I finished my mug of water and found my way back up the stairs, to my room, no longer groggy, now almost half awake. I walked toward my small bed in the corner by a decent sized window. I looked out at the superb mountain top vista. In the daytime the valley below a carpet of green, at night a sea of black. I looked toward Pucon. A small cluster of dim warm orange lights huddled near the edge of the lake. How small it looked from up here. How peaceful. I knew better however. I knew what vices lay below. I could picture it now, the blaring of electronic soulless music of the discos, the groups of perfectly painted hardly clothed out of town girls as they moved from bar to bar, the clusters of very drunk young men hoping to find some excitement in the sauna like disco.
My first year in Chile I lived for those nights. I could not wait to leave work, change clothes, and head into the chaos and heat of the discos. To have my ears destroyed by bland repetitive reggaetone. To drunkenly find a girl to fight with my tongue. When I think back towards these nights I only remember the sweat, the smell of tequila, and the taste of ash tray lips.
I continued to look toward the lights, waiting to feel the urge to go to town, waiting to feel as though I was missing something by being here, and not there. It was only three in the morning, if I left now I could make it for the last few hours the discos were open. I could party till the sun revealed the day. However, the longer I stared out at the lights the less desire I had to head toward the city. I did not want to disappear into the blackness of intoxication with fake, superficial, emotionally curbed people crammed around me on the dance floor. I did however want to drink. To forget about this cough. To disappear into sleep free from dreaming.
I waited a while longer, the lights losing their focus in my eyes. They melted together into ribbons of fire. "What now?" I thought. I finally had been able to pay my visa. I had finally found a peaceful place to stay on top of a mountain with a wonderful Russian family. I had finally found my rhythm as a kayak instructor, the work rewarding and plentiful. I had finally put my life in order.
A peaceful life. The life I had been searching for. However there was something missing.
I awoke to the rhythmic repetitive ear jarring alarm of my old beaten hardly charged cell phone. I forced my eyes to open and great the bright morning sun. They threatened to fall back closed, but I sat up quickly, my bones clicking into place with almost audible pops. I looked out my window. Now in the morning light. My eyes drank in the mountains to the east in large wide eyed gulps. My nostrils became high from the smell of the dry morning mountain air. I massaged my right wrist, the dull deep pain of overuse starting to become an issue, and tried to forget my dreams from the night before, and enjoy the hopeful nature of the morning.
I left the window and once again descended the stairs and headed into the kitchen. I picked up my mug from where I had left it the night before and once again filled it with water. I opened the microwave, slid the mug inside, and carelessly spun the dial to the right. A whoosh of radioactive rays exploded to life. I waited, watching through the frosted glass microwave window, the mug spinning round and round. After a minute or two I prematurely spun the dial back to the left, the imitation ding of a bell signifying that the water was probably a tongue burning temperature. I pulled the mug from the microwave and slid it across the plain white tile counter top. I pulled a small can of instant coffee from a speckled wooden drawer and scooped two spoonfuls of brown powder into the steaming liquid. With a small spoon I swirled the powder round and round the mug until it melted into a slightly appeasing chocolate colored cup of coffee. How mundane this morning ritual. Waiting for the caffeine to wake me up. Waiting to start the day. Waiting for to answer the question, "What now?"
The mug finally stopped steaming. I gulped the coffee down. Almost finished, I dumped the last of it down the drain before throwing my backpack on and heading outside. I found my bike where I had left it the day before, sitting by itself,lonely, against the white cement walls of the house. I pushed it up the gravel driveway, opened the gate, jumped onto the hard seat, and started my descent to work. Hands off the breaks, I sped down the dirt, dust filled, barb wired fence outlined, tree covered road. My tires threatened to slip out from under me as they met the loose gravel floor. I shifted my weight forward, the sudden rush of adrenaline serving to wake me better than the instant coffee. A few more out of control curves later I had descended the mountain another day with out crashing. My legs pumping furiously I started the commute to work.
