Our Saturday dawned cloudy and down-pouring for a while as we went for breakfast, bidding us bite our lips and hurriedly rethink plans for the day. This was a case wherein patience was rewarded and spontaneity applauded, thanks to Alan making full use of svuv. Solamente vives una vez. We headed out by noon, taking cover from an unbelievable explosion from the skies in a cafe; once the onslaught leveled down, we caught a cab down to the marina to reassess where we'd go next.
And don't you know, this marina was spectacular, with our volcano looking moody and ringed by clouds, the sky grey and heavy with questionable intentions. I skipped around, breathing deep the air and trying not to clap with joy at just how beautiful it is. Think Everglades and mangrove trees meets the most picturesque small island huts and life. We found another family--Linda and Mike and almost-seven year old Adele and little Zachary--to split a boat tour, and then off we went.
The just-over two hour trip had me lose all my dignity lumber-hauling-beached-whaling it back onto the boat after swimming in the warm, once-bull-shark-infested lake water, imagine what it would be like to go crazy on one of the tiny isletas, wonder what the convocation of almost goose like duck birds were up to, admire the lives of the rich who own their islands and the poor who survive on theirs and generally just run my fingers through the water and watch it stream by, small ripples and the sound of a humming motor, little laughter, the only signs of our presence.
And of course the rain cleared up for us, even though the day had seemed so hopeless. We headed back to our house, damp and happy and having well spent our time, our last weekend on a quiet adventure together. The night inched into darkness, and of course that smattering of stars that makes every night magical rose from our balcony. After a short nap, waiting for the night to get live, we headed out to Encuentros bar-club-pool-cinema, ready to seize the night and enjoy what we could of our open bar.
Let us just leave it as an incredible night. The music was very 'meh', but at one point it stopped mattering, because you just danced and danced and danced. And of course with a pool, there was required of me some swimming. So near the end of our night, approaching two in the morning, I kicked off my shoes and jumped in. The water swirled around me, the music a faint baseline through the chlorine, suspended and flashing and holding me there. Jump out, wipe my eyes, continue the dancing. A game of MarcoPolo or two later, the rest of the bar hadn't yet joined us, so we said screw it and just kept on playing, some strange kind of semi-grown-up-not-really pool party. The night breeze settled in, so amid the occasional whistle, we got out and took a little time to victory dance in the middle of the slowly emptying dance floor, squeezing out our clothes and just moving. Moving and dancing and holding wet hair off of a wet neck and looking up to see the stars and remembering how this is not everyone's life, not anyone else's but your own and this is pretty damn cool for that very reason, to be dripping in a Nicaraguan bar, turning around with stars in your eyes and the feeling that this doesn't always happen but when it does it is because of risks, because of taking them, because of this, because somehow, sometimes things are just as they should be.
Sunday was perhaps not the best of feeling kind of day, but we stayed quiet and local and in for the most part, looking up at blue blue skies and shingled roofs and watching birds pass by and tree leaves trembling and refusing to indulge in much reflection of all the Sundays passed and the Sundays to come. Because they won't all be here, feeling like this after a night like that.
And so it goes.
Yesterday started the end of my volunteering, ushered in by some of the kids asking me where the other American volunteers were, having to tell them they are gone. And aren't we all like that, here for so little, experiencing so much but never quite doing enough. Nicole told me she was going to miss me, and I think for all of our slightly stiff conversations between her hesitation of the English language and my willingness to make it better, tripping over myself to do so, even with all of the moments where I've observed, the moments of correction and encouragement, all of it has had some kind of affect. And my god, there it is. An affect of some kind, be it lasting or irresolute, a bonfire or a matchstick, there it is.
I haven't been thinking in lasts yet. The walk to work is still the walk to work, biting back retorts to the passing gringa comments, dodging motor bikes and horse poop and low hanging branches. And the kids are still my kids, although being on the other side of Tuesday has me blinking rapidly against the bat sounds and creature chorus of the night.
Today had me laughing from the start, the kids being hilarious and untamed in their energy, although I am beginning to appreciate the massive amounts of patience that so become teachers of younger kids. Gracias a ustedes! And then another moment walking home that didn't have me heart broken until just now while we enjoyed some live music of Spanish voices, maracas and guitar. One of the first graders who has taken a liking to me called my name, ¡Profe! Profe! as everyone left in the afternoon, so I turned around, already incredibly attuned to that call, that plea-question-beg for attention of Teacher! Teacher! I picked her up and swung her around and then continued on my way, she balancing on my hip, trying on my sunglasses. Asked her where she lives and she pointed to a bend in the street, onto a road that quickly got rural. As I'm dipping down to put her down, she goes in for a tighter hug and then plants a kiss on my cheek.
Oh, my heart. Not only is it just the sweetest gesture, but it gets me how trusting it is coming from a little kid (and how suave and gentlemanly it is from a late night pool party introduction). Or maybe trusting isn't the right word but I don't know how to describe it. Like innocence and love and joy and gratitude all in one. So it just hit me how beautiful such a moment is, this child whose language I do not speak, whose family I do not know, whose future is not for me to be in, but this child who recognizes me, believes me worthy of affection. Maybe it's just that all gringos who stay longer than a day are worthy of being cheek-kissed. Or maybe it's just me trying to find meaning.
But it is as it is, as it should be.
I am tired now, my luggage bags finally pulled out from underneath my bed. Everything in me feels a little bit shaky, uncertain of how to deal with this next part, this inevitability, these last two days with these kids. There is only so much now to be lived in without overstepping and losing sight of any reflexivity. So here is to final moments and reflection and the way live music makes everything better.
dftba.
-k
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