Village of The Dead (P2)
Loneliness & Bomb Blasts
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BLOG POST #026 - Village of The Dead (P2): Loneliness & Bomb Blasts
How I learned to ride a motorcycle, speak Spanish and not die. Riding solo in search of adventure from Detroit to Argentina.
Traveling alone in a dangerous place, safety came first. Once that was settled, loneliness was right behind it.
In a weak moment, I reached out to my ex-girlfriend, Larry (nickname from friends). It had only been five or six weeks since the breakup. Communication between us had been spotty, but I started to text her more during this leg of my journey.
Larry's mother was from Mexico but she had never been there herself. There were a lot of things I wanted to share with her that I knew she would love to see.
After settling into my room, I called Larry to tell her about this village.
"Long ride?" she asked.
I replied, "Yes. I had a hell of a time getting here, but I think I'm done traveling for a while."
A fireworks mortar interrupted our call with a resounding bang.
"What was that!? Are you ok? Was that a gun?" She asked, with alarm in her voice.
"No. Just local fireworks for some strange reason." I laughed.
For just an hour or two I wanted to forget about being alone. Talking to her helped soothe my mind from the constant struggle and heartbreak. I didn't want to think about how far away from home I was.
Still, I knew it was an ugly indulgence. I imagined a torn cardboard box, the only evidence left of a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts on cheat day during my "keto-carb intermittent-carnivore-paleontologist diet." Knowing that guilt and heartbreak would hurt all the worse later, I really didn't care at the moment.
Feeling loved and close to someone who understood me, was more than I could resist.
We took turns catching up. On my side, there was a lot to tell from the road. I gave her a list of "must see" places in the past week that I thought related to her family.
Strolling around the compound as we talked, I described my little hotel for Larry. It was more artistic than I thought a former convent would be. Laid out like a wealthy villa shrunken down to size, different buildings were spread out among various paved squares and gardens. Freshly fallen lemons scattered along the walkways made for a charming touch.
Fruit trees and gardens adorned the grounds.
Larry told me about her job. Her kids seemed to be doing well. Money was tight as always, but she wasn't struggling too badly.
As intimate as our connection was all evening, Larry and I also danced nimbly around several large elephants in several small rooms.
There were no "I miss you," sentiments or overt expressions of romance. We didn't argue about the breakup or discuss anything contentious from our recent past.
It was a pleasant, loving and kind conversation. That was what my soul needed and I knew that she missed me as well.
However, as the evening wound down, the illusion wore off for me bit by bit. My mind began to wander towards how she betrayed me. The warm and fuzzy feeling went a little tinny and my heart started to harden.
Larry started on a new topic, "Oh, I wanted you to do this survey I saw on social media."
"Fun." I said.
Her daughter was nearby and they were going through a life-list of accomplishments, failures and so on. It was all very sweet and jolly.
Larry read the rules, "You get one point for each experience you've had in your lifetime."
I gave the green light, "Cool. Fire away."
She called out each item one by one. "Have you ever gone skydiving? Scuba diving? Been bitten by a dog? Driven in a country on the left side of the road? Gone skinny dipping?"
Halfway through the list, my mood turned on a dime. Snapping back to reality, I wondered what the hell I was doing talking to her.
She asked, "So how did you do?"
I answered, "I got sixteen points out of twenty. Not bad, I suppose."
Larry told me about her list, along with some of the back-story I had never heard. We chatted and laughed together, but my left eye began to twitch.
Suddenly spinning out of this inflated joy and warmth, the biggest elephant in the smallest room came crashing through the walls and could no longer be denied.
I asked, "So what was Mike's score on the survey?"
This pissed her off and she paused to regroup.
"I didn't ask him. That list was for you." She replied, with a little indignation in her voice.
Mike was her former lover, fiancée, and the reason why I broke up with her. The two of them kept in touch while Larry and I were together, but she never told Mike that she was in a relationship with me. It took a while to realize how often they had spoken, before I finally ended it.
She had always said that they were just friends, then admitted in the weeks after I left that it might be growing into something more.
Slightly entertained that she was getting huffy, I pushed it a little further.
"Are you annoyed that I asked? You and I are friends. He and you are friends, right? Why would it matter?"
Larry said, "Right. It doesn't matter. But those survey questions made me think of you. I don't have to share everything with him."
I agreed, "Ok. Good. I appreciate that. So how is it going with Mike? Do you guys talk often?"
Mike lived seven hundred miles away from her, which always added a layer of weirdness to the whole thing.
Speeding up, she replied, "Fine. Good. Yes, we talk every day."
Her battle lines had been crossed, the chat wrapped up pretty quickly from there.
It had been a lovely run of emotional-mutual-masturbation, but I guess I got my fill. I couldn't play along with the facade any longer.
We said sincere and affectionate goodbyes, but both of us knew that we wouldn't be chatting again anytime soon.
Ending the conversation while she was ruffled and I was amused was probably a best case scenario.
Finding humor in the ridiculous farce of Larry's self-inflicted drama and refusal to own up to the truth, is all fine and well. However, it didn't replace the warmth and connection that we shared. Convincing myself I was "right" was cold comfort and my smugness didn't last long.
If I had to be lonely, then the balcony was quite an agreeable place to be.
As the sun went down, the next door neighbor broadcast philippic accusations about government corruption over loudspeakers perched on poles above his house.
His ranting echoed out in long monotone run-on sentences. Gladly I couldn't understand much, so it didn't really dent the calm ambiance of the evening for me. Suddenly the old man's loudspeaker manifesto cut off abruptly at what must have been the old man's early bedtime.
Having had a tirade earlier in the day myself about wanting to smoke a cigarette, I suddenly remembered my dear old granddaddy's cherry cigarillos. Due to luggage constraints, all I could afford to bring was a pack of ten for the whole trip. It seemed that this was the right time to burn another half-inch off of the charred end of number three out of the pack. The sweet waft of smoke mixed in a fruity warm contrast against the crisp chill coming over the night air.
A minute after nightfall I climbed down the ladder and went to bed.
I'm alone again.
The room is dark and muggy. The muffled babble of a neighbor's TV or music plays in the distance. The bed sheets are crumpled into lumps and slightly damp with back sweat. My eyes are wide open, but I am so very tired.
“BOOM”
The room shakes after another midnight explosion and my keys fall off of the dresser. I'm used to the noise now, so I don't even flinch.
The keys are better off on the floor where they can't fall a second time anyway.
It has been such a hard run. Time after time I am beat down and then get back up again. I'm a good fighter and I pursue each quest with all of my passion. But the energy and mental strength it takes to keep battling back and rising above is on the verge of breaking me.
Then with a long last breath for the night, I just don't care to fight anymore.
My mind fades to black when a moment of clarity comes over me.
As honorable as the fight is...Tonight there is peace in the surrender.
(rage)
NEXT POST COMING SOON: April 14, 2026
