Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
The flyer wasn’t wrong. Jumping off the bridge was transformative.
At the bottom of that rope, I had an intense, direct experience of oneness.
The river and sky were indistinguishable.
My body had no beginning and no end. My skin was no longer a border.
Doubts, fears, self—they all drifted gently away with the current.
How long would this feeling last? Could I find a way to hang onto it?
Or would I be destined to spend my life chasing it, one jump after another?
After Adrián reeled me back up to the bridge, I stood there shaking and laughing and staring at him like a lunatic. But my unhinged laughter was contagious, and he started laughing, too.
“Looks like we have a convert,” he said. “Want to go again?”
“Hey, it’s my turn!” said the jerk American.
“Sorry,” Adrián said to him in English, “We’re closed.”
“What?! You just offered her another jump!”
“It’s siesta time.” Adrián turned to me. “Come on. Let’s get a beer. Bien fría. ”
Ten minutes later we were at a little bar down the road.
We sat at a scratched wooden table that the employees had brought out of the back room just for me.
Everyone else sat at the bar, watching fútbol on the tiny TV, pushing away the plastic yellow flags that the fan kept whipping into their faces. I was the only female.
“Why did you come to Costa Rica?” he asked in clear, simple Spanish, over a pair of Imperial beers. I knew he was slowing it down for me. It was nice. “Are you studying? Vacationing?”
The real answer bubbled up to my mouth, but I hesitated. How would it sound? Because I had known other people were living, and I wanted to be one of them? Because my life was so tightly controlled that I felt like I couldn’t breathe? I needed a slightly less intense answer. “I was bored.”
Adrián laughed. He was watching me pick the label off my sweaty beer bottle. I had shredded it, and little sticky pieces stayed glued to my fingers. “You came here because you were bored?” he asked. “When I get bored, I don’t go to a foreign country.”
“You don’t really seem like the type to get bored.”
“Busted.” He smiled, and goosebumps somehow managed to raise themselves on my arms, even though it was five hundred degrees plus humidity. “But I don’t believe that’s why you came here either.”
“I came for work.”
“Don’t you have jobs in America?”
“No, we’re totally out!”
He laughed. “So you came with coworkers?”
“No.”
“A boyfriend?”
“No.”
“He at home?”
“He doesn’t exist.”
Adrián smiled wider. “So you really came to Costa Rica all by yourself?”
I nodded.
“And you were trying to convince me you’re not brave? Sorry, don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you’re an unreliable narrator.”
I laughed. “Isn’t everyone unreliable about themselves?”
“Maybe to a degree. But some people have more self-awareness than others.” He looked right into me.
Like he could see my bones. My DNA. “We’ve established you’re not very self-aware,” he said with a smile, “but let’s try anyhow.
You came to a foreign country by yourself, then flung yourself off a bridge.
So, Dee, are you running toward something, or away from it? ”
I ran my hand underneath the table, feeling the exposed ridges of the rough wood, the hardened knobs that must have been old chewing gum, and the deep grooves of carved initials. When I looked up, his eyes met mine. They flashed with challenge and sugar.
“Can it be both?” I asked.
“You tell me.”
Boldness surged over me—perhaps residual hormones from my jump—and I took my hand from beneath the table and placed it squarely next to his. “Maybe I came to find a new version of myself.”
“Maybe I can help you find her.” He took my hand. It was warm and firm. Somehow both comforting and exciting. “Let’s start tonight.”
* * *
That night around nine, Adrián came roaring up to Eva and Luis’s house in a silver Jeep.
He was wearing a white button-down guayabera, with several buttons unfastened, revealing a breathtaking expanse of deeply tanned skin.
He jumped out of the Jeep and gave me the Costa Rican double-air kiss—except with no air.
His lips brushed my cheeks lightly, politely, but it was enough to make me unsteady.
He held the passenger door open for me and I hopped in.
To my surprise, I was into this. Was that strictly speaking a feminist reaction? Did I care?
I suddenly felt incredibly shy. I had vowed to myself not to get into a relationship while I was in Costa Rica. I was here to figure out who I was, and to learn to be independent. If I didn’t know how to be autonomous without a boyfriend, how could I be autonomous with one?
Yet here I was staring at Adrián’s hand casually gripping the steering wheel.
Marveling at his long fingers. His smooth skin stretched over compact muscles.
What was I doing?! I tried to keep my eyes on the road, but I couldn’t stop myself from sneaking looks.
I figured he was in his early twenties. Relaxed, confident, athletic, with curly hair that couldn’t pick a direction.
His smile was the standout feature though—wide, genuine, infectious. And just a little bit naughty.
“Is it common to drive in the middle of the road here?” I asked. Adrián was veering around a large speed bump, known colloquially here as muertos —dead people.
“Sure is.” He was now playing chicken with a taxi driver.
In any other circumstance, I would bet on a taxi driver, but Adrián seemed in control.
Cody would never in a million years challenge a taxi driver.
“ Hijueputa ,” Adrián shouted through his open window as we whooshed by the taxi driver, who was meekly clinging to the right side of the road.
