Our impossible love
By: Margie Hord De Mendez
Tags: Marriage, Love, Cross Cultural, Short Story, Creative Non Fiction

Victor Garcia (Unsplash)

As an expat student in Mexico, I often received undesired attention. My fair looks (at least fair by Mexican standards) were part of the drawing card. Then there was the legend of 70’s “free love” in northern climes; “gringas” were often thought to be “easier”… Not that I expected the latter to be a problem with my Baptist friends.

One day, at church, Refugio (better known as Cuco) introduced himself to me and stated that he’d lived in Wisconsin with an uncle for a year. He hoped I would help him practice his English. (Red lights flashed in my mind; I’d heard that one before). We may have chatted a few times.

Then it came time for me to finish my studies and move on, so I invited a few friends over for a vegetarian supper (pretty unusual at that time). It coincided with my birthday, as well. A mutual friend bumped into Cuco and asked if he was coming. Not having been invited, he offered to tag along, and as I recall was the only person to take a gift. He had gone to a nearby town that specializes in handmade pottery figures and bought a few for me as a typical souvenir of Mexico.

Ben White (Unsplash)

Several friends asked for my address in Canada before I flew north, but as I recall Cuco, whom I didn’t know that well, was the only one who wrote faithfully. His epistles were neatly written, long, and detailed. Usually there were little drawings, sometimes humorous, often showing me a place he’d been, etc.

Without a doubt, my letters spoke of steps I was taking to become a missionary and Bible translator, ideally in Mexico.

After a few months, I was surprised when a small package arrived in the mail: two cassettes. What?

Hello I’m Nik (Unsplash)

Neat printing indicated the order in which the cassettes should be listened to. The first one started out with typical mariachi music with a romantic message. What in the world? Mexicans are known for romancing with serenades outside the woman’s balcony or window, so perhaps it was a long-distance equivalent.

Next I knew, Cuco’s voice took over, speaking of how I embodied the best of both Mary and Martha, those Biblical opposites, and other such baloney. At least that’s how I felt! He didn’t know me that well, did he? Eventually he got around to proposing to me, and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry! It was hardly believable. I was a linguist and missionary candidate, planning to live in an indigenous village. He was a math lover and civil engineer, active in his city life. He was twelve years older, quite a bit shorter than me… and so on. Sure, we had a common faith, and both enjoyed writing… but that wasn’t enough! Oh yes, he was of indigenous descent, but didn’t speak the language. Still, we were members of two different cultures as well.

My reply was, as you can imagine, negative.

Gemma Evans (Unsplash)

For some time we were incommunicado. A few years later, I returned to Mexico to work and eventually visited the city where Cuco still lived. He “happened to show up” at the home where I had a meal and invited me to drop in at his business at any time in the future. Our friendship was renewed, but I made it clear that it should be only that.

Joanna Kosinska (Unsplash)

Mail was part of the renewed communication, back when phone calls were still prohibitive. Once I had to remind Cuco that I didn’t want any talk about love in his letters, and the next one that came was full of mathematical formulas: “something else I love.” Another letter was addressed to Elizabeth (my second name): “Since Margie doesn’t know if she loves me, perhaps you could tell me how she feels.” His somewhat dry sense of humor was endearing…

As we ate in a restaurant once, he wrote a graph on a napkin and asked me what were the possibilities I would someday marry him. “If it were up to me, zero percent, but because there’s a God in heaven, one percent.” He hung on to that tiny possibility!

It was difficult for me to feel that God had called me to be a missionary; I didn’t want to make a move outside his will. Yet it was special to know a man who respected me, who loved serving God in rural areas as well as the city, who would sing with me in the car, and more.

Once Cuco requested that I give him a deadline, a date by which I would again make up my mind. My reply: “By the end of the year.” But before then, I decided that my answer was again “no.” He asked me to burn any letters or gifts of his, and I stupidly obeyed… but at least the oldest letters were elsewhere.

Cullan Smith (Unsplash)

Before long, he heard I was working in a village in the boonies and seemed to be depressed, perhaps having been ditched by someone else. By hook or by crook, he found me, asking the town drunks where a “gringa” lived. Imagine my surprise when he showed up! The patient message was: “Whatever has happened, I’m still your friend.”

A couple of years after returning to Mexico, I learned that my visa would not be renewed. My faithful buddy asked: “NOW will you marry me?”

“Just as an excuse to stay in Mexico?”

“No… but think about it.”

When we got together again (living in different cities), I realized that we fit together so well. I didn’t feel the champagne bubbles I’d expected, but had come to appreciate so many aspects of that man’s steady character. Age was relative. He even kidded that since I had fairer skin, I’d get wrinkled earlier anyway. True…

As we said goodbye, he asked “that question” once more, adding_ “But promise you’ll love me more than anyone before”. A tall order! Nevertheless, my resistance melted. “With God’s help, I will.”

Only then did the feelings come.

Frans Hulet (Unsplash)

About seven years after that unusual proposal, we walked down the aisle as husband and wife.

That one percent… won.