Two days before I flew home, I decided to visit the beach.
I packed a small bag and cut through campus on my way to the bus station. Along the path I ran into a group of Costa Rican friends.
“Where are you going?”
“Jacó.”
Martín groaned.
“Why?”
“That’s where everyone goes.”
“It’s expensive.”
“It’s dirty.”
“So, where should I go instead?”
“Manuel Antonio.”
Octavio nodded. Claudia, too.
“I’ve already been there.”
Then I remembered the empty beaches beyond the crowds, the sloth hanging motionless above the trail, and the boatman who ferried me across a channel.
I sighed.
Five minutes later, I was on my way.
~
By the time I arrived, it was dark.
I exited the bus and watched it rattle into the night.
Then I checked into a hostel.
“Hola. I’m hear to check in.”
When I reached for my wallet through, I froze. My pocket was empty. .
No wallet.
No passport.
No credit card.
I opened my backpack.
Nothing.
I walked out of the lobby, and for a moment, I stood—motionless.
Palm leaves scraped together. Somewhere beyond them, I could hear the steady rhythm of the Pacific.
~
My flight home was in two days.
I had fifteen colónes in my pocket.
Not enough for a phone call.
Or a bus ticket.
Or much of anything.
The bus would have to turn around somewhere ahead and come back the same way.
I walked out to the highway and waited.
Whenever a bus appeared in the distance, I stepped toward the shoulder and tried to identify it. When it wasn’t mine, I stepped back and waited for the next one.
Between buses, I rehearsed Spanish.
“Dejé mi billetera en el autobús.”
“Mi pasaporte.”
“Por favor.”
An hour passed.
Then I saw it. My bus.
I ran into the road waving both arms.
The driver braked.
Out of breath and running on adrenaline, I tried to explain. The words came out in fragments. Somehow he understood.
He pointed at the turnstile.
Then he pointed over it.
I jumped over.
The bus pulled away before I had both feet on the floor.
I hurried down the aisle, scanning every seat.
every row.
Then I saw it.
My wallet sat exactly where I had left it.
The passport was still inside.
So was everything else.
I picked it up and stood there for a moment, holding it in both hands while the bus rattled into the night.