Adrián returned to the proper lane and then reached into my lap to take my hand.
“ Disculpe, corazón ,” he said. Heart. I could get used to this.
We arrived at Tuanis, one of San José’s largest nightclubs.
Women in short skirts and men in shiny shirts packed the large dance floor under flashing strobes and hanging TV screens.
I caught a glance of myself in a mirror; I was seriously underdressed in my “nice jeans.” God, I hated it when my mother was right.
Tables ringed the dance floor, and upstairs there were little booths for couples to eat, drink, and dry hump.
I was thrilled by all the color and noise.
This was living . Adrián pushed through the crowd, got us two Cuba Libres from the bar, then led me through the dancing throng.
“Do you know how to dance?” he asked.
“I can do the FriYay TikTok dance.”
He shook his head, pained, then taught me how to salsa, utilizing the male-endorsed “thigh method.” He grasped me close to his body, put his right leg between both of mine, and told me to “feel the rhythm.” At first, I thought this was a blatant attempt to get between my legs.
After a couple of minutes, I realized I didn’t mind.
“I have to go to a wedding tomorrow,” he said.
“Yeah?” I was busy counting. Even while “feeling it,” I had to pay close attention. Tropical rhythms were totally counterintuitive to me.
“Why don’t you come with me?” he said.
He spun me in a circle. I considered going to a wedding with him. I imagined how he’d look in a tuxedo . I also imagined the alternative: going to Mass with Abuelita and Luis. “Why not?”
Several Cuba Libres later, Adrián was showing me how to merengue. Much easier than salsa, and much lewder, too. It afforded me a very clear idea of Adrián’s anatomy. So now I knew he had a body. I wanted to know if he had a brain.
“What kind of requirements are there for being an extreme guide? Did you have to study physiology? Take a certification course?” I asked.
“Oh, no, there’s no training at all.” I gulped. Not putting bungee jumping on the Truth Trip. “But it’s just a weekend job for me. I recently graduated from the university.”
“What did you study?”
“Philosophy.”
“Really?” I stepped on his toes. “That’s pretty esoteric.”
“Well, it was one of my majors. My dad owns some hotels, and he wanted me to study management so I could help him. But that’s not my passion.”
“Wow, two majors.” I stepped on his toes again. “But why philosophy specifically?”
“Because it helps me find my place in the world.”
It helped him find his place in the world. Could he help me find mine? I stopped dancing. “Can we sit for a bit?”
Adrián led me off the dance floor. We stopped at the bar to get fresh drinks, then went upstairs, which was considerably dimmer and quieter.
“So,” I said, settling into one of the soft magenta couches. “Did you?”
“Did I what?” Adrián was trying to figure out how close to sit. First, he sat next to me, but not touching. Then he scooted closer, until his thigh was pressed next to mine.
“You know, find your place in the world?”
Adrián’s face lit up with some interior sun, and he leaned closer. One arm was around my shoulder and the other was hovering near my knees. “It’s not exactly something you find. It’s just somewhere you go.” He placed his hand on my knee. I shivered.
“What does that mean?”
“You think you know where you want to go, so you go.” Adrián’s hand lifted off my knee and fluttered in the air as he spoke.
“But when you get there, you have new questions. So it’s a process of constant reevaluation.
You never get ‘there,’ because ‘there’ keeps moving.
So you just keep going, keep questioning. ”
“But you said philosophy helps you find your place in the world.”
“It does.”
“But you just said you don’t get there.”
“You don’t.”
“So how does it help?”
“It helps with the looking.”
“Oh.” I grabbed my drink.
“You don’t like that answer.”
“Not at all.” I looked up at Adrián and recognized the expression on his face. Not from experience, but from the movies. Like I was a new land he had just discovered. I put my drink on the table and stood up. “Let’s dance again.”
Adrián hesitated, then put his drink down.
“Whatever you want.” He took my hand and guided me to the dance floor.
Dancing was nice because I didn’t have to look at him directly.
I didn’t want to think about never getting “there.” And I certainly didn’t want to think about what it meant that my body wouldn’t stop shaking.
So I asked him questions about his family and the wedding.
“Will they think it’s weird you’re bringing some random North American as your date?”
“No. Just pretend you’re my girlfriend.”
“What?! Wouldn’t that be weirder?”
“Nah. It will be easier that way.” He sent me on a double spin. I felt a little uncomfortable out there. Adrián spun me back into his arms.
“But why will it be easier?” I reluctantly removed my legs from Adrián’s and took a step back, forcing him to look at me. “Can’t they think we’re friends?”
“That’s not really a thing here.” He wrapped his arms around my waist. “But you don’t have to pretend if you don’t want to.
Whatever makes you comfortable.” He put his cheek next to mine and spun us in endless circles, his arms circling my waist and shoulders.
The room flashed around me in muted reds and blacks.
The only solid thing was Adrián, and the only thing I knew was that while he was holding me, I was safe.
“Forget about it,” he whispered, and I did.
“Spin me around again.”
“As much as you like,” he said. We were spinning. I was laughing. “Always.”