K & I had just finished an adrenilin-pumping adventure at Cave’s Branch in Belize and were sitting in the bus depot at Hopkins waiting for the bus to Placencia. It was really really hot – shirt-soaking, humidity hot and no air-con within miles. The depot was little more than a roof to keep the sun off our heads. I got restless and since K was furiously catching up on her journaling and had studiously ignored my pathetic efforts at engaging her in conversation, I’d go find treats for the bus ride.
Our bus had dropped us off on the opposite side of the building from the town so I was unprepared for the scene before me when I walked out the other side. OMG. I thought it was hot in the depot! There were all these stunning young people engaged in this slow, simmering sexual dance that was breath-taking to observe. There was no overt touching, no nakedness. Yet it hung in the already heated air, almost solid in nature. I stopped in my tracks and just stood, stared and gulped. Damn. I had never seen anything like it, not even in the most frenzied nightclubs of my youth.
When I was young and lovely I would have been way too intimidated to cross that street, too terrified to take the chance of being noticed and not knowing how to handle it if I did and mortified if I wasn’t. But now, well now I realized I was invisible to these hormone fueled humans so I could cross the street and be protected by my age. For really the first time I saw my age as liberating. I crossed, got my munchies and returned, carefully picking my way through the maze of slick bodies.
When I got back K. commented on the grin plastered on my face. When I shared my new found insight she rolled her eyes and returned to her journal. This was obviously something she’d already figured out. What can I say, I have always been a late developer.