Don't Forget to Write

Trust

Staying in touch with Camila was as difficult. We could only communicate while she had internet access inside of the hostels. Most of her days were spent exploring cities, hiking through mountains, soaking on the beach, going out with groups of fellow travelers, or whatever adventure was on the agenda for the day. We had video calls when we could, but usually we would get disconnected within a few minutes of starting. I was beginning to grow anxious and jealous of the men in the hostel groups. It seemed inevitable, in my broken and narrow mind, that she would at some point fall for one of these bronze-skinned travelers in a romantic and far-away country. I couldn't escape the thought that everybody cheated. I told myself that my perception was tainted by relationships of my past, and poor models of relationships in my childhood, but ridiculous things like logic don't work on a brain like mine when it comes to issues like these. I couldn't sleep at night, wondering if she was sleeping in her own bed or sharing it with another. Flashbacks to seeing my ex-girlfriend's car parked in front of my best friend's house years ago going through my mind.

Part of me regretted not telling Camila that I loved her back the night before she left. But, did I love her? Or was I going crazy, obsessing, losing my mind rather than giving my heart?

I talked to Bruno about what was going on in my mind, and he had very simple advice.

"Do you trust her, Pete?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"I mean, you trust her enough to be willing to stay together while she's in Colombia, that's quite a bit of trust isn't it?"

I nodded.

"Well then, there's nothing else you can do. I think she's a great girl who wouldn't do anything bad to you. Instead of obsessing with all of these thoughts in your head, keep yourself distracted and know that there's nothing you can do, whether she ends up being the love of your life or breaking your heart is kind of up to her more than it is up to you right now."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

He shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. Point is, there's nothing you can do, and the worrying is killing you, so instead of focusing on what might happen over there, focus on what is happening over here. Distract yourself." He slapped the slight pouch that had grown around my belly – I had gained about ten pounds since that fateful day when both of our soccer seasons were over. "Start going to the gym or running or something, pudgy. It'll be good for your body and mind."

I followed his advice and started going to the school gym again. Bruno even joined me on most days. We worked out hard, and even after heavy lifting days we always ran two miles at the end of our work out. It was like we were training for the soccer season again, except, for Bruno, that would never be an option again. It seemed empty. Your whole life as an athlete you work out and eat right mainly just to improve your ability in whatever sport you're in. once that sport becomes a thing of the past, once the stadium lights have turned off and you've turned in your jersey for the last time, what was the point of working out? What was the point of getting faster and building up your endurance if you didn't have to fight against other people for 90 minutes to win an important game? Yet I watched Bruno, sweat dripping off his head, pushing himself as if he would have a try-out with the New York Red Bulls. I still felt a tinge of guilt, thinking that I was a part of the reason he never got to finish his last season, never got to fully prove himself on the field. Maybe that's why he was working hard, to try to prove himself to himself, to show that he still could keep up with the best of them. I kept the guilt to myself, we had exhausted the topic on many drunk nights, and I thought he might snap and get mad at me if I apologized one more time. So, I tried to work just as hard as he did. Eventually, I felt better, less crazy. I still thought about Camila cheating in Colombia, finding somebody new, and all of that, but I thought about it less. I kept myself distracted and busy enough that those thoughts sat in the back burner, and didn't interfere with my life as much as they would have.

Holiday decorations lit up the city, adding a friendly glow to the otherwise gloomy month of December. Christmas lights illuminated trees and shop windows, menorahs cast a warm glow upon cozy rooms. It was the weekend, and I was home alone. Bruno and Milo had been spending the week visiting his family in Jersey. I had a great day of laziness planned which included pizza for dinner and watching old Indiana Jones movies until I fell asleep. Camila video-called me just as I was starting to eat my Hawaiian pie and Indie was talking to two army generals about the missing professor.

I swiped up on the call. "Hey, stranger!"

"Hey, Pete."

"You're looking all dolled up today, special occasion?" She was wearing a thick layer of make-up, which she hardly ever wore, and a low-cut dress.

"Just going out with some friends later."

"Cool, where to?"

"Just some bar."

"Oh, well who are ya going with?"

"Some people from the hostel."

"Cool. I'm sitting at home tonight enjoying some pizza and movies. Aren't ya proud of me? It's the first weekend in months that I haven't gone out drinking."

"That's great babe. Listen, we need to talk about something."

"Yeah?"

"A while ago I applied to an English teacher position at a school down here. I had my interview today and they offered me the job. I'm going to accept."

"I... wow. That's great." Silence... "But... I didn't even know you were applying for jobs down there?"

"I didn't want to freak you out."

"Waiting until you got the job isn't exactly the best way to prevent a freak out."

"Well, I wasn't sure if I was going to get it or not, and now I have it. I'm sorry. I know this is a lot to spring on you, but this is a dream of mine. I have to go for it."

"I understand. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, Peter. So what does this mean for us?"

"I'm not sure. Haven't had much time to think about it."

"I'm going to be here for at least a year. It's not like you can just pop in and visit from time to time. It's expensive."

"Right."

"And distance for a whole year seems like a lot of time, we've only been together for a couple of months."

"...yeah."

"I just don't think we can make it work."

There was a long silence. I was confused, suddenly feeling like the world was changing around me without my consent. She was acting like an entirely different person. No longer the warm-hearted and kind Camila, but rather a business first, cold cut, and unforgiving robot.

"So, what? We're breaking up then?" I asked, trying not to sound to hurt.

"Yes, Pete." She said, not looking at the camera. For someone who had recently told me she was falling in love with me, she wasn't acting very loving. She was treating me like an annoying friend rather than a lover. She was being so smug about the whole thing, as if she was ridding her life of a nuisance, not ending a relationship. The worst part was that I knew she was right.

"Okay then," is all I had to say.

"You ready babe?" A man's voice came from Camila's phone. She covered the phone but I could still hear him talking. "I was thinking the two of us could go to that dance club." Babe? The two of them? I thought she was going with a group? And they're going to a dance club? Is that why she's dressed like that?

Before I could ask "What the fuck?" Camila said, "I gotta go, I'm sorry, Pete." She hung up before I had a chance to respond.