Silence.

Thats all that I remember hearing as we walked back over the pedestrian bridge from Mexico, back from Nuevo Laredo (New Laredo in Spanish) to old Laredo, Texas. Well, there was chattering in Spanish around us and perhaps the noises of cars, but it didnt matter. It was all the same. We weren’t in Mexico. We got turned back from immigration.

I could feel tension in the air. Darren was about to blow a gasket. I just couldnt figure out at whom. It was either me, the person who apparently continually jinxed us by regularly commenting on how smooth everything was going, or Philip Evans Shepherd, the man who neglected to get a passport after I pestered him to do that months ago, and then failed to secure an original certified copy of his birth certificate after I continually pestered him to do that shortly before we left. One of the two of those is needed for proper immigration. Proper immigration involves obtaining a tourist card and proper paperwork. Without that, you cant go more than 50 miles from the border and if you do, youll be either turned back, deported, jailed, or forced to pay a hefty bribe. Or perhaps all of the above.

I was the easy target, and besides, I think Philip was a little baffled about why all of this stuff was required.  See, there is a different Mexico beyond the border towns and the resorts, a Mexico that so many people do not see, and probably will never see. Thats where we were headed. So Darren gave me shit about how I jinxed us and it was all good. Now to move on to the real issue. How do we legally get Philip into the country or illegally?

I made some phone calls and found out that these papers were indeed required. The Mexican military is all over the place looking for drug smugglers and the sort and if you get stopped without proper id and paperwork, youre fucked. Apparently, deportation can take as long as 6 months. Philip had better shit to be doing than hanging out in a Mexican jail.

Four possible things popped into my mind as we walked back through US immigration and contemplated what to do next. First thing I thought of was, hey, fuck it. Just go and dont get stopped. But the more experienced Mexican traveler friends that I talked to about this, the more and more it seemed like a terrible idea. Ok, second idea was to get Philip on the phone and have him find either the birth certificate or voter id card and have it overnighted.

I stared deep into my huevos rancheros. We had stopped for breakfast after we cabbed it back to the airport. I was a little annoyed that I was more upset about this whole dilemma than it seemed Philip was, but at the same time, you can only do what you can. Every road to obtaining some original document was a dead end. What we had presented at the border the first time, was a faxed copy of a copy of a copy of the birth certificate that Philip had his dad fax over last minute before we left the hotel. He was already making plans to fly out of town that evening to somewhere else and let Darren and myself journey on alone.

There was no sense in beating him over the head with it now. Hopefully it would sink in for next time to take care of all this before we drive 1200 miles. We had been having so much fun. Philip was crucial.

Let me fill you in on my two cohorts. They were the perfect balance to one another. Darren was the sometimes high strung translator who was pretty sharp and on his toes and was determined to not let anything deter the plans that we had made to travel deep into the heart of Mexico. But he also tended to be very passionate about and freak out about the littlest minute thing. Philip was the “I have no idea what were doing or where we are going and I only know 5 words of Spanish, but Im down and Ill befriend everyone in that country with my charm” guy, he also was the perfect complement to Darren. When one would be down, the other would be up. Philip insured us of having a crazy interesting time, while Darren insured us of getting home in one piece and not getting into too much trouble.

I worked hard at trying to stuff more eggs and beans and whatever else I could scrape off of my plate into the last tortilla. Last night was great. We arrived in Laredo shortly after nightfall, all burnt out from the road. I stopped and got us a room at the first hotel that I saw that had a lounge, the Monterey Inn. All of us were tired but I convinced everyone that we should at least pop in there for at least one drink to take the edge off. That and some crown led to us exploring Laredo for the next few hours. After a few random cantinas near the border, we ended up standing in front of a mexican joint called Charlies Corona bar.

I stood outside and finished my cigarette as the others went inside. Two nice gentleman stood in the shadows and extended an olive branch to me, “What do you need, man? Green, powder, pussy?”

I thanked them for their hospitality and explained to them that the only thing that I really needed was some sleep. They laughed and asked if I was a truck driver. I said no and put out my cigarette and walked inside.

Philip and Darren had already befriended the bartender, Marco, and there were three shots of Don Julio ready for us on the bar. Damn, that was smooth. I was surprised. Philip explained to me the difference in the tequilas that I had drank in my past and what he would be ordering for me from here on out. A tejano band played in the corner and all of the people in the place dance behind us. We clapped after each song, even though none of us truly like tejano music.

Marco was determined to make sure we left Mexico with some stories, no money, and a few diseases. He told us of these places to go in Monterey for masajes(massages) where for $20 you could have your pick from a room full of naked women. We all laughed and I could sense Philip and Darren scheming something behind my back. They had girls back home. I did not. Whatever. I went out side to smoke again. New anti-smoking ordinances in Laredo.

When I came back in a few minutes later, Marco was giving out a few more pieces of advice. “Make sure that you stick it in the front, not in the back. Its Mexico, man, you have to be careful.”

I turned to Philip, “Is he telling us not to fuck anyone in the ass in Mexico?”

Philip laughed, “No, hes telling us where to carry our wallets.”

We all laughed the rest of that night. Now this. There was no way out of it. I eliminated every other idea that I had except for one, fraud. I threw it out on the table half-joking. Philip went for it, Darren rolled his eyes. The idea was to create a new original birth certificate. It was bullshit. There was no way that anyone would go for it. Philip and I schemed further. We would go to Office Depot and make a copy of his faxed copy of the copy of the copy onto a blue card stock of some sort, something just dull enough, and colored enough, and thick enough to appear somewhat official. Or at least official enough for Minnesota, where it was supposed to be from. Thats where I left it.

Philip had a few more tricks on how to manipulate it, the rest of my thoughts were on the physical aspect of the operation. We had to walk just right, and carry ourselves just right and be confident and cool, not nervous. I kept coaching Philip over and over again on what to say. The problem was he didnt speak hardly any Spanish, so at a certain point Darren had to jump in and translate for him. We went over a thousand different scenarios on our way to Office Depot. Once we got there, Philip went to town on the faxed copy with whiteout and glued pieces of paper. He made some copies on the card stock, I cut them down, and then he made some finishing touches with an ink pen. It looked pretty shitty. We were idiots. This was a felony. Darren was already trying to dismiss the whole idea.

Fuck it. We cabbed it back over to the border, bridge 2 to be exact. We walked across confidently, passports and IDs in hand. It was our last chance. Either they bought it, or Darren and I would shake hands with Philip and leave him at the border. This was ridiculous. I was having second thoughts as we walked towards the door of the immigration office. Be cool, be cool, be cool.

An older immigration official assisted a man near the door. The same guy who helped us initially, resurfaced from the back and waved us over. Fuck, this isnt good. I had hoped we would get someone different and I thought that we had waited through his shift. He smiled and recognized us. Fuck, not good.

Philip smiled, announced that he had found it and slapped it down on the counter. The man picked it up looked it over front and back, scratched at the area where the certified stamp should have been, put it back down, shrugged, smiled and said, “its good.”

What the fuck? He bought it! Excitement ran through my body. But I couldnt show it. I felt Philip gently poke my foot with his. It worked, it fucking worked! We quickly filled out a few forms and stepped outside. Be cool, be cool, be cool. We were still right in front of the door.

The late afternoon sun beat down on our heads as we walked down the streets of Nuevo Laredo. But it was a different sun, a Mexican sun, and we therefore journeyed on with jubilant grins from ear to ear.