Page 18 of Sol
Leavingthe grimy train station in Granada, I shoved my spent ticket in my back pocket and faced a street of gray modern high-rises that appeared nothing like the pictures of Spain that advertised the translation school. Where was the quaintcobblestone?
It surprised me, but frankly I didn’t care what it looked like, so long as I got toher.
People passed me right and left speaking Spanish while I stood searching for my hostel on my phone. Cocking my ear to understand those around me, I caught phrases here and there, but nothing substantial. This was gonna be a challenge in more ways than one, but I’d handledworse.
Of course the few Americans with big backpacks near me were easy tounderstand.
“Dude, Granada has the most bars per cubic meter of any city inEurope.”
“Forreal?”
“Yeah. Some don’t even open until two in the morning. Sodope.”
I shook my head, stuck my phone in my pocket, slung my bag over my shoulder, and aimed for the center of town on foot. Class started tomorrow, Monday. I could do this. I’d just pretend my throat and lungs weren’t sore from keeping all the feelingsin.
The compact buildings edged up directly next to each other with no space between them, like they were built with a muted-hue Lego set. A change in color and a different door were the only clues designating a different building. Retail space took up most of the ground floors, with apartments on top. You had to look up alot.
I didn’t like that. Someone could do quite a bit of damage in a small area if they wanted to. I found myself scanning for snipers on rooftops.Goddamn Afghanistan.Man, the army had fucked with myhead.
Making my way into the central part of the city, the heat beat down on me like I’d said something bad about its mother. The buildings got older, and I finally saw cobblestone. Checking my phone, I came to the block where I wasstaying.
Drained from travel, passports, foreign money, different cities, train travel, and finally finding my way to a place to stay, I pressed the doors open to the hostel. I found myself in a cool, small room that smelled like smoke. The ugliest cat in the world, white with a weird black spot on its hind leg, snoozed on the dark woodcounter.
A slight, young, dark-haired woman with a broad smile and a toddler on her hip entered from a room to theside.
“Hola,” said the toddler, and proceeded to babble away, telling me in really, really good Spanish, welcome and goodafternoon.
“Hola,” I said, “me llamoTrent.”
“Me llamoCarmen,” shereplied.
Carmen spoke better Spanish than me, even though I had twenty more years on the planet than her. I shook my damnhead.
The manager sat the child down, gave her a drink, and asked for my passport and a credit card in English. After I signed the papers, she handed me the key to my room and told me the times for meals. I trudged up two flights of stairs and opened the door. The tiny room barely fit me and my bag. It had a spartan twin bed, a sink in the corner, and a window opening to the middle patio. I’d be using a bathroom down thehall.
Good enough forme.
I flung my bag on the bed and my backpack at the foot. We’d all arrived safely, me, my luggage, and Degan’s letter. I’d traveled halfway around the world, chasing a girl. Tomorrow, I’d see her for the first time in four years, and I dreaded what I had todo.
Please, oh please, let this not destroyher.
For now, I was so tired, I scooted over my bag and snuggled up with a scratchy pillow, not wanting the sleep, but needing it just to make it to the nextday.
