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 Placencia bus. It was freaking hot – shirt-soaking, humidity hot with no air-con within miles. The depot was little more than a slab of tin to keep the sun off our heads. K was furiously catching up on her journaling and had studiously ignored my pathetic efforts at engaging her in conversation so I went off to 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, staring, 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.