Leaving Arlynes

[Written 1 year ago.. ]

It was 11:17 AM and my bus to Puerto Plata was scheduled to leave at 12:30. But instead of sending Arlynes home alone, I decided to ride in the Uber with her, that way we could spend at least thirty more minutes together. This was it for Arlynes and I, our last time seeing one another until some hypothetical future rendezvous.

I opened the car door to Juan's silver Sonata and placed my luggage on the seat behind him. I then shimmied into the cramped middle space so I could be next to her. Rolling my eyes, I thought, of course there's no seatbelt. A common theme. It was as if all the Uber drivers in Santo Domingo held a conference and, along with agreeing to tint their windows jet black, decided to remove the seatbelts from their cars, if only to make things interesting for people like me who always reach for one.

I felt exposed.

Arlynes said in English "Don't worry, it is okay". But I knew better. Nothing about this was "okay", and I had to accept that if I died in Santo Domingo traffic, it would be because of a seating choice I made.

No one obeys traffic laws in the Dominican Republic. Drivers must maneuver carefully to avoid crushing the small motorcycles that weave in and out of traffic. Everyone uses their horn to signal intent, and different honks mean different things. I see a guagua driver eating a plate of food, his hands completely off the wheel. The very next left turn is harrowing -- I hold my breath as we cut across three unmarked lanes of pavement. Arlynes beckons me with her eyes to kiss her, her way of distracting me from the chaos. I close my eyes and do so, trying to take each one in like a nose full of roses, but because of my anxiety they lack immediate sensation, prematurely vaporized into memories.

I was warned this would happen. If you leave your heart with a Dominican woman, it cannot be mailed to you - you have to return for it.

Two thirds of the way to Arlynes' house on Calle Santo Thomas de Aquino, I finally started to relax. Juan seemed to know where we were. He barely looked at the GPS. And the voluminous kisses Arlynes gave me were finally starting to kick in like a drug's delayed effects. I turned on my camera phone and filmed the two of us together. She smiled and flirted and generously blew besos into the lens. The camera strayed left. I captured footage of the Guaricano neighborhood, a blur of sunlight, barred windows, and creeping vegetation with no beginning and no end.

I felt conflicted. I wanted to be out of Santo Domingo's stomach turning traffic but remain off of it's dangerous sidewalks, to be away from this unsightly place but never leave the gorgeous woman who called it home.

Arlynes reached for my right hand and caressed my fingers while staring out the rear passenger side window. She does this thing where her lips are resting yet pursed, as if pouting, yet sexy, not sad. When I happen to catch a glimpse of it, all of her other features, including those Disney princess eyes, fade into the periphery. In highschool I had a teenage crush who had lips like hers. The two of them could be long lost sisters, especially when Arlynes took her hair out of it's neat bun and let it rest on her shoulders, something she'd only done once in the previous four days. I wanted nothing more than to take in her side profile for the remainder of the ride, but she caught me staring and broke pose with a wide grin, her perfectly straight, white teeth inviting me closer.

When we arrived in front of her home, I could only see a glimpse of it through the narrow alley. As she exited the car, she gestured and said she lived up on the second floor. It occurred to me later that her English was actually much better than she let on, probably the result of having dated at least one previous foreigner, a Canadian who she dumped because he was possessive. Bad move on his part.

"Hasta luego," I said, donning one of those slight, bittersweet, squinty smiles we all wear on awkward occasions like these.

From where she stood in the shadow of the open car door, Arlynes responded softly. "I will tell Pamela and Emily you said goodbye." And then she leaned all the way back into the car to kiss me one final time, a brief and fleeting consolation.

When she stood up, we both reached for the car door at the same time. She nudged it closed while I gently pulled the handle towards me.

I unconsciously turned my gaze to the rubber floor mat beneath my feet, a mechanical response to the finality of it all. To watch her turn and walk away would have been too much. Best to just keep my head down, slide into the warmth of her vacated seat, and savor the sound of the seatbelt clicking into place.