Based On A True Story
“Love is never lost, nor found”
Loren Ross – Author, Human, Aspiring Cult Leader
Despite being here a week the dry heat still bothered her. She remained acutely aware of every bead of sweat gathering, and then falling from her jawline.
While she despised the heat, she clung to the faith that she needed to be here.
Amidst the blistering mid-day sun, she was having difficulty remembering why she came.
What was her reason? What was the reason for any of this?
She felt as though life had come and gone already, she was still breathing, but the geyser of energy she had in her youth had faded to a trickle.
Her emotions and mind had mellowed to the point where she could barely recognize herself.
Sure, the extreme lows of her youth were gone now, but so were the highs. The joie de vivre that catapulted her out of bed and out the front door every morning was gone, without a trace.
Her mind was calm now, her life had become peaceful.
Painfully peaceful.
“Hola??? Que quieres??”
She was sucked back to earth with this insistence from the staff.
Yes! That’s why she’s here. To get a moped, let’s focus on that she tells herself.
Be present.
She stumbles through broken Spanish amidst the deafening backdrop of cicadas vibrating.
Her husband was waiting for her at the hotel. She’s here to rent a moped so they can explore the coastline.
She’s going to fall in love with him again.
When they met at University she was certain he was the one.
They used to lose track of how many times they made love in that sweltering dorm room. Staring into his eyes, those nights were the only havens of spirituality she had, the only religion she would ever need.
Like the rest of her youth, looking back now it seemed like a different life.
His once-inspiring appearance had softened with age. The admiration she used to receive about him from friends and family became sparse, until eventually drying up altogether.
They were both getting older, and every year life took more and more from them.
They were never into serious drugs but the years of staying up until 3 am drinking on a weeknight had begun to catch up.
You could hear it in the creaks of their joints when waking up, in the moans while arising after sitting too long, in the patchwork of lines around their eyes and forehead.
Where the hell had that transcendent love gone? Could this exotic trip bring it back?
Even while asking the question, she sensed a cold stillness in her chest, telling her she already knew the answer.
It’s gone
“Aqui son las llaves” the cold metal touching her palm teleported her back to earth.
Yes, the mission, the purpose, stay present.
Let’s enjoy this trip, not get lost in melancholic thoughts.
While swinging her right leg over the machine something catches her eye.
A young man cruises slowly past on a mint green moped.
His eyes – penetrated her with an intense, yet comforting stare.
In an instant her mind is wiped clean, her intellect completely silenced.
She noticed something foreign, a warmth building at the bottom of her stomach.
He slowly rotates his neck to maintain the connection while driving away.
Her eyes involuntarily locked on his.
Out of her periphery, she could see two firm, porcelain butt cheeks peeking through the bottom of his speedo and the top of his red velvet leather seat.
This magnified the shock waves taking over her body, flowing from between her legs, to each follicle of her hair.
She gets slapped by a wall of wind and exhaust. A truck behind him rampages down the road.
He’s gone.
It takes her a couple of minutes to compose herself.
Should she feel guilty about this?
“No. Everything’s fine.”
She lets out a sigh and drives off.
The “romantic” weekend riding alongside golden cliffs and dark blue water felt dull.
She tried to outrun the cold realization, she had spent thousands, come halfway across the world, and she might as well be back home, in the dark hell of winter.
But at least the weekend’s over now.
She had another task, something to focus her mind on. Time to return the vehicle.
The road curved along the picturesque backdrop. She struggled to find a reason why she shouldn’t torque the acceleration back and drive right off one of the cliffs.
She wakes up back at the rental shop.
Like an ant marching back to its hill, she returned the moped not out of will, but impulse.
She strained to understand what the owner was telling her.
Something about a man and a phone number, then he handed her a piece of paper, and waved her goodbye.
It was a phone number and not a Mexican phone number. It looked like an American phone number.
A flash of energy shot through her body as she remembered him and the mint green moped.
It must be his number.
Before realizing it, she was hastily composing a message.
And he replied
She struggled through the messages, relying largely on translating apps.
While she loved studying English, she was never very good at having a conversation. Now that she hadn’t spoken it in years, she struggled to find even the most basic vocabulary.
Normally she hated struggling through small talk in a foreign language, but this surface-level conversation was enveloping her.
A stream of messages pops up, one reads
“Do want to go to a cafe? I found a great place, right on the coastline”
The excitement possessed her.
“Yes!”
She waits anxiously at the cafe.
Finally, she sees him walking through the veranda. Like an acid flashback, the warmth comes flooding over her.
He sat down across from her.
Her heart feigned to drown in this ecstasy. But her mind wrenched her out.
“I’m sorry”
She bolted up so quickly that the seat nearly fell behind her.
“I c-c-can’t” She stammered
Like the last gasp of air before surrendering to death, her hand reached out to his.
They touched.
Their arms remaining reached out to one another, while she walked away
Communicating with their eyes they both knew.
We will never meet again.
This is based on a true story recounted to me by a friend, the young man with the mint green moped. Very little is known about the woman. All of what was told about the details of her life were conjectured in the pursuit of artistic expression, or perhaps a striving to create meaning out of chaos.
Stay sexy brah
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