Magic in Costa Rica

A Greek Tragedy

Lonely, dejected, empty. That's how Paula felt as she looked out the window, staring longingly at the ocean, wishing she could disappear under its waves. Instead, she was confined to the bed in her small, hot room while her legs healed after practically snapping in half upon her fall from the mango tree. Her mamá had propped her up so she could see out the window as an act of mercy, probably because she felt guilty about giving her such a harsh scolding when she arrived at the hospital.

"¿Por qué, mi hija?" She had said with tear-filled eyes as she sat at the foot of her bed. "We have mangoes at home, ¿Why did you have to climb a la copa del árbol?"

Despite her mother's kindness, Paula felt it must be some form of torture: being forced to stare outside, at the sea, at the trees, but unable to stand up on her own two feet to venture out. She felt like Tantalus from the Greek myth; standing in a pool of water, yet unable to drink from it, beneath a piece of low-hanging fruit that was almost within her grasp, but not quite. She laughed bitterly to herself; maybe her this was just another form of her mother's punishment, only carried out in a more tactful manner than usual...

My phone buzzed on my bedside table, and I sighed. It was probably Carla again. She and Mark had been badgering me to go on a 'double date' with them and Ethan every Sunday for a month now, but I always made up some excuse not to go. It's not that I didn't want to see them, I did, just not as much as before. Also, Ethan knew that Mark was gay, so I didn't get why they kept having to call it a double date. Mostly, it was just that I wanted be left alone. I wasn't quite sure what it was, but something in me had changed. The things that used to make me feel better (going to a movie with Carla, getting frozen yogurt with Mark, drawing with Mrs. K, working with Katie and Laurie) barely ever helped anymore. The only thing that brought me some solace was writing, and even that only sometimes worked. Everyone could tell that something was wrong, even Matthew. Although working with him was still always the highlight of my week, I rarely ever made sarcastic comments or complimented his ties anymore. He brought this up as delicately as he could one afternoon.

"Hey, you seem kind of... not yourself. Have my fashion choices just been way too mild lately, or has something been a little off with you?" he smirked mildly. I felt the ice in my chest thaw just enough to muster a fake smile.

"The former. You need to tell your personal stylist to bring it up a notch." Although I could tell the smile he offered in return was just as false as mine, he accepted my response and hadn't brought it up since. Mrs. K noticed too, but she was less than tactful in her approach with talking to me about it.

"Alma, has someone been putting Xanax in your morning coffee? You've been coming into class like a zombie! What in the world of wrong with you?" she asked, exasperated. I feigned a yawn and stretched my arms behind my back.

"Sorry, Mrs. K. I guess I've just been really tired lately." And that was the truth. Thankfully, my insomnia had been cured, but my new issue was that I couldn't get enough sleep. I went to bed by 9:00pm every night, and most afternoons when I got home from school, I took an additional 2-3 hour nap. That meant I was getting over 11 hours of sleep every night, and I was still exhausted all day. It didn't help that I was ridiculously busy. Schoolwork, my job at the diner, and writing new chapters all piled up, and I barely had any free time, and when I did have free time, I just slept.

The only person who hadn't noticed my state was, of course, my father. He went about his business as usual, barely minding me when I came home every afternoon and only ever emerged from my room in order to eat or use the bathroom. To be fair, he always did ask about my day, and I always said I was okay, so I couldn't really blame him for not knowing. But what was I going to do, talk to him about it? Just tell him in the middle of dinner that I was horribly depressed because I was in love with Mr. Miller, but pursuing my feelings for him would not only be a considerable breech in my strict moral code, but would also put us under severe scrutiny according to most ethical standards? No, I couldn't.