happy saturday

Today when I woke up I realized I had nothing to do all day, and that wasn't a good feeling. Some hazy plans to go to someone's beach house had fallen through. It was too early to call anyone. I made lemon tea with a big scoop of honey to soothe my sore throat and started a book to wait out the morning hours. I perused my battalion of “what's happening in San Salvador” websites and found some kind of philosophy discussion group which was going to meet at 6:30 pm in my neighborhood. Some organization called “New Acropolis” was organizing it. It offered “100% practical philosophy” and “meeting new friends” and “answers to your deepest worries about humanity, life and the universe.” Excellent. I will be there. I've been here for two months. I need friends.

For the next few hours I contemplated going to a cafe to read my book for the sake of getting out of the house, but I could not get over the roadblock of not wanting to purchase anything at the cafe. I learned how to play “Wonderful Tonight” on the guitar. I sent a text message to a Belgian girl living in a nearby town who I got in touch with through Couch Surfing. No response. I made pupusas and doused them in paprika and splurged by cooking them in butter. Ooh crispy good. Finally the afternoon came and I called this guy Julio who makes jewelry and loves God who I had befriended on a previous cafe venture (I only walked in that time, did not buy anything). A woman answered when I called and said there was no Julio there. Oh. Ten minutes later my phone rang, the caller ID said Julio again. Aha! But no, this was some guy named Marco reiterating that there was no Julio. Thanks Marco, I appreciate your clarification.

I put on jeans and a festive, lightweight long sleeve shirt and left the house at 6:05, allotting possible time to get lost. It was almost completely dark, but there was lightning in the distance. It would rain soon, but the meeting lasted two hours so it'd be finished before I had to walk home. The streets were mostly empty already. A young woman with strangely gray hair sat outside a strip club on a metal chair with a box in her lap. As I passed, she smiled and said “adios, chica,” which felt warm and familiar, until I realized that she'd actually said “hay chicle,” or “gum for sale.” Oh. I'm not depressed. I'm a joyful person. I am just more alone than I want to be.

I waited to cross the road, which is two lanes in both directions. Kept waiting. Realizing, as usual, that I wasn't going to get a stretch of no cars in both directions. Taking advantage of a car stopping to take a left turn, I ran to the double yellow line, waited there while cars flew by on both sides, and finally found a second gap and ran across. Remember how my neighborhood in DC had a “walkscore” of 88 out of 100 – “very walkable?” I do. I give my neighborhood here a 12 out of 100 - “some pedestrians will perish.”

I found the address, delighted that there were many signs outside signifying that this was a real organization. Plenty of cars out front. I ring the bell. A tiny window opens in the door and a man's face appears, Wizard of Oz style. He looks surprised. Uh oh. I'm here for the philosophy discussion group, I tell him, already feeling apologetic. That was this morning at 10, he says neutrally. Oh, I say, the website said 6:30, I guess it was wrong. He replies, sometimes we have belly dancing classes. Come back on Monday. A woman comes up behind him, she is smiling, and gives me a little flyer which shows the schedule. They close the tiny window. Meh, so much for my single activity for the day. I'll stop at the supermarket, poke around a little while.

I spend too much time looking at the spices, memorizing their Spanish names, concentrating. I meander through the produce section which is mostly empty – it's dinner time on a Saturday. An older woman in a blue cardigan sweater set and large pearl earrings smiles at me warmly. Maybe she is filling time too. A group of four young guys are debating which case of beer to buy. I consider approaching them. “Oh hey, where's the party, dudes?” I do not. I stand in a checkout line behind the woman in the blue cardigan. I change my basket from hand to hand and she says oh, here you go, and moves up her groceries on the conveyor belt so there is space for mine.

When I step outside with my two plastic bags full of groceries, it is pouring rain horizontally. “Taxi!” a man calls out. I have never paid for a taxi in my life and will not start now. I will get wet. Almost immediately, I am completely wet. My festive long sleeve shirt is plastered to me. I wait to cross the street again. The cars do not care that it is pouring, I have to wait. I pass a big group of people huddled together under a bus shelter. Water is pouring off the tin roofs at weird angles above the skinny sidewalk. A young couple runs towards me, holding hands. I step off the sidewalk into the gutter stream to make room for them, the water in the gutter is up to my ankles. My grocery bags feel heavy, they are collecting water. At least this should rinse the spinach pretty well. Two guys watch me go by from inside a little store. “Niña!” one calls out. No, won't go in there. I want to go home, I'm shivering and disappointed.

There is an elevated crosswalk across the next four lane street. I walk up the metal steps slowly, they are very slick and the wind is strong and the rain is in my eyes. A billboard for Citibank sits on top of the crosswalk. Citibank will bridge the gap between your dreams and really achieving your dreams. As I walk, suspended above the traffic, the billboard lights go out. Then the streetlights go dark, then the building lights. The headlights still pass below. I pause, looking up at the lightning, more striking now in the complete dark. Then I keep going, down the stairs carefully, downhill. My eyes burn a little bit, my eyelids are working like windshield wipers in turbo mode. There's a big overhang at the mouth of my street, I stop underneath it to take a break. Cars have pulled over, put on their hazard lights on the main street. The rain still reaches me, but not as hard. My jeans are heavy with water, sitting uncomfortably low on my hips. How long will I wait here, it's not going to let up soon. Another moment of inertia. Water rushes downhill in thick chunks. God damn I thought rainy season was over. I start sneezing.

The streetlights flicker and come back on. Three young guys are coming down the hill from far off, one of them has a soccer ball. They're laughing, splashing in puddles, teenagers maybe. I watch them come down the hill, they come closer, they smile at me. One reaches out a hand, but I stay where I am and they leave. Then I follow after them. The one who had reached out his hand soon sees that I'm following. He waits for me, and reaches out his hand again, asking if he can carry my grocery bags. Yes. Thank you. The four of us walk in the street, the sidewalk is underwater. Their soccer game was rained out, obviously. They live in the poor community adjacent to my house, it's considered “dangerous” and “unsightly,” it's why my rent is cheap. I'm friendly with some of the store owners there, they are funny and unhurried and amused by my weird requests and my ability to carry a propane container by myself. The guy carrying my groceries is named Dari, he is 22 like I am. He dropped out of school, now he has a job at a church. It's hard to hear because of the wind and the rain pelting the tin roofs. Some people think Salvadoreans are abusivos, or disrespectful, he says. No, I tell him, I've met very kind people here. The rain feels like someone wearing gloves full of needles slapping me in the face. Then Dari says he likes my eyes. Oh well, I'll let him say that. The lightning is closer, the thunder shakes the ground. They deliver me to my house, he hands me my groceries. Come find us to hang out, just ask at the store, they tell me. I tell them to let me know if there are any activities, er, whatever is going on. I thank them profusely and they go back into the rain, still smiling.

I peel off my wet clothes and wring them out and get into the shower, which feels so warm. For most of the shower I am sneezing. Dry dry leggings hoodie zipped up even socks, tropical blasphemy! Maybe tomorrow I will show up early and beast them at soccer.