Ryan leaned his surfboard against the flaky blue paint of the shack’s wall. He took off his rash guard and draped it over the nose of the board. The skin on his back was light tan, tinted pink on the shoulders. The word SOUL was tattooed across his back from shoulder blade to shoulder blade.
“I can’t believe I’m still burnt,” he said, pushing the tip of his index finger into his shoulder. A white imprint of his fingertip remained for a moment; the color returned.
“I told you to put on sunscreen,” Lindsay said. “The sun down here can be killer.” Her board was shorter, and she laid it on the ground. She took off her rash guard. Her skin was a deep tan, but a pale white line crossed her back. She shook out her hair.
They walked to the counter. A yellow Labrador lay there, in the shade. In front of the building, four round tables with empty chairs sat in the sand. A tall oak stood next to the building, yet cast little shade. The day was going to be hot. A large, dark skinned woman in a floral print sundress sat behind the counter and fanned herself with a newspaper.
“Buenos dias,” she said.
“Hi,” Ryan replied.
“Buenos dias,” Lindsay said.
Ryan looked at the handwritten menu on the counter.
“Casado con pollo,” he said in a confused accent, “and an Imperial,” he pointed at a Coca Cola refrigerator behind the counter full of glass bottles of beer and Coke, “por favor.”
The woman opened a bottle and set it down on the counter. She told him the price and saw that he didn’t understand. She set a calculator next to the beer. The display read, “2500.” She pointed at it and said, “colones.”
Ryan handed a soggy bill to the woman and collected his change. Lindsay ordered; her Spanish was fluent. The dog followed them as they took their beers to a table. Ryan patted it, and it lay at their feet.
“I love surfing in the morning,” she said.
“Me too.” He took a swig of beer. “I just wish I was better. It felt like I was in a washing machine all morning.”
“You’re doing fine. You’re from Colorado, not California.” She set her bottle down. “Three months in Costa Rica and you’ll be a pro. I’m sure.”
“Yeah, I hope so.” He looked at her and smiled.
“You should have seen me when I first got here,” she said as she reached across the table and put her hand on top of his. “I couldn’t even stand up.”
They sat silently drinking their beers. They could hear the waves breaking. A dirt road ran in front of the soda counter and they watched ticos riding bicycles and gringos carrying surfboards. Across the road a man stood next to his rusted pickup truck, its bed full of oranges. They had bought fresh juice from him earlier that morning on their way to the beach. The Red dust kicked up and the sound of the ocean was drowned out with each passing dirt bike and four-wheel drive.
The fat tica set two hot plates of food in front of them. The rice steamed. Ryan scooped the black beans and chicken on top of it. The dog sat up, but they gave him nothing.
Ryan took a bottle of green sauce from the middle of the table and poured it onto his food. He couldn’t identify the flavor, but had come to love it in the week he had spent in Tamarindo. He stirred everything together with his fork so that each bite contained rice, beans, chicken, and salsa. He saved the sweet fried plantains until the end. Lindsay ate hers first, then ate the rest of her food in small fast bites.
“Dos mas cervezas por favor,” Lindsay said to the woman as she cleared the plates from the table. Lindsay set down two 500 colones coins.
The woman brought two Imperials.
Sweat rolled down Ryan’s forehead; he wiped it off with the back of his hand then held his beer. He tapped a reggaeton rhythm onto the glass with the metal ring he wore around his middle finger, then took a long swig and set the bottle back on the table.
“Beer gets warm so fast here,” Lindsay said.
“That means you’ve got to drink it quicker.”
The red and yellow label slid down the bottle as the condensation soaked the glue. Ryan picked at the top of the label with his fingernail. He peeled off the moist paper, turned it over then stuck it back on so that the black eagle on the label was upside down.
“That eagle is snarling at you,” she said.
“I always thought he was smiling. And isn’t it a dragon?”
“I think it’s an eagle, but I guess he could be smiling.”
He held the bottle close to his face then took a drink. “You can’t stay just a few more days?” he said.
“You know I wish I could.”
Ryan set down his beer. “You could change your flight.”
“Classes start next week.” she took his hand. “When you get back to the states I’ll come visit you in Colorado, or you can come see me in Boston.”
“You say that now.”
“We’ll see each other again,” she leaned over the table, “I promise.”
“Hey guys,” said an Australian voice from the road. They turned to see one of their roommates from the hostel. The dog came out from under the table and sniffed at his legs.
“We missed you guys last night,” the Australian said. “A bunch of us drank a bottle of Guaro then went down to the Mambo Bar.”
“We were hanging out at the beach,” Ryan said.
“Oh,” the Australian smiled, “gotcha. Well I’m gonna go have a surf, maybe I’ll see you guys later.”
Ryan turned back towards Lindsay. “So you’re leaving pretty soon then?”
“Yeah, I’m riding to San Jose with that Canadian couple from the hostel. They went to rent a car this morning. We’re leaving as soon as they get back I guess.”
“You’re all packed and everything?”
“My pack is sitting at the hostel ready to go,” she said.
Ryan stared in the direction of the water. He picked at the faded blue paint of the table. Lindsay took a folded piece of paper from the pocket of her board shorts.
“Hey Ryan?”
“Yeah”
“Here’s my address,” she handed him the paper, “Write to me.”
“I will.”
“And see everything you can while you’re down here. Try to get to Witch’s Rock, and Mal Pais is such a cool place.” She started talking faster. “If you go to Montezuma be sure to visit the waterfall, and try to get up into Nicaragua, and you should definitely go see the Caribbean side, especially Puerto Viejo.”
“I’ll see it all.”
“I wish I could do it again.” For the first time since Ryan had met her Lindsay looked sad. “I wish I could do it all with you.”
“I know. I wish you could be there too.”
They sat in silence again. Across the road the man with the oranges cut them up and put the halves into a metal press. He held a paper cup underneath it as he pulled down on the handle. The man threw the peels into a pile on the ground. The Labrador walked across the road and sniffed the discarded peels.
Lindsay drank then put the empty bottle down on the table.
A beat-up red Land Cruiser with two surfboards on top pulled off the road and came to a stop, bringing a cloud of Red dust with it. A man and a woman got out.
“Hey Linds.” The woman slammed the passenger door shut. “Hey Ryan.”
“Hi,” Lindsay said, almost too quiet to hear. Ryan faked a smile.
The man patted the hood of the truck. “She’s not pretty,” he said, “but she’ll get us to San Jose.”
Ryan watched as the man loosened the straps holding the surfboards. He picked up Lindsay’s board and added it to the pile. He tightened the straps.
“You ready to go?” he asked.
Lindsay nodded.
“We just have to load up the packs then we’re ready to roll.”
“We’ll go ahead,” the woman said as she opened the door. “You two can say your goodbyes.” She looked at Lindsay. “See you at the hostel in a couple minutes?”
Lindsay nodded again.
“Take care Ryan.” The man waved then got into the truck. It pulled away.
“Well I guess this is it.” Ryan stood up and put his hands on her waist.
“Yeah I guess it is,” she wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him closer.
He kissed her and could taste the salt. She always tasted like the ocean. They stood there for a moment then she let go and walked towards the hostel. She looked back once. Ryan waited until she was out of sight then sat down, sipped his beer, and listened to the ocean.
About the author:
Colin Clancy is a graduate student at Northern Michigan University. He is currently working on a novel set in the mountains of Colorado, where he lived as a ski bum. He can be reached at ticlancy@nmu.edu.
