"ucha? ducha? Manu! Welcome to Mexico." (Part 4)

Days 4, 5 (Saturday, Sunday): We dreaded the final hours. There were unused gym shorts to be repacked, last helpings of beans and rice to be savored, overpriced souvenirs to be conned into purchasing. I still had not told Nico my true feelings. With so much unfinished business, Manu and I vowed to rage through our last night in paradise.

raging (okay, fine, just kidding. sort of.)

We had our last supper at the Mexican restaurant in the resort. We had a delicious thick tortilla soup, salad (fortunately, the salad was at a bar, so we had a taste of our familiar endless buffet), and an assortment of desserts after the enchiladas/burritos/more beans and rice. Manu became excited over the bread basket, and I was excited about the chips with different salsas. The restaurant staff grew frustrated by our lack of gustatory sense, and the novelty of our existence (i.e., Manu's proficiency in Spanish) soon wore off.

The raging continued onto the beach, through our own makeshift photo shoot. It's always been a dream of mine to be famous (no, not rich, and no, not successful, just famous). We thought we'd play famous on the dark beach.

It didn't last that long.

There was a marketplace on the opposite end of the resort. People took trolleys, but we thought it would be a nice enough night to walk. By the time we got to the marketplace, we were sweating and had each incurred about 6-8 mosquito bites. We walked through the gates like gallant victors, having triumphed over the Caribbean like true heroes.

And that's when I saw him. Nico was wearing a pale blue shirt and khaki shorts, a nice change from his usual maroon uniform. He was browsing the beaded chokers and necklaces. I thought he might be getting something for his girlfriend, which simultaneously devastated and intrigued me. I had just browsed the jewelry, but walked back over as if I had just discovered the beads.

Manu grunted loudly in exasperation as she saw me inch closer and closer to him, flipping my hair and tilting my head even more dramatically. She walked over to me and whispered, "Ruch, he's with a guy."

I looked back over, and suddenly realized a man standing two inches away from him. I had not noticed him before. Manu continued, "Sorry, Ruch, but I think they're even matching."

They were both wearing hues of blue with light pants, and there seemed to be an all too familiar sense of comfort  between them. It was worse than sexual tension; it was sexual ease, the period of calm following giddy, initial excitement and tension. The sight was disabling. I could actually feel my already weak knees go even weaker.

Spell was broken. Time to return to America.

Before heading to bed, we made one pit stop at the bar, but since my capacity and willingness to rage had been corroded by the reality of Nico's inclinations and of my own lethargy, exacerbated by a broken heart/spirit/youth and the Mayan massage, we neglected sangria and margaritas and just munched on roasted almonds while we (Manu) carried on a conversation with the bar tenders and waiters. After a half hour, I turned to her, yawning, hopeless, lips covered in salt. "Dude, wanna go up and pack? I might be able to catch the beginning of Sword in the Stone, again."



Waving adios



The morning was painful. There were lots of forms to sign, lots of thoughts to process, and above all, I was afraid to miss the opportunity to get free breakfast. I ultimately used my older sister authority to force Manu to put croissants and Nutella packets in my purse while I checked out. There was no napkin or paper plates, so we had naked, flaky breakfast pastries piled next to our passports and sunglasses and mini jar of Vaseline.

I was too tired to cry, but too sad to sleep. We were at the airport, back in our faded yoga pants and scrub shirts and glasses. We dreaded leaving Tulum, leaving unrequited loves and unrelenting waves and unsuspecting plates of rice, but knew it was time to return to the rat race, back onto our hamster wheels, back to the Sisyphean realities undermining our American delusions of ambition and success and "the future."

My sister interrupted my thoughts. "Rucha, I'm really craving a burrito. As soon as we go back, I'm going to Chipotle."