Lessons in Pure Life Read online

  “If you take a hike first and then go to the spa later, you have to show your ticket at the front desk to get a pass to the pools. Then you can finally rest your muscles in the hot springs!” She claps her hands. “And now that’s where I want to be.”

  Genesis gets a rare, goofy expression on her face and raises her eyebrows up and down at me and the other teachers with a Christmas-morning grin. I can see her childhood self peeking out, a motivated teenager with attitude. She was probably on every team and committee in high school.

  “Any questions?”

  Nope. She waves happily as she passes me on her way and leans in like she’s going to give me a kiss. For a second I’m afraid she’ll say something about staying away from her brother.

  “Mama needs a fucking day off. I’m going to go take a bath. Have fun, Tica.”

  “You too. You deserve it.”

  “And you. Don’t forget that.” A stern look, like she’s trying to scare me out of overexerting myself.

  “I know, I know. But how could I not want to go exploring? I’ll find you in the spa later.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  Genesis walks off toward the facility building and change rooms, and I see Katherine jog to catch up with her. A trail of other teachers follows behind Kat.

  I hadn’t really thought about it geologically, this volcanic forest hot-spring land, but I feel a tug of curiosity. I remember this feeling, the desire to learn. Haven’t had that since my Integral Philosophy class.

  The volcano isn’t what I pictured – no glowing orange lava dripping down the side of a colossal upside-down funnel. Instead, I see a hilly, deciduous landscape. At first glance it looks like it could be a provincial park anywhere in North America, but the further I scan, the more I notice colors and shapes that make me double-take. Bark on the trees like elephant skin. A slight haze with a smoky-humid odor. Screechy whining that makes me turn sharply. People are lining up to fill their water bottles at a squeaky manual pump tapped to a natural spring.

  “There’s no canteen; get water here,” calls an older teacher with a strong French accent, waving like an official. I think her name is Huguette. She catches my eye and I wave to her. Her eyes glaze over and she turns back to calling out news to no one in particular. Whatever, lady.

  Outside my little group of friends, there are some odd characters on the faculty, and I wonder how fit they are to be role models for young people. We were all willing to pack it up and start again in a new place, and wondering where everyone comes from is kinda depressing. A few of the teachers I’ve met give off a kind of wacky vibe, or seem like they’re escaping something, their edges still raw like broken glass. Maybe I’m no different.

  Then again, there goes Huguette, wandering into the empty parking lot. Mustn’t get stuck with her today.

  I look around for someone familiar. Diego’s talking with Jose a few paces away, and I wonder what their plans are. Katherine and Genesis are gone and good company is thinning out. I really don’t want to get left alone, but the idea of inviting myself along with the guys is way out of my comfort zone. What would we talk about? School? Diego said I owed him, but I couldn’t say what that means.

  Jose catches sight of me hanging around like a hopeful new kid. He raises his hand in greeting and nudges Diego, who stops talking when he sees me waving back. I wander over to them, forcing a grin. They look down at me as though I’m a curious test specimen.

  “You’re on your own, Lia,” Jose observes conversationally.

  “Yeah, my friends prefer the mud bath.”

  “Not you?”

  “It sounds cool, but I came to move around, not sit still.”

  Diego looks mildly impressed but doesn’t say anything.

  “You should join us,” offers Jose, man of the people.

  Mission accomplished.

  “Thanks. What are you guys gonna do?” I ask, inwardly stoked. This is happening.

  “Not the easy trail,” Diego warns sternly.

  “Cabrón. Don’t listen to him, Lia.” Jose shoves Diego, who chuckles sheepishly. “You’re our guest. What do you want to see? Animals? Lagunas?”

  My short burst of confidence falters; physically, they are so much larger than me, especially Diego. I haven’t really been in a situation where I’m outnumbered by guys here, and it’s new to be flanked by these strong, handsome companions. Exciting. Frightening.

  “I want to hike to a waterfall pool. It’s one of the things that made me want to come here in the first place.”

  Diego smiles, approval seeping out. “You want a cascada? Go to Laguna Esmeralda.”

