Lessons in Pure Life Read online

  School was closed all week. I’m sure Genesis isn’t happy about it. I thought she might be there, working on a Saturday, since she’d sent an email promising class would start again on Monday. I had some translation work to submit to her and was hoping she’d have a check ready for me. No luck; the place was empty. A sliver of disappointment crept through my don’t-care attitude when I turned into the school yard and saw that Diego’s motorcycle wasn’t parked outside. Not that it would be.

  Almost a whole week has gone by, and blocking him out of my brain isn’t working. He’s like a virus. I don’t know what to think anymore, and I’d rather be thinking about something else altogether. I’m caught between a slow kiss and a suspicious mind. Monday was such a bust.

  The weekend is searing hot already, hotter than usual for mid-morning.

  Beeep.

  I veer farther away from the road to show I’m not interested.

  Beep beeep.

  “No!” I yell, raising my hands to my ears without turning around.

  Leave me alone, idiot! I stop and look back to try to get a glimpse at the license plate so I can report him. I’m surprised to see that it’s a silver Mercedes with unusually dark tinted windows. The driver’s face is obscured by the sun’s glare on the windshield. It’s enough to creep me out when I realize he’s actually pulling over toward me and bringing the car to a halt. I start to back away, thinking I could run over to Bimbo and his friend before this psychopath grabs me. I feel something hard dig into my palm and realize I’m gripping my keys defensively so that pokey parts fan out in front of me.

  The car pulls right up beside me. Even though I want to take off on my brilliant plan to be rescued by an unwitting Bimbo, I’m frozen. Mostly it’s panic, but a tiny part is curiosity. My doppelganger, Evil Twin Lia, stares back at me in the reflective glass. She looks a little wild, hair falling out of a loose bun, animal eyes and an odd weapon.

  There’s a high-pitched buzz as the window rolls down smoothly. A cold wave of fear rolls through my chest.

  “Your keys won’t work in this car, gringa. Besides, I’ve already got a set right here in the ignition,” Diego says, deadpan.

  “Jesus,” I say, exasperated but relieved I’m not being kidnapped. “It’s you.”

  A week ago I would have been too stud-struck to do anything but stumble into the car with him. Now I feel… emptiness. He is painfully gorgeous in a white undershirt, but I don’t feel all soft and achy. From the chain around his neck, his ring reflects the sun.

  “I came to find you,” he says, like he’s revealing a great truth.

  I eye him suspiciously in the shiny car. Cool air wafts from the open window.

  “How many vehicles does a person need?”

  The sun feels especially hot on my ears. Dust itches my neck, and a swim dangles in my future. Oh, how I want to feel that a/c. His face breaks into a wide grin before he stops it and covers his mouth with one hand, apologetic.

  “You can put your weapon down, officer,” he quips, nodding at my ninja keys. I drop my hand and toss them into my bag.

  “You freaked me out with all that honking. Where I come from, that’s really obnoxious.”

  He winces. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  On the one hand, I want nothing to do with him. He’s probably thinking about Elsa’s assless shorts right now. On the other hand, the roadside air stinks like exhaust and garbage, I forgot my hat, and I’m hot and cranky.

  “Are you going to give me a ride or what?”

  “Yeah, yeah absolutely. Please, come in.”

  He reaches across and opens the passenger door from the inside, then turns up the air. I step in neatly, cross my ankles away from him, and shut the door. I may as well have sealed a space shuttle: it’s a whole different environment in here, with a black leather interior, sleek digital dashboard, and deliciously cool air blowing in my face. Taking a deep breath of filtered air, I pull my elastic out of my failed hairdo, shake my hair out, and then coil it up tightly in one fist so I can expose my neck. No fucks are given during this rapturous moment of cooling down. Eyelids shut. It feels so good, like I’m all alone at the bottom of the ocean and nothing can touch me.

  “Okay, I’m ready,” I say softly.

