The transition from Ecuador back to classes was rough. In Quito, everything was an adventure - taking the bus, getting a drink at a bar. Hell, even going to the grocery store was like navigating an alien world. Half of the products I couldn't recognize, let alone pronounce. Fall classes were bewildering in a different way, a more boring way. My professors droned on about covalent bonds and supply curves, while I sat in the back wondering what the hell these could be "prerequisites" for?
Mostly, I dreamed of going back. In the classes that allowed it, I pulled out my laptop and searched for plane tickets. They were expensive, but I had money saved up. I had traveled really cheaply, eating street food and staying in hostels, ten to a room. You would think that would be really uncomfortable. And you would mostly be right. The beds were made like bus stop benches, so that you didn't use them unless absolutely necessary. People snored loudly, smelled and farted. It was awkward too, to get undressed and be so vulnerable around nine other strangers. To lay there, completely helpless all night, with the blind, dumb trust that your bunkmate wasn't a serial murderer planning to cut you up and put you in his checked-baggage back home.
But there was also a weird, almost comforting intimacy in those hostels, too. If you were going to trust other people not to steal your shit or be weird in the night, that meant they trusted you too. On top of this mutual trust and uncomfortable accommodations, many a lifetime bond was built. Getting back at 2am after a long night out, or just barely escaping getting robbed and living to tell the tale. These were the stories you could tell and a complete stranger, and usually they would be interested in them.
There was also the matter of the coed-ness of the rooms. Hostels were not like dorms. Sexes were separated to prevent it. It was just what it was. If there were nine girls and a guy, so be it. Although it never really worked out that way, from my experience. Usually it was about half and half. And something about traveling lowers your guard, too. Guys are usually pretty shameless about getting undressed in front of people, but the women at these hostels were too. I would stare at the ground, or bury my face in my book, out of respect and shyness probably related to growing up in the deep south. But even without looking, they felt tangible, just out of frame. Changing out of their day's sweaty outfit, into a much lighter one that would inevitably get just as sweaty at night.
I thought about all of this as I sat in those stadium seat classes, my mouse hovering over the "Buy Now" button. But invariably, I never clicked. I couldn't just up and leave at the start of the semester. Don't get me wrong - I could do that. My professors would email once or twice but become uninterested and busy. Some school official or something would email me with a warning and then a real warning and then a final email that was actually still a secret warning if I apologized enough. People would think how cool I was too. My friends would gossip and say "Damn, Peter doesn't give a fuck!"
But these weren't the only people I was beholden to. I also had to think about my parents, who shelled out an ungodly sum for me to go here. It was the state school, sure, but I didn't get the best grades in high school so no scholarships for me. It would break their hearts if I skipped a semester or dropped out. I didn't want them thinking that all they had paid was for nothing. That I was a failure that didn't finish anything I started. So I sat through my recitations and labs and struggled to stay awake and on top of my school work.
The only silver lining on the increasingly gloomy days was texting with Maria. We had to text in Spanish because she didn't really care for English. I didn't mind, I wanted to keep my skills sharp. I would be going back soon after all.
She told me about her days and I told her about mine. They were so fundamentally different. She worked in a little cantina on the outskirts of Quito and still lived with her family - something that did not carry the stigma it does here. This was also when Quito was a bit crazy, too. The leading presidential candidate had just been assassinated, probably gangs. There were protests in the street and burning cop cars. Maria told me she marched with some of the protesters, a shirt tied around her face to keep out the pepper spray. Then at night she partied with her friends and did lines at the club.
All this felt so much more real than my own life. This was what life was supposed to be about. Seeing all this fucked up shit and sticking up your middle finger and dancing anyways. Making memories. Fighting for what you believe in. And lots. And I mean lots. Of sex. That was the thing I missed most about Maria. The language we had in common.
Instead of doing any of that, I sat in the student center, waving my hand every thirty minutes so the motion sensor lights didn't plunge me into darling, and tried to study enough to get a B in Chemistry. When I had finished - or really just reached my brain's capacity for useless information - packed my bag and walked down the concrete stairs into the crisp night. The buttery lamps around campus were blinding against the rich dark, black-blue sky. I put my hood on, head down, and walked quickly away from the student center and towards my apartment.
