So I just passed the Costa Rican border and now I am officially traveling alone.
A group of handsome, young German travelers are seated behind me, or rather, I am seated in front of them; I spotted them right away when I walked onto the bus, they took up the entire last row. I hate to say it but because they were white I moved nearer to them. Perhaps I felt that with them I’d have a better chance at common language. But truth is, sitting here, I feel safer. When I left Nica this morning, it was a rush to catch the chicken bus into town. Before I even reached the Café the bus was already in motion towards San Juan. I skipped out on my beach bar tab and jumped in back, the motor running.
I don’t feel too bad though because after all, my BODY is worth far more than the small tab I had accumulated, the largest percentage of which from the night I sat in my long slinky red “beach ball gown,” as a new friend had described it. Just a simple Jersey sheath that clung to every curve. I waited that night for El Chico who wouldn’t show up for hours. Starving, I ate; disheartened, I drank.
I had been so excited for our dinner date. “We’ll meet here at 7,” he said, “I’ll bring the car. We’ll go somewhere.” And, Somewhere sounded like Heaven.
I was all so excited because until now, I hadn’t been entirely myself around him. I’m normally funnier, I would think while I’m with him. I simply I cannot stop looking at his face. His eyes made me nervous, how deeply he looked into me; he was so gorgeous.
I’ll admit I was late, 7:10-7:15, but soon it was 7:30, then quarter to 8. He wasn’t just late, he wasn’t coming.
At 8:30 I received an email by way of one of the waiters. “Jefe” was in el hospital…
When he got to the café, his middle finger bleeding through a thick bandage, I was not the only chica waiting, wanting to to kiss his wounds better. Same surfer chick from the other night, though not Australian, she’s from Holland.
He had not introduced us and I wonder, had he, would he have said, “Tonight, meet Tomorrow.” She went home. Then he went home. But they may as well have left together.
I have been under, on and around the bush enough to know that my connection with El Surfista does not come often. Even in love, our chemistry is rare. I doubt they have got it, though why not wish it for her too?
As for me, I’m alone on a bus to Liberia. Another chapter of my awesome adventure.
I have no flight home.
BODY BY BIANCA 