The Long Trip Home: Archives

Archives

February 2002

Spotlight: Love on the Road

Fate?
by Carin Stimolo

November in Paris
by Tonna Corbin

The Train to Rome
by Jackie Goyette

Thanksgiving in Ponte Vedra
by Carly Sachs

A Honeymoon After 13 Years Together
by Rosalie Robison

Love in Prague
by Ellen Kamilakis

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Archives

February 2002—Spotlight: Love on the Road

Fate?
by Carin Stimolo

Fate?

He is holding my hand lightly in his, turning it, examining it.

"What's this?" he asks holding my left ring finger in his tanned hands.

"That's from when I cut myself carving a pumpkin," I laugh. "Closed a jack knife right on my finger. Very smart."

He lifts his left ring finger and holds it up to mine without saying a word.

"Oh my god, you have one too." I gasp at the sight of the identical semi circle scar on the tip of his finger. "How did you get yours?"

"Fixing my dodgy old car." he replies in his proper English accent. "I told you it was fate when I ran into you that day in Copan." He's still holding my hand, rubbing his fingers over my scar. "How else could we have the same scar on the same finger?" He smiles and bends his head down to kiss my hand.

Fate?

I myself consider it a stroke of luck. Something that I hadn't exactly had much of until then. Lest you think I'm exaggerating, let me give you a little history. I had just finished the worst winter of my life. I spent the last six months working three jobs to make ends meet. I broke up with my boyfriend—was evicted from my apartment because of him. I had to move all of my belongings into my friend's cellar. I took my life savings and bought a plane ticket to Honduras. Honduras you ask? Well, for one thing it's cheap. Another thing? It's far away. So I figured, "what the hell!" I needed a change of pace. Off I went, in search of adventure, excitement and if I was lucky, a little romance.

I arrived in Honduras and immediately headed for the coast. I spent two weeks on the beach reading Atlas Shrugged and sleeping in a cabana for $1 a night. It was infested with insects and bugs, but it was quiet, offering a chance to get myself together in peace and solitude. I decided to go into the mainland before heading out to the islands. So I did what any backpacking gringo would have done—I took the bus to see the ruins. Seven grueling hours later I arrived in Copan. I found the small hotel some Dutch guys had recommended and took a room for a week, all the while hoping I might meet some other interesting people or even a cute single one.

Four days and no cute single guys later, I decided to take a side trip to Gracias, "a quaint mountain village" my guidebook said. Translation: mountain hell hole. Hot, dusty, and hungover, I spent the afternoon riding in the back of a pickup truck on a single bed mattress. I ate some bad chicken at a roadside restaurant run by some Americans, and to say I was having some complications due to the meal is an understatement.

Finally we got back to the hotel, and I ran for the bathroom, thanking God for the abundance of toilet paper. Things could be much, much worse. Now that I was safely at a flush toilet, I began to realize the irony of my situation. I'd been in Honduras for three weeks and the first time I get sick is from eating in a damn gringo's restaurant. Typical.

Luckily the Hotel California had two bathrooms. It had been pretty empty lately so my constant use of the toilet was going unnoticed. As I made my way down the hall once more I began wondering how there can be anything left in my stomach. Are these walls soundproof? I don't think so. Head down with an arm wrapped around my waist I emerged from the bathroom yet again. I turned the corner to the hallway and ran right into him.

Words stuck in my throat as I looked up at the broad chest in front of me. I slowly lifted my head to meet his green eyes gazing down at me. He was gorgeous. Dark wavy hair, big juicy lips, 6 foot tall, lean and tan. I managed to squeak out "excuse me - sorry" as I moved aside and walked past him. I was mortified and intrigued—in that order.

Safely inside my room I closed the door and was about to breathe a sigh of relief when I heard a knock on the wall. It was Jerry the proprietor of the California. We'd become fast friends since my arrival at his hotel.

"Are you decent?" came the raspy voice.

"Yes, Jer" I affirmed as his head popped up through the small wood window that adjoined our rooms.

"Get dolled up honey, I think there's a cute guy out here."

Good ole Jerry, always looking out for us single girls. I laughed and felt a flicker of hope light in my belly. I was starting to feel a little better.

"Is he staying here Jerry?" I asked nonchalantly.

"No, but he's alone and he speaks English. So get your ass out here before some other travelling wench does." The window slammed shut.

Ok, it's now or never. I slapped a hat onto my head and journeyed out to the bar. Jerry was behind the bar smiling at me. "Come sit down, honey, and meet our newest addition." Jerry winked and pointed to the stool next to my mystery man. "This is Simon, an English bloke from the country."

"Fate? huh. Well I guess that's one way of looking at it," I say. Simon is still holding my fingers and smiling at me. "I never was much of a believer in outside forces but something must have drawn you to a poor American girl suffering from bad chicken." I lean back into Simon's arms and watch the sun fade into the horizon. Pinks and purples swirling, stretching across the sky, intermingling with stripes of blue. The water reflects with pink and red ripples.

"Absolutely brilliant" Simon whispers into my ear. I'm not sure if he's talking about the sunset or our meeting. Either way I agree.