I was thinking about everything last night, and Glenda came to mind. I also discovered that the experience in my mind was so much more than the few days in Peru, so that when I was thinking this: 'when was the last time I saw these people?' it seems extremely strange that in my mind the last time I saw Andrew, Lebo, Peter, Cindy, Yollie, Matt, the many Bens but the unique Gina, was in some version of the parking lot at the resort.
Everything I remember eclipses that, and they've spent so much time in their daily parade through my brain that it is stupefying to retrace the last time I was there, with them, to the day they lined up and waved me off to the non-adventure awaiting me, of sitting at home and thinking about them for six months.
One thing I remembered last night was how Miche and Lebo began a campaign to kiss everyone on the lips, all of those people who were Peace Corps Bolivia and who would soon not be. I was the third on the list, since I was standing among them as the clouds separated and such an idea was inspired from above.
And last night, I was thinking of how I should have jumped on that band wagon. It would have involved kissing a lot of pretty girls, and a lot of ugly guys as well. Plus, I suppose, kissing a lot of ugly girls and many pretty guys. I know the reason, then, why they wanted to do this. It would be the last time you see nearly everyone here. And that thought was the one that gave the label to that moment in a much more concrete way. When still there, my thoughts allowed for the idea, but it is only six months later that now I understand the absence that means.
It was a horrible time. To have Gina burst into tears as I held her was too much. Then to give Lebo a hug and have the same thing happen... damn. Maybe that is why I rarely try to think about that day, and do not associate it with my recollection of everyone. To think, then, for the first time last night about what it meant to be saying goodbye to these people, and to have those moments as the last ones that we shared is a strange thing. It floors me. I never labeled them that way until now, and so I look at them and the time since in a far different light.
But, back to Glenda.
When I left, I remember giving her a hug, listening to her strong voice say my name with regret. Then I turned to Peter--unsure if they were still a couple or not-- and I gave him a man hug, while looking back at Glenda saying : "Glenda, if things don't work out with this guy, be sure to call me!"
Peter knew I was just kidding, as I heard him say. It was Glenda who wanted to help me with my Italian in case I went to visit Italy directly from Bolivia, as I planned. I even bought the ticket to do it. But her parents told me not to come (and, luckily, the payment info for the plane ticket was voided because I punched in the wrong VISA numer).
She also was the one that went jogging with me often in Rumi Mayu and around her neighborhood, one of the best times I had during training. Running in a giant square, then around the way down to Kuatro Eskinas, the flattest mud road, running parallel to the steepest mountains--though never intersecting--almost a wall to help protect Cochabamba, but that usually makes things worse when the waters begin to flow down and flood the city.
The sad idea now is that--what are