STRANDED

The trees engulf us, scattering light and towering over us. We have been driving on the same empty road for about twenty minutes. Nothing surrounding us but kilometers of greenery. The radio is playing what they call "80's oldies." I am finally feeling confident behind the wheel when the car suddenly stops.

"Oh, just turn it back on and let's keep going," the instructor says to me. 

I turn the keys to the left and press on the clutch. The grey, beaten, beetle car roars at me. I try this a couple of times, and nothing. I get out of the car and stand on the deserted highway, while the instructor repeats the motion I just did. As if I'm a naive child who is unable to turn on a car. He is unsuccessful.

Great! I am stuck in the middle of nowhere, with a middle-aged man I met only three days ago.

My phone rests on my hand, open to the last person I texted, "Fernanda Piñero.” I shoot a text in desperation. “I’m kinda stuck in the middle of a random highway, I might get kidnapped! lol.” 

The text never makes it out of my phone. There is no signal. I still try again. I text, “sooooo, the car just stopped working while on my driving lessons. lol. I don’t know where I am or how I am getting out of here. AND THERE IS NO SIGNAL. but I will keep you updated on the situation even if my texts are not coming through. Anyways, pray that I am okay.” 

I look up from my screen and make eye contact with my instructor—I do not even know his name. “There is no signal here,” I say to him. He hangs up his phone call and says, “Yes, I can’t contact the agency.”

With a common understatement and without sharing any words, we start walking back the same way we came. There seems to be no other solution. 

Ten more minutes go by. I am feeling more calm. I can hear a car rounding the corner. A green taxi appears in my vision—that has to be a good sign. (In 2009 taxis in Mexico, which previously were all color green, switched to pink as an initiative to provide safer transportation for women and children. Seeing a green one is a rare sigh).

The instructor raises his hand to call the Taxi. The driver stops right in front of us, drawing a burning rubber smell from the wheels. He pulls the window down dramatically and flashes a yellow smile at us. He is wearing black-out sunglasses and a sleeveless shirt—rocking what we call a “bronceado de taxista” (when a t-shirt tan is visibly noticeable on someone's arm).

I black out the exact words that are being exchanged between my instructor and the taxi driver—I grew up with a phobia of taxis and being on them brings me anxiety. Next thing I know I am riding in the back of the cab while the two men share a friendly chat on the front seats. 

I notice how close the driver and the instructor seem. Like they knew each other beforehand this catastrophe. If I didn’t before, this is the moment where I actually believe I might get kidnapped. 

I am a pessimist. An overthinker. And realistic over irrealistic. My mind is always running the worst possible scenario. But can you blame me? Growing up in a country where 11 women are killed each day because of gender related issues (feminicides), it is hard to stay positive when taking part in scenarios such as the current. 

At this point my friend is going to get 23 texts by the time I get phone reception. If I ever get phone reception. 

I look at the window. Trees and more trees. I try to orchestrate an escape plan but I would have to run at least ten kilometers before I reach civilization. A sudden stop brings me back to reality, as my head hits the back of the seat in front of me. 

“Ramoooon!” the cab driver screams out the window.

The taxi back door opens up as a short man sits next to me. 

“Que onda carnal, me das raid de regreso?” (what's up bro, can I get a ride back?) says the new character in our car. 

Ramon is carrying a machete. That is the first thing I notice—as any reasonable human would. He is in black rain boots and gardener shorts. Sweat drips down his cheeks, after a long sunny day at work. There is no hesitation before he falls in conversation with a pair of men.

“How does everyone in this car know each other and happen to be on that empty road at the same time?” I question myself but do not dare say outloud. 

I don’t think I have ever been this quiet in my life.

The car keeps going. The wind keeps hitting the trees. I keep texting my friend. No message is leaving my phone. I keep my eyes on the machete. I am certain at any point someone is gonna jump at me and restrain my movements. Nothing happens. Conversation continues. The radio comes back on. “You Give Love A Bad Name” by Bon Jovi is ringing through the speakers. Slowly the image of the city I grew up in appears in my vision. 

We get dropped off at the nearest “X24 Supermarket.” I turn my phone on one more time. All the messages have been sent and delivered. I call my parents immediately. Ask to be picked up. They are here within fifteen minutes. I am shaking. I really believed I was going to get kidnapped today. Somehow, it was really just a serie of unfortunate events. 

I can’t believe I still have one last driving lesson to take tomorrow.