Mike's "Last Night"

Here’s the thing about Mike: he’s a big liar. Well, no, that’s extreme. A more accurate description of him and his ways would be to say that the kid can’t seem to make a decision to save his own life. Whether the choice is something as inconsequential as what kind of pizza he wants to eat or as important as from what country and on what day he plans to fly back to Canada, Mike’s simply incapable of making up his mind. This manifests itself in strange, funny and sometimes irritating ways, like when trying to reserve a hotel for our group to stay, yet never being able to know for sure if we’re including Mike in the equation, or when saying bye to him before getting off the bus because he has decided to stay on and go somewhere different with another group of people, then hearing his creepy stalker footsteps behind us two minutes later after changing his mind at the last second, or having to stand outside his house for ten minutes on our way to lunch, waiting for him to stop hemming and hawing over whether or not he’s hungry enough to stop watching a basketball game. This quality of Mike’s doesn’t often bother me, because I truly love him and he’s one of my favorite humans on this earth. But when it does bother me, I just say, “whatever Mike, I don’t have time for this.” One time I hung up the phone on him during one of these moments of irrational indecision as it was getting in the way of my changing outfits and applying makeup before going to the bar that night. Instead of calling me back, he simply wrote on my Facebook wall: “I cannot believe you just did that.” Which only made me laugh.

So Mike had initially intended to return home from Costa Rica sometime in March. But just like Katie, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Unlike Katie, however, he did not set a clear future departure date, but instead left it open ended, and kept paying Maximo for each additional week, unable to decide when exactly he wanted to leave. With each new week, Mike would announce that it was definitely his last, but after being told this for the third time and then seeing him at Maximo the following Monday morning, I eventually stopped taking these declarations of his seriously. The Thursday that Tio Pedro was to arrive, I was leaving school when Flo informed me that Mike would definitely be going home on Monday, and that since we were spending that weekend in different places, tonight was the last night for us to be together in San Pedro.
“Yeah, OK,” I said sarcastically. “Another one of his ‘last nights.’”
“No, man,” Flo said. “He really bought a plane ticket!”

I was immediately overcome with sadness. I couldn’t believe Mike was actually leaving us! Flo told me that he and Mike were only going out for an early beer in the evening because they needed to get up at the crack of dawn the next morning to catch a bus to Puerto Viejo, their weekend destination. I guessed they’d finally had enough of pulling all-nighters and getting on the bus at 6 AM smelling like bar. I was surprised at this, but for some reason I actually believed it, and I agreed to have a drink with them before going to pick up Tio Pedro at the airport. A big group of Maximo people went out to a bar around the corner from school, including Gaby, my old Spanish teacher! She and I have become amigas mejores throughout my time here, and she’s one of my favorite people to go out on the town with. Gaby, like me, refused to believe that Mike would actually leave us to go home to Canada. She said, “Con Mike, siempre es un negociation.” I agreed. Gaby, Flo, Mike and I branched off from the group and headed to the street in San Pedro where all the bars are in. This street is always packed with Tico college students from the three Universities in this area. I have still yet to learn the street name (as it seems that in Costa Rica when a street actually has a name it is out of the norm), so I just refer to it as “The College Street.”

So on the way to The College Street, Gaby and Flo ran into the supermarket to get something and I hung outside with Miguel (Mike’s Tico name), guarding Flo’s skateboard. Of course, because I am a glutton for punishment and apparently have a death wish, I mounted the skateboard, something I should never even consider doing again in my life after all of the injuries I’ve sustained on that thing.
This time, however, I didn’t actually try to move around on it, but rather just handed Mike my Camera and said, “Miguel, go for taking a picture of me on the patineta!”
Mike sighed as he took my camera from me and said, “Ugh, Chris, I’m so sick of you and your phony extreme sports pictures.” I laughed hysterically, then reminded him that when I’d forced him take all of those pictures of me posing with my rented surfboard in Nosara it was a more legitimate request, seeing as I actually do know how to surf. Ish. The skateboard thing, I conceded, was purely aesthetic.

The four of us enjoyed a cerveza on The College Street while Gaby and I engaged in some serious girl talk en espanol. Mike listened intently, intrigued, laughing along with us and occasionally asking us questions because he understands and can speak a good amount of Spanish. Flo on the other hand, kept trying to keep up with what we were saying, aware only of the fact that the subject matter of our conversation was fascinating and a little scandalous. But unfortunately for him, Flo couldn’t understand a thing.
Eventually he sighed and muttered, “Man, I really need to learn Spanish.”

