The Moment: Getting a tooth pulled in Mexico
by Phillip Cortez

My first post and I have a swollen left jaw, blisters are forming on the inside of my left cheek from the constant rubbing from the stitches, but damnit the Vicadin soothes the pain so good, it lets me run my tongue over the small crater in my gum that used to contain a wisdom tooth twice the size of a chiclet.

Chiclets, the small pieces of gum that come in a carefully wrapped four-pack of various flavors that kids sell on the US-Mexican border, especially when you're in line waiting to cross over back to the United States.

The United States. Looking beyond the sea of red tail lights along the bridge I see that my hometown looks a lot bigger from this point of view. The rains have given the mountains a tint of emerald that sparkles when the sun creeps out from behind black rain clouds burping thunder in the skies above. Why all this rain, I think to myself.

Rain. Today it is the equalizer between two cities, two states, and two nations. For some reason, the desert land has been both blessed by the precious resource and cursed by its flooding. As crops grow, homes have been leveled, especially here in Juarez, where many families will have limited options to find refuge, leaving themselves exposed to the elements. On the U.S. side there are shelters to go to during times of tragedy, such as high school gyms and rec centers.

Rec centers. My Tuesday game may have to wait if this swelling doesn't go down, damn tooth. And that's when a child knocks on my watered-beaded window, drops of rain gather and fall on his chin in a stream. Where is this boy's shelter, I ask myself, imagining a flooded hut in the Juarez mountains somewhere. That's when I realize that my tooth doesn't hurt that bad after all.

So I buy 10 bucks worth of chiclets I'll never be able to chew right now.