That was the nice thing about Quito and the annoying thing about being home. You would think that a South American city would be more violent and dangerous than good ole Raleigh, North Carolina, but it sure didn't feel that way. In Quito, I could wander around at night, a little buzzed, and feel as safe as could be, swaddled by the safety of people around me. In Raleigh, it was the silence that was scary. Walking down the streets at night, you felt like any stray eye contact could initiate an unwanted encounter. Most of the time it was harmless, but sometimes it was not. Last semester, someone had been found rolled up in carpet, like it was a goddamn Hollywood movie.
As I passed the gas station that lay on the periphery of West Campus, I heard someone call out "Hey!"
My head instinctively jerked before halted it and brought my gaze back to my feet.
"Hey! Boy!" the call sounded again against the silence of the night.
I was starting to think it was directed at me. I heard footsteps in the distance. Then a bit louder. I kept my head down and quickened my pace. My hands fumbled in my jacket pocket for my phone, not really knowing what I would do with it in an emergency. I wish I had brought that damn pepper spray my mom was always asking me to carry.
I was just crossing the threshold from a fast walk into a jog, when BAM. I collided hard with someone in front of me. I went down to the sidewalk on my right shoulder. I heard barking dogs and quickly scrambled up off the ground and threw off my hood, ready to fight.
I looked around but saw no one behind me. In front of me lay a small blonde girl, trying to wrangle two agitated pit bulls on a single, split leash.
It took me a second before I realized it was Anna.
"Holy shit, Anna?" I said. "Are you okay? Jesus, I'm so sorry, let me help you up!"
She looked up at me with those ocean blue eyes and cracked a smile.
"I know you've been thinking of me, but I didn't realize it had progressed to stalking!" she said.
"I..I..What? You think I'm stalking you??" I said, incredulously.
She tilted her head back and laughed that laugh I'd heard so many times before. I realized it was a joke.
"Ha, whatever! How do I know you weren't stalking me?" I said.
"Stalking you? I didn't even know you were back from Peru or Colombia or wherever you were."
"Quito" I said, but I knew she knew where I was. One of the first weeks I was there, she had liked my post, probably accidentally. When I clicked on the notification, it disappeared, like she had deleted it.
"Yeah, I got back before the semester. Figured I needed to be able to get back and make some money before I go back." I said.
"Here let me help you up." I grasped her hand and felt chills run through my whole body, memories of touch, holding that same hand rushed through my body. I wondered if she had felt the same way. She probably had other things on her mind, because when I want to pull her up, she yelped like a dog and grimaced, falling back on her ass and clutching her ribs.
"Jesus, are you alright?" I crouched down and took the leash from her.
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Probably just a bruise" she said. "I can see the headlines now, 'Crazed ex-boyfriend tackles defenseless girl.'" She smirked again.
I laughed, "You seem to really think I've just been pining after you, huh?"
"Haven't you?" she said.
I looked at her in the eyes, awkward, words stuck in my throat.
Her face changed to one of regret, and a bit of embarrassment. "I'm sorry, that was weird."
"No no it's fine!" I interjected. There were a couple seconds of awkward silence. She looked down at the ground, face flush. "Here let me try that again." I crouched down and put her left arm over my shoulder, gripped her gently around the waist and lifted her up slowly.
"Is that alright?" I asked. She nodded her head. "Maybe I can walk you back to your place?" I said.
"Sure," she replied. "I live just two blocks that way," she pointed towards further West.
I set a slow pace, partially because I didn't want to hurt her, but also because it felt natural, having her body puzzled into mine again.
"Who are these guys?" I said, referencing the two lovable monsters attached to my wrist.
"Those guys are Marge and Judy," she said.
"Marge and Judy" I chuckled, "Of course you would name them that."
"I didn't name them!" she said. "I'm just fostering them for a while, they already had those names. Although I wish they were mine."
The dogs looked up at her excitedly when she pitched her voice.
"I would have never pegged you for a dog girl," I said.
"Well you never let me peg you!" she said, joking.
"Jesus! You will never let me live that down, sorry I'm just not into that!" I said.
We got back to her condo building and rode the elevator up ten stories to her floor. I was still supporting her weight as we hobbled to the door. She slid the keys in the lock. Neither of us even pretended to say goodbye. I walked her inside and unhooked the dogs, who ran straight to their beds in the living room.