  I open my eyes and give Diego a sidelong glance. He’s looking at me with a clenched jaw, little muscles flickering on and off, but otherwise it’s that same, uncomprehending look he’s normally got. Turning away and staring straight ahead, he shifts gears, and my body is gently thrust back into the seat as we accelerate.

  “Do you have anything to drink?”

  He laughs. “Check the glove compartment.”

  Following these instructions, I find two bottles of spring water. I remove one and crack it open.

  “So—”

  “I—”

  “I don’t even know what I could say to you, really, so you go first,” I tell him honestly.

  “Okay,” he says slowly. “Can I take you to eat?”

  “Actually, I’m going to go swimming at my building.” Sticking to my guns like a boss.

  “At your building? Why would you swim there?”

  “Because it’s a thousand degrees out.”

  “Yeah, but you came all the way to Central America. You should swim in the ocean.”

  “Diego…”

  “Hey, let’s stop up here. I’ll find something to make you more comfortable.”

  “What? Where?” I don’t want to get out. I don’t want to leave this air-conditioned capsule.

  “Come on.”

  With a sigh and a mind to tell him off, I get out of the car and follow him into a thatch-roofed house. On the inside there’s a long bar on one side of the room and a few tables scattered around on the smooth clay tile. Two fans swirl at a decent clip above us, only about six inches from Diego’s head. He approaches the bar and shakes hands with the guy behind it, who looks beyond him at me shyly. They discuss something I’m not paying attention to, and he motions for us to follow him outside through a back door.

  The thatch roofing continues over the outside of the house, acting as a shelter and shade. Three sides of the patio are covered in bright green vines. Potted plants sit strategically in a pleasing arrangement, and a pitter-pattering fountain gurgles in one corner. Three tables with red-and-white-striped cloths sit in the shade, plastic cups and napkin rolls piled in the center of each.

  “Esteban is going to bring a pitcher of batido de sandía and some plantain. Do you like that?”

  “Yes,” I respond quickly. Icy-sweet, fresh blended watermelon is the most thirst-quenching drink.

  “Sit with me?” He gestures to the tables, and I pick one without hesitating. It’s cool and comfortable here, and there’s a gentle wind fluttering through my hair and in my dress.

  I pull out a padded chair, and it scrapes on the deck. Sitting down in the squishy seat, protected from the sun, I do feel better. Esteban comes out with a pitcher of pink drink and two frosty glasses that have already begun to condense in the heat. Diego places both hands behind his head, biceps cozying up to his ears. After staring straight ahead for a while as I pour our drinks and take a few sensational gulps of mine, he looks at me until it’s awkward.

  “You have to say something soon.”

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” He sighs heavily and leans forward onto the table, looking up at me like he’s strategizing. “I’m not sure how I’m going to say this.”

  My stomach fills with bad-news acid, and I must be expressing this unsettled feeling.

  “Don’t look like that; it’s nothing bad. I just want to find the right words.”

  “It would be great if you could find them.”

  He nods, peering up at me. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for days. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  A thread dangles from my resolve, but he hasn’t unraveled me.

  “You must think I’m so irresponsible,” he continues. “You have to understand, I
would never put a student in danger if I thought there was a real threat. But Genesis told me it doesn’t matter, and that it takes power away from the teacher if I give your students other responsibilities. Or something. Maybe you can explain it to me. I’m sorry if I took away your power. I mean, not the actual power. I’m sorry for that too.”

  “Diego, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Letting Elsa fix the power. Isn’t that why you’re angry?”

  “Are you sure that’s all she helped you with?” I say bitterly.

  His expression changes from apologetic confusion to genuine concern. “Lia, what do you mean?”

  “Come on. Her shirt was slipping off her shoulder, you were in the dark, alone together, in the basement. You and this teenager.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” I retort. Can’t believe he’s making me say it.

  “You think I was messing around with Elsa?” He leans forward, incredulity painted on his face.

