Once You Go Back. 9

A Note To New Readers. This serial novel is published by chapter every Sunday. You can find a synopsis and read the previous chapter by clicking here.

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Previously. Buckey’s growing desire to see the wildlands near the Haitian border seemed out of reach. But a handsome, affable country boy, inadvertently stranded in the city by their mutual friend, offered a glimmer of hope and a lot of adventure. Though he’d never driven in the rough country and could barely read the street signs, the pair of strangers headed out for adventure.

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“You know how to drive a manual?” Rubio’s rent-a-car friend asked. He had picked a tiny SUV from his small lot. “Be careful out there. In the country, there are big holes in the road and even bigger pigs,” he warned. 

I didn’t tell him the craziness of city traffic scared me more. Wilfredo, in his only pair of designer jeans and me with REI gear and cameras, looked like we knew exactly what we were doing. In fact, the city was easy. Glitzy hotels on palm-lined boulevards blurred into suburbs where gated communities mixed with tin shacks and “love motels.” I had to navigate trucks, herds of minibikes, and mules. Wilfredo navigated.

“It’s red. Should I stop?” I asked. Red lights seemed to be a suggestion.

“No. No. Go with the traffic like water. They don’t stop.” Wilfredo advised. But then all cars and hundreds of motorbikes ground to a halt. Boys squirted soap on our windows, squeegeed them, and held out a hand. Others leaned in to hawk walkman radios or parched peanuts. One sold parakeets.

The suburbs ended abruptly and the rolling two-lane, cutting through soaring red rock cliffs. The ocean, which had been constantly to our left, disappeared. So did any outbound traffic. Coming toward us was a parade of vehicles piled impossibly high with fruits for the Saturday market in the city. 

I drove and watched Wilfredo study a map. “Who taught you to read a map?” I asked. 

“Mi padre. A map of the coffee farm.” He peered at the old road map in his lap. It was upside down. 

Nestled in my lap was a stem and cluster of round green leathery marbles I’d bought from a kid who leaped onto the hood. Wilfredo bought us a single big beer and two tiny cups. 

“What is this?” I pointed to my lap. “These small green lemons?”