The sun burned my still mirror like white body as it shoved its way past the dancing leafs of the overhanging grass colored oak tree. I lay on top of a half deflated old pink raft, the hissing of escaping air filling my head. Sand still stuck to the raft scratched my shirtless back. My head slowly lowered as the air found freedom escaping from the open valves. I looked through the leaves and branches above me, blue sky hiding behind them. Wind mixed with the roar of the rapid around the bend as it rushed past me, headed downstream. I breathed deeply now. I breathed naturally. Work was almost over. I had taught the intern at our company how to row, a skill my dad had taught me years ago. I waited once again listening for the rumble of the old van, as it came to collect me from this beach and take me back to the concrete of the city. I thought about staying in the city that night. Drinking till dawn. Allowing the blackness to take me into a peaceful sleep. My relative sobriety had led to nights full of long convoluted dreams, yet I was now more able to enjoy the day, the mornings. I thought about staying, dealing with the question, "What now?" by drowning it in Pisco. I thought for a while. I always think for awhile. Soon my thoughts wandered back to the house atop the mountain, the family awaiting me, and my peaceful life. A peaceful life, a live well lived. The dreams and allergies seemed now in the daylight a small price to for peace. The discos and girls would have to wait another day as my thoughts would keep me atop the mountain.
I waited a while longer, the lights losing their focus in my eyes. They melted together into ribbons of fire. "What now?" I thought. I finally had been able to pay my visa. I had finally found a peaceful place to stay on top of a mountain with a wonderful Russian family. I had finally found my rhythm as a kayak instructor, the work rewarding and plentiful. I had finally put my life in order.
A peaceful life. The life I had been searching for. However there was something missing.
I awoke to the rhythmic repetitive ear jarring alarm of my old beaten hardly charged cell phone. I forced my eyes to open and great the bright morning sun. They threatened to fall back closed, but I sat up quickly, my bones clicking into place with almost audible pops. I looked out my window. Now in the morning light. My eyes drank in the mountains to the east in large wide eyed gulps. My nostrils became high from the smell of the dry morning mountain air. I massaged my right wrist, the dull deep pain of overuse starting to become an issue, and tried to forget my dreams from the night before, and enjoy the hopeful nature of the morning.
I left the window and once again descended the stairs and headed into the kitchen. I picked up my mug from where I had left it the night before and once again filled it with water. I opened the microwave, slid the mug inside, and carelessly spun the dial to the right. A whoosh of radioactive rays exploded to life. I waited, watching through the frosted glass microwave window, the mug spinning round and round. After a minute or two I prematurely spun the dial back to the left, the imitation ding of a bell signifying that the water was probably a tongue burning temperature. I pulled the mug from the microwave and slid it across the plain white tile counter top. I pulled a small can of instant coffee from a speckled wooden drawer and scooped two spoonfuls of brown powder into the steaming liquid. With a small spoon I swirled the powder round and round the mug until it melted into a slightly appeasing chocolate colored cup of coffee. How mundane this morning ritual. Waiting for the caffeine to wake me up. Waiting to start the day. Waiting for to answer the question, "What now?"
The mug finally stopped steaming. I gulped the coffee down. Almost finished, I dumped the last of it down the drain before throwing my backpack on and heading outside. I found my bike where I had left it the day before, sitting by itself,lonely, against the white cement walls of the house. I pushed it up the gravel driveway, opened the gate, jumped onto the hard seat, and started my descent to work. Hands off the breaks, I sped down the dirt, dust filled, barb wired fence outlined, tree covered road. My tires threatened to slip out from under me as they met the loose gravel floor. I shifted my weight forward, the sudden rush of adrenaline serving to wake me better than the instant coffee. A few more out of control curves later I had descended the mountain another day with out crashing. My legs pumping furiously I started the commute to work.
The sun burned my still mirror like white body as it shoved its way past the dancing leafs of the overhanging grass colored oak tree. I lay on top of a half deflated old pink raft, the hissing of escaping air filling my head. Sand still stuck to the raft scratched my shirtless back. My head slowly lowered as the air found freedom escaping from the open valves. I looked through the leaves and branches above me, blue sky hiding behind them. Wind mixed with the roar of the rapid around the bend as it rushed past me, headed downstream. I breathed deeply now. I breathed naturally. Work was almost over. I had taught the intern at our company how to row, a skill my dad had taught me years ago. I waited once again listening for the rumble of the old van, as it came to collect me from this beach and take me back to the concrete of the city. I thought about staying in the city that night. Drinking till dawn. Allowing the blackness to take me into a peaceful sleep. My relative sobriety had led to nights full of long convoluted dreams, yet I was now more able to enjoy the day, the mornings. I thought about staying, dealing with the question, "What now?" by drowning it in Pisco. I thought for a while. I always think for awhile. Soon my thoughts wandered back to the house atop the mountain, the family awaiting me, and my peaceful life. A peaceful life, a live well lived. The dreams and allergies seemed now in the daylight a small price to for peace. The discos and girls would have to wait another day as my thoughts would keep me atop the mountain.
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