  “That’s what it looked like.”

  He shakes his head and closes his eyes, then places a heavy hand over mine on the table. When he opens his eyes, they are calm, and he looks at me with compassion.

  “Elsa is my cousin.”

  Silence.

  “Her father, my Tio Jorge, is an electrical engineer. He was the first person in the building when we started renovating, to inspect and repair for us. She works for him sometimes. Elsa’s really smart. She knows more than I do about electrical.”

  Elsa is really smart. I sit still, waiting to know what to say.

  “I can’t tell you enough that I’m not interested in some teenage girl, especially not one I’m related to. I’ve changed her diapers, you know. She’s like one of my sisters. We’re all family around here, trust me.” He rolls his eyes.

  “But what were you doing there?”

  “Fixing the fuse! What were you doing there?”

  “Uh…”

  “I thought you were angry with me because of the risk that she could have been electrocuted or something.”

  “Oh…”

  “I promised Genesis I would take this project seriously and treat the students and teachers with respect for their education. She really wants it to work, to be professional. It’s important to her.”

  “Yeah.”

  “If a student – especially someone so young – gets hurt, it will fuck up her career.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you? Do you believe me that I don’t want to hook up with my cousin? Because you don’t look convinced.”

  “She’s really your cousin?”

  “Yes, gringa.” He squeezes my hand but I let it sit there, limp, as I process this new scenario.

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, ‘oh.’”

  “So you can’t stop thinking about me because you thought I was angry about the other day?”

  He stares at me for a second and then slides his chair closer to me so we’re close enough to touch easily.

  “Well, that. And I thought maybe you were upset because we didn’t get a chance to talk this week. Saturday was… unusual for me. I had so much fun with you. On Monday I wanted to talk, of course, but I had to work with the contractor in the morning, and then you know how that day went. I was saving your classroom until last, you know. It was my mistake. I should have come early to make sure I got to see your face. I like being in the room when you’re teaching. Working there without you is boring. And frustrating. You’re playing in my head on repeat.”

  Charming as hell, this one.

  With the rot of hurt and confusion aired out, something has begun to burn deep inside me. What feels like a clenched fist at the base of my esophagus relaxes for the first time in days. My day went from banal to exciting so quickly that I can still feel the dregs of bad feeling washing away. But they’re diminishing.

  I smile apologetically at this carved-out man beside me and rotate the hand that’s resting under his so that our palms are touching. I feel I can give him that much after the misunderstanding.

  He lights up to my touch and leans his head to the side, resting it on the chair and facing me, eyes warm and giving. It’s rugged-man meets emotive-man, with an air about him that fills me with sparks. It’s the most wonderful feeling.

  “So, you’re free today?” he says, raising an eyebrow playfully.

  “That’s right.”

  He pulls my hand into his lap, running the pads of his fingers over my fingernails and tracing the dim, blue veins under my skin. Like the Hoover Dam slowly crumbling until water comes gushing over like a supernatural force, I let the judgments and false beliefs fall away. The force of Diego’s honesty and his accent shimmering over the words he’s put together so well are no longer something to dodge. I may as well try to block out the sun.

  “Want to hang out with me?” he asks, suddenly bashful.

  I can see him as a sweet but sarcastic teenager asking a girl on a date for the first time, feeling as awkward as the nerdiest guy in class despite his outward appearance. Maybe he wore a basketball jersey or soccer cleats, a gym bag slung over his shoulder and his Adam’s apple bobbing as he shyly asked his crush to his game. The girl would have felt dizzy, nervous to be chosen by the cutest guy in school who at once seemed so confident and masculine, yet proved to be disarmingly soft-spoken, patient, and intelligent.

  I’m nodding, and he grins.

  “Do you still want to go swimming?”

  I haven’t been to the water with Diego since Arenal, and I imagine it will be a very different scenario.

  “Definitely.”

  “Okay, I’ll take you to my favorite beach for swimming. It’s got black sand; you’ll like it.”