  “Yeah, it’s very beautiful. The water is, like, crystal green,” agrees Jose.

  “Aguamarina,” Diego says, nodding.

  “Well, what are you guys doing?” I ask again. “That sounds perfect, but I’m not going to go into the forest by myself.”

  “That’s a good trail. We can take you, if you want.”

  “Yeah?”

  I glance back and forth at the two of them. Diego is looking off into the trees, but Jose nods, stepping beside me and gesturing to the path. We start off, heading uphill.

  Violins zing inside me as I move with them like I’m part of the pack. Can’t believe I’m just hanging out with them, just like normal friends do. I’ve always been able to get along with most people easily, but there’s something that seems unreachable about them. Like I’m the outsider, decidedly not part of the in-crowd. And, perhaps that habit ought to die.

  The realization that they haven’t simply gotten used to me but have accepted me as a friend despite my foreignness is novel. I suppose it’s logical that as I’ve been getting used to life in Costa Rica, so has life in Costa Rica been getting used to me. My social position has changed without my noticing, the same way you don’t notice your hair growing until it’s an inch longer. I’m still an outsider, but I’m part of the group. I’m Ponyboy.

  “Heh,” I laugh to myself.

  “What is it?” Jose asks, already open to a joke he wouldn’t get.

  “I just thought of a book we read in school when I was young. But really, I’m just happy.” I twist my neck to look up at him, to show that I’m genuine. “I really like it here. My life has changed so much.”

  I’m almost whispering the last words. It’s gotten quiet now that we’re away from everyone. He touches his heart and gazes down at me, his mouth closed for once. I’ve never seen him serious. His silvery sunglasses reflect a miniature version of what he must see: the wide mouth of the park entrance, the parking lot in the distance, the steepening hill, and me looking up at him.

  For the first time, it seems, I’m appropriately dressed for what I’m doing, in black hot-yoga shorts and a red athletic tank top with skinny straps that criss-cross in the back. Sounds weird, but I feel more energized when I wear red, like I’m on my way to headline at Madison Square Garden.

  “We take care of each other here,” Jose says.

  “I feel it.”

  I don’t know what else to say, or how to communicate how much that means to me, so I touch my heart too. It’s the same acceptance Diego offered earlier – taking care of me, as I would him or anyone else. And maybe I read more sexuality into what was actually an attempt to include me. Regardless, and without entirely understanding it, I’ve become part of a community.

  If I were Super Mario, I’d have just passed a level. Bee-oop.

  Jose, Diego, and I tromp up the molten mountain like we’re Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Maybe a better comparison would be me as Dorothy so far from home, Jose as the friendly scarecrow, and Diego as the lion, of course. But some kind of Emerald City lion; not very cowardly, but sometimes fierce. Always and undeniably king, though. I felt his majesty when he touched me, the sparks he gave off. Whatever it was, I’m thankful.

  “We know this place very well,” Jose says. “It’s a tourist attraction for sure, but for Ticos it’s another part of home, you know? It’s a sweet park. The land sta
ys natural. We make sure it stays that way.”

  “That’s so mature. I admire your attitude. I don’t think people back home care enough about their environment.”

  “Really?”

  We’ve reached the edge of the glade, and as we enter, the world changes from dusty hot to juicy cool.

  Diego is a few paces ahead of us but well within hearing range because it’s so peaceful in here, a tomb teeming with life. It’s surreal, going off into the wild with two experienced guides born and bred here. It also gives me the chance to examine the way Diego moves in his natural habitat, like he’s a panther in black jersey shorts and a white t-shirt that fits soft and snug. His hair is grown-out surf shag, a silky mane that he pulls off his neck, secured by an elastic. When he turns around, I’m stunned by the way his cheekbones stand out even more now with the hair pulled away from his face. He’s a sleek fox, a forest dweller watching us keenly.

  Diego leads us past a pole with worn, wooden direction signs. ESMERALDA is where we’re heading and at a good clip – I’m a little more out of breath than I’d like to be, and it’s hard to hide it. I grab the chewy plastic straw of my CamelBak bag and stick it between my molars, taking little sips to cool down.

