do. It was a distraction, and they needed a distraction.

He had been hoping for some sort of sign to let them both know that it was over, but the closest thing he got was a sign marker on the highway for Salsipuedes, which they had passed earlier on the drive back up the coast of Baja, Mexico. However, he had failed to get off at the exit. Meanwhile, the fatigue of the journey had caught up with them, but they wanted to get caught. His mind clung to that sign for Salsipuedes, but it wasn’t like they could break up in the middle of nowhere, could they?

They headed south from LA, driving across the border down to Ensenada. After a week-long bender, masquerading as a vacation, they were on their way back to El Norte. They didn’t think to bring their passports when they started driving, but they knew from experience that getting into Mexico could be facilitated with a generous tip and crossing back with a playful display of drunken ignorance. They were masters of ignorance. Neither had planned on going this far, but how much farther could they go? It turns out the answer was a bar off the highway.

The bar was one of those places far enough off the beaten path that even Google Maps would pause before coughing out some choppy directions as if the app itself were questioning whether this location was worth the time. He could always find the place by instinct, but there would always be a moment of suspense as to whether he’d taken the right exit and soon followed by the predictable but still pleasant surprise of seeing the bar, of being right. It was like entering a strange world, but that’s what made it comfortable. They had become strangers.

There were no signs or billboards advertising the bar’s location – let alone its existence – but the bar had a magnetism all its own. The story was that scenes from the movie Master and Commander were filmed in Baja. There was a movie studio, Fox Estudios, near the coastal terrain, a fitting background for the exploits of a naval vessel in the 1800s. Given those details, it made sense that Russell Crowe – “Captain Jack Aubrey” – would be in the area, and it made sense that Russell Crowe would need somewhere to go to unwind. He joined her at the bar where the bartender was placing two beers – Dos Equis Ambars – before her.

This roadside diversion could best be described as the lovechild of a Mexican tourist trap and an American dive bar that exceeded its parents’ wildest expectations. It was off-season for the cruise ships and still a few months before the college-age locusts would descend upon it. Even though the bar was empty, there was no mistaking that this was a party haven from the many patron-donated decorations. The bar’s walls and ceiling were adorned with various paper currencies with names and dates scribbled on them. George Washington looked out from every corner with a wry, knowing smile – he knew what happened here. There was also plenty of foreign currency from European countries with British notes making up the lion’s share – the Queen was not as amused as George.

Also scattered throughout the bar were bras hanging from the ceiling, cast away by its female patrons. It was a ritual – something that no one would go in planning to do, but when in Rome... Leaving a bra behind was the equivalent of a mountaineer leaving a flag at the top of Mt. Everest. It was conquered territory “I came, I saw, I partied” – in no particular order. There was also the occasional thong, which was more akin to planting a flag on the moon. There were a handful of astronauts.

But these bacchanalian decorations were not what caught his eyes as he sat next to her, dropping his keys on the bar and picking up one of the brown bottles. He stared at the wall behind the bar where sounds and lights emanated from a massive stereo system. It was flashy, but also technical – engineered for good times. The stereo system could have been the control panel of a disco spaceship. It was a fully functioning sound system, installed into the wall, still pumping out the beats. The bar was empty but the spirit of the party was still going, despite their best efforts to kill the vibe with their silence.

They sat at the bar drinking their beers, staring forward in silence as the bartender took a drag of his cigarette and watched a black-and-white television mounted in the corner. He wanted to say something, but pumping beats from the large alien sound system calling to the mothership provided adequate cover for the silence between them. They also turned their attention to the television playing an old movie about a lucha libre wrestler turned secret agent.

He backed away from his beer, taking a trip around the world via the foreign paper that lined the hall, and went to the bathroom. As he relieved himself, he thought back to that sign they passed for Salsipuedes which was known for its inhospitable terrain along the ocean. The name “Salsipuedes” roughly translated to “get out while you can.” Salsipuedes was more than a place. It was an exit, an escape –. A state of mind. He wished he’d heeded that sign sooner, knowing that it had been the sign he was looking for – the sign he wanted to see.

As he tried wiping off the road-head residue with a coarse paper towel – his fig leaf to mask the shame of his indecisiveness -- he realized that he didn’t want to know the truth about Russell Crowe’s stereo. Sure, the stereo would still play music, but it would lose its magic. It really didn’t matter, and yet, it did. Russell Crowe brought a sound system to a dive bar so he could have somewhere to hang out in between shoots and then left it behind – Never to return or give it another thought – because he could. It made sense.

As he walked back to the bar, he saw the bartender’s eyes fixed on the television. It took him a second to realize that she was gone. It took another second to realize that the keys he left on the bar were also gone. And it took him yet another to piece together that the bartender was intentionally avoiding eye contact with him while concealing the slightest smirk.

He walked over to the door and opened it. The car was gone.

They had been to this place several times, but she never so much as left a dollar behind, let alone an undergarment, as proof that she’d been there.

Instead, he was her flag.

Maybe she also saw the sign for Salsipuedes.

It made sense.