  “Really?” I start to feel genuinely excited, my sense of adventure prickling.

  “Really. You need your bathing suit and towel. I’ll get some water from Esteban and then we’ll go.”

  In the time it takes for me to grab my suit and towel, I’ve only sort of registered what’s happening. Frantic thoughts flow through my mind steadily. What have I got myself into? Thank god I’ve been keeping up with my eight-minute abs on YouTube. I’m still self-conscious.

  When I jog through the gate and come to a halt around the corner, Diego’s waiting for me with his spare motorcycle helmet in hand.

  “It’s better to take the bike,” he says simply.

  “You’re nuts. Where did that come from?”

  “The garage at school. I have hiding places everywhere. Come on, let’s go.” He nods at the road, expression sweet and open.

  I knot up my long dress, jam the helmet on, and climb aboard, stoked to have another ride. Here comes the adrenaline. A cold wave of uncertainty laps at my ankles, but I ignore it. Life is more fun when I say yes. It isn’t that I’m not afraid – I am. But I’m doing it anyway.

  16

  The morning is perfect when it’s whipping by sweet and fresh, still blooming. Sweetness in the air I didn’t notice on foot. A few thin clouds hang low in the distance, but otherwise the sky is a hazy, pale blue.

  The engine rumbles beneath me, and my thighs clench the body of the bike as Diego accelerates. Our hips pull forward together with momentum, and I wrap myself around him like we’re lovers time forgot.

  We ride the dirt road in this embrace past fields of melon, pineapple, sugarcane. Cows grazing on dry grass. Small huts here and there are homes with faded rainbows of laundry drying on lines and one-room retailers selling tortillas, pottery, mango-wood crafts, and fried chicken. Every abode is a little different than the other, separated by fields of coffee trees covered in red cherries. Beans roasting cut the air with their sharp fragrance, stirring memories of early mornings on campus and sunny Sunday brunch with my girlfriends.

  In these small, rural communities there are no mini-malls or box stores. Actually, there’s an American housewares store just up the highway, but they sell everything at four times the price you’d pay in North America. The pl
ace is for expats. Doesn’t count.

  After a while we’re out of the farmland and into a long thicket of bright green bushes with gorgeously pigmented flowers of pink and purple. They smell divine for one breath and then they’re gone, like blurry Christmas lights in the side mirror.

  Diego comes to a stop at an intersection and we idle. He rests his feet easily on the pavement but I keep mine up on the bike, tucked into my riding stance and molded around him like memory foam. He receives me somehow, giving back without being able to hold me.

  Pop music is snagged by the wind, all the way from a kitchen radio somewhere. He must hear it too because he glances in the same direction.

  His back is warm and firm, roomy for me to rest my weight on. I lay my hands flat against his chest to cradle the muscle and warmth radiating there, the rhythm below.

  He turns his head to the side and calls out over the grumbling motor. “Almost there!”

  We take off again, more gently this time and then gradually accelerating. The road starts winding upward and the bushes thin out.

  Panic flares up briefly as the incline steepens and we roll back ever so briefly as we climb. Diego guns it and we charge up the slope. I shut my eyes in fear, but it doesn’t matter because we’ve balanced out and come to a halt.

  When I dare to look at the world around me again, it’s a gift. I’m hit with the view.

  Dios fucking mío.

  A dark blue bay shimmers below us, and I can see the curvy road ahead as it snakes down the hillside. It’s all lush green wildness, a lustrous coat worn by the dark hills. I want to run my fingers through it like it’s the surface of a lazy river. It’s like that helicopter shot from Jurassic Park – I can hear the John Williams score as I scan the landscape.

  Further down by the water, spiky, fluffy palm trees with green coconuts stand in clusters along the shallow beach, providing sun-dappled shade to the odd sunbather. The shoreline is a dark gray-brown, which contrasts unusually against the bright white bubbling foam.