Once You Go Back. 36.

This post is the final for this novella. It’s intentionally left open so that the story can be continued. The story thus far represents a year in what turned into a ten-year affair.

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A year ago, before dawn, I boarded the same flight, same airport, with the same Caribbean destination and with the dumb idea that I’d come back the same person but speaking Spanish. As the old ladies say, “Life is a box of chocolates and you never know what kind you're gonna get.” Or “Que innocente somos!” 

Of all the stuff I’d not expected, learning the geography of a massive Caribbean Island topped the list. The physical list, anyway. Last year, I’d set out for the huge city of the capital but found my way into the undeveloped western part of the country bordering Haiti. Rugged and raw, those mountains didn’t attract tourists. Like none.  To the natives, especially those in the city, that area was considered backwoods, primitive, and home only to crocodiles and scary black things. Once I found those wilds, I was in ecstasy. I’d practically had a hard-on the whole time I was out there.

Today, the trip would be different. I’d arrive in the city and hit the road eastward, heading toward the developed coast where posh sprawling resorts sported mowed lawns, glitzy spas, and white sand beaches. None of those things interested me. But I was excited to reconnect with Wilfredo, who'd moved clear across the country, West to East. He was proud of that. He’d moved out the woods and into his future. I got that. But I still had no clue as to what this box of chocolates held when he’d also written, “PS, I’m a pirate now.”

It was Thursday. I catch an early morning flight, rent a car, and meet him on the beach at sunset. We’d spend a cozy night reconnecting, then hit the road toward a wild weekend of exploration—there were some parts of the East that hadn't been for rich white tourists. As much as I loved my new job, I needed a break from the world of folks who could pay to have every single whim satisfied instantly. I needed something I’d found last year. 

On the short predawn flight from Savannah to Miami, an announcement let me know my layover would be not just an hour but all day. All day. I was pissed. Then I remembered. 

Last year, during a shorter delay, I cracked open the De Mello book MissK slipped in my pocket. The author's advice led to meeting Rubio and Wilfredo and ultimately to my entire lust for and adventure in the Dominica wild lands. It even led me to learn to stand on my head. So today, I tried to reframe things. Maybe something big would happen today. Last year, de Mello told me to do something out of character in order to see the world in a different way. 

Today, I felt like my character had changed. Can you really change like that? From one little event could I have unlearned in just a year, stuff that had been infused into me for thirty? 

There was no way to get a message to Wilfredo that I’d be a day late. I hadn’t bothered with a hotel since I would have had all day to figure that out, but arriving at a massive, crazy airport after 9 p.m. made me a bit anxious.

When we landed in Miami, I found a computer terminal, logged in, and considered options. For a day in Miami, I considered visiting public gardens by cab. Or I could call on Cycad Sebastian, hang out with him, or get him to take me on a Cycad tour. Or maybe some fun in his pool. Surely my international-bouncing, rare-cycad dealer had a pool. We’d been friends for years, but now that I worked for a super-rich celebrity, I worried he might spend the afternoon trying to make a sale. Way back when I’d first met him, I was just some cute young gentile he wanted to bed. Now, I was a potential client, and I didn’t want to spend the day untangling all that. 

As far as later tonight, in Santo Domingo, I could crash with my Dominican family in the city. I was expected there Sunday night. I knew they were excited. Andreas emailed constant updates about my tiny apartment and the work he’d done on the Scout. Now he said, it was 100 percent new and even had a back seat so we could go into the roughest backcountry. 

But that would mean visiting and complicated exits. There was always the Hotel Moderna in the city, twenty bucks, but that was the first place Wilfredo and I did it, and it sort of felt sad. And sleazy. There were the Love Cabanas, where Andreas, Wilfredo, and I took advantage of the all-night special, as opposed to hourly rates. I settled on a hostel, all the way out on the east coast. They closed at midnight. If I could find a place today to relax and get a good nap in, I could stay awake and if everything went well, I could make that long drive tonight.  

Relaxing in a pool caught my fancy. I remembered a place Joyce told me about—a place MissK sometimes escaped to for quiet, pampering, and secluded recovery from little facial nips and tucks. The Miami Biltmore was an old-school resort with a spa, and Joyce told me it was once the largest pool in the world, complete with an aqueduct and Roman statues. It sounded like somewhere I could get lost and be alone.