  The path is made of dark earth and roots easily tripped on. I have to keep stopping to touch the trees, the widest I’ve ever seen and covered with a smooth bark that seems to drape over their bones. I can’t see to the top of them no matter how far back I crane my neck. It’s crazy how different they are from anything I’m used to, and how casually Diego and Jose look at them, respectful but familiar.

  Jose takes my picture in front of the biggest tree we’ve seen, my arms outstretched to show I couldn’t reach across it if I tried. Diego waits with his arms crossed as his friend humors the turista.

  “Come on. We should keep moving,” he calls. “Gringa, drink some water.”

  Adult concern flatters Diego’s stern features. Hints at a sense of responsibility. I oblige, sucking a few more gulps of water. It’s already warm.

  We trek on. My running shoes bounce lightly with each step. The wood is cool despite the humidity, mostly sheltered from the sun. The air is cleaner, purer here than in Pacifica.

  After a long, quiet stretch, I check my phone. Thirty minutes have passed since we left the big tree. We’re getting into it now. Although a forest could be any forest, something is marvelously and terribly foreign. I’m the farthest I’ve been yet, deepest into my adventure in this jungle-forest-volcano with two boys I’ve only known a few weeks.

  “I’m really far from home, aren’t I?” I mutter out loud, more to myself.

  Jose tunes into me, bare eyes sensitive and dark.

  “You’re okay?”

  “Yeah. It just startled me for a moment. It’s so beautiful and rich. The opposite of where I come from, at least this time of year.”

  I’m not sure why, but even as I’m reflecting on positive stuff, my mind is spiraling at the differentiation between my old life and this new one. I’ve really done it. How is it that I’m all hot, sticky, and empowered, but inside I’m chilled with the sensation of hurtling through space alone? I’m tethered to nothing. It’s terrifying.

  “Tell me what you do when it snows. You go snowboarding?” Jose wonders. Diego is curious too, glancing back.

  “Sure. Or skiing, or sledding.”

  Any other time I could talk for hours about home, but I need to focus on keeping my breath steady. A sickly and nauseating feeling of homesickness slides around greenly.

  “What else?” he prompts.

  Why can’t I just enjoy this? Chaos quakes internally, but I don’t want to deal with the embarrassment of having a meltdown, so I force out an awkward response.

  “Every so often it seems like I stepped out of one life and into another,” I begin, knowing it doesn’t follow the conversation.

  “Qué dijo ella?” I hear Diego’s blunt question all foggy, broadcast on an old-time radio. What am I saying?

  “My sense of time feels off, or something.”

  Jose is looking from me to Diego, who’s stopped in front of a long suspended walking bridge, concern lapping at the edges of his expression. He can see it in me, that something isn’t right. I can’t hide it.

  His eyebrows raise in question, and he takes a hesitating step toward me, unsure.

  “Necesita comer,” says Jose evenly, gesturing to me with a twitch of his head.

  With perfect timing, I twist my body quickly to turn away from them, tripping over a root that’s sticking out of the ground obnoxiously. Teetering forward, I make one of those recoveries that seem worse than actually falling because of the wild flailing involved.

  “Whoa.” Diego lunges for me, sliding his hand around my lower back and holding his other hand out in front of me in case I’m going to topple over. It’s the second time he’s caught me as I’ve gone flying. Different environment, same quick instinct. How oddly familiar. I’m normally less wobbly, not prone to sudden lurches or calamitous missteps. Is this psychological jet lag or something? Maybe I’m still clad in traces of another timeline.

  I glance at him, seeking confirmation that he recognizes it too. He’s done the same to me. One of those times where you don’t say it, but there’s no doubt you’re thinking the same thing. This moment, again.

  “I’m okay, seriously.” I straighten up. “I just wasn’t watching where I was going.”

  Neither of them believes me. My face is pulsing with a blush, and I do not feel cool. My throat feels all swollen and fuzzy. Oh god. Am I going to cry?