When it was time to go pick up Tio Pedro, I hugged them all goodbye, but could not accept the fact that this would be my last time seeing Mike in Costa Rica, so I asked them, “Are you guys sure you’re going home soon?? Or can I meet up with you again later?”
“Yeah man! We changed our minds. We’re not going to sleep. We are just getting on the bus at five,” Flo said.

I laughed. This did not surprise me. There’s something great about knowing you can count on your good friends to make the same dumb decisions over and over again; something comforting in that consistency. So I headed for the airport to collect Tio Pedro, with a plan to meet up with Mike and Flo later that night. At the airport, I settled in for what I expected to be a nice long wait, with an out-of-this-world ice cream in one hand and my book in the other. I was then pleasantly surprised when I saw Tio Pedro walking out the sliding glass airport doors a mere ten minutes after I’d arrived, carrying his suitcase as well as the extra suitcase filled with goodies for me that I’d requested him to bring (i.e. more sundresses from Target, adult gummy vitamins, a carton of American Spirit Yellows, more ugly man mesh shorts, etc…). Tio Pedro is the man.

Trying to get Tio Pedro to a hotel for the night led me to the realization that in reality I don’t really know my way around San Jose. Or more precisely, I don’t know how to get anywhere unless I am taking one of my daily public buses. We rented a car for our epic journey to Nosara the following morning, and as I sat in the passenger seat, I realized it was only the second time I’d been in a car for over two months, and that the first time had been during a mere 5 minute trip from Santa Marta to Ciros Jr. with Mike’s host parents. It felt strange and exciting…that is until the reality sunk in that because I’d never driven through San Jose before, I had no idea where we were or where we were going. I truly only know my way around via bus routes. Luckily, we had a GPS. Or so I thought. I say this because the particular GPS that came with our rental car had THE ABSOLUTE most annoying voice I had ever heard from a GPS. Or any other automated recording. Or any real human being. I’ve heard a lot of really irritating voices in my day, but this one took the cake. Every time she told us what to do I wanted to gouge my eyes out with pliers.
“Shut up!” I would yell at her, as Tio Pedro laughed. “I really don’t think she knows what she’s talking about,” I’d add, as started to become overwhelmed with all of the random, nameless streets she was directing us onto.
“I’ve decided we need to have faith in her,” Tio Pedro responded. “Because really, what’s the alternative? You CLEARLY don’t know where we are.”
I couldn’t argue with him there.

So eventually The Voice from Hell led us to San Pedro and I breathed a sigh of relief as familiarity greeted me outside my window. I started showing Tio Pedro around, pointing things out, and then we went to the meeting spot I’d agreed upon earlier with Flo and Mike. The two of them were in rare form when they came running up to the front of the bar to see if I was still there. Luckily we’d all been just about twenty minutes late. I introduced them to Tio Pedro, forced them to smoke an American Spirit, (“Yeah, give me one of those things, you’ve been going on and on about them for months. I want to know what organic tobacco and a lack of additives taste like.”- Mike), joked around a bit, and then instructed them to meet me in an hour at the Bottle Cap Bar, yet another name I completely made up, based on the fact that the tabletops at this particular bar are shaped like gigantic bottle caps.

After getting Tio Pedro settled at a hotel, I went to the bar and found Flo and Mike in even more ridiculous shape than they’d been an hour before. I was beginning to worry about their wellbeing. I had become so accustomed to Katie and I making all of their weekend plans for them and leading them through the travel motions, that all of a sudden I was anxious about them traveling alone after no sleep, inebriated, and to an unknown location. Clearly I have care-taking issues. So we had a couple of cervezas together and shared some hilarious and utterly absurd conversation. The following is an example:

Flo: “Your hair is like a horsetail.”
Me: “Whatever Flo, some people go for it.”
Flo: “Yeah…and some people live on the street.”

It was a perfect “last night” with Mike. When we left the bar, me to get into a cab and head home for some sleep, Flo and Mike to go off on their final adventure of the night before getting on the bus to Puerto Viejo, I became incredibly sad about my future in Costa Rica without Mike. He and I hugged about ninety times.
Then I got in the cab, rolled down my window and yelled, “Be careful boys! Please take care of each other!”
“Thanks Mom!” they called back to me, laughing and stumbling down the sidewalk together.