  “Actually, I guess I do feel a little weird,” I admit.

  I’m realize what’s happening now: I’ve over-thought myself into a little panic attack, which is why my heart is racing and I feel like my blood has turned from lava to blue-raspberry Slushee. I know from experience that it’ll pass, but it still frightens me. Takes me back to colder, darker parts of my past. They’re jarring every time.

  It’s nowhere near as bad as it was, after Carter. From the time I got out of the hospital with minor physical injuries, I couldn’t sleep or eat for eleven days. The panic was raw as a blade and turned my mind into spinning tops, thought arcs whirling out of control, hinting at the outer edge of madness.

  Panic made me understand how a person could descend into darkness so thick it could only end with total extinguishment.

  This is not what I want to be thinking about.

  I realize I’ve shut my eyes tightly, and when I open them, the guys are on either side of me. We’re an unlikely Christmas card: crème brûlée guardian angels with wings folded into obscurity, aiding the tiny human girl. Ángeles santos.

  “You need to eat some fruit. Sit.”

  Diego is smooth and steady, his hand pressing against my back until I’m comfortably seated on a cushion of velvety moss. I sip my lukewarm water and open my palm when Jose passes me a container of watermelon.

  The fruit is cool and wet in my hands, sweet and satisfying on my tongue. Diego peels an orange calmly, gazing up at me in regular intervals. I put the smooth, tie-dye-green rind of the melon down, and he passes me half an orange. I hesitate and he nods, eyes hinting at tenderness.

  When our fingers brush I feel a charge like static electricity, even though I know it can’t be possible in this humidity. He’s espresso; he jolts me. The citrus is deliciously sour. Something about the smell of the peel calms me.

  “Thanks, you guys. I’m feeling better already. Sorry that was so weird.”

  Jose is relieved. “It’s probably very overwhelming for you still. A lot of changes are taking place.”

  Simplistic, but it sums it all up. I agree wordlessly with my mouth full of naranja, swallowing a big pulpy gulp. Relief increases. Starting to feel more like me, again.

  We pass snacks around, nuts and cassava chips. My fingers feel swollen from the heat and sticky from the fruit as I fish around in a bag of cashews I brought. I pour a little water on my fingers and wipe them on my
backpack. I like that boys don’t seem to care about that stuff, getting messy, eating with our asses flat on the earth.

  After about a quarter hour goes by, Jose checks his watch.

  “You guys ready?”

  “Casi. I’m still finishing.”

  “I want to get going up the main trail.”

  “Por qué? What’s your hurry?” asks Diego suspiciously.

  “I said I would meet some students.”

  He looks a little too blasé, the way he says it. I want to sing, “Jose loves Katherine! Jose loves Katherine!” but I guess Diego still doesn’t know. Or he does, but Jose doesn’t know that I know, or something.

  Diego rolls his eyes and heaves himself up. As an afterthought he holds his hand out behind him, not turning around, but I know it’s for me. I grab it and pull myself up neatly, dusting debris from my butt. I’m back in the game. This vibrant world is so green I feel I’m wandering in something alive.

  Was I always going to wind up here somehow, no matter what?

  The panic is gone, but I feel the aftershock in little jittery zaps. I’m left feeling antsy and restless. Maybe it’s the food kicking in, or the adrenaline converting to something my body can use more efficiently, but either way I’m ready to move.

  The bridge jangles and sways as we clomp across it, but I don’t mind. I feel better than when we started. I’ve lost that hollow feeling in my limbs and a good mood is brewing.

  We trek the next mile in silence, the trail going from flat and shaded to rocky and windy. Jose checks up on me every now and again, but I assure him I’m doing well. I’ve been watching Diego from behind, his shirt caught up under his backpack so the slope of his lower spine shows. It glistens with sweat. As the breeze picks up I realize I’m covered in it too, the air chilling my wet skin.

  Behind me, Jose has been singing the same few lines of some radio song over and over again, the tune in his head. It’s annoying and catchy. When our trail takes a hairpin turn and we come to a clearing, he stops. The main trail connects here, and I don’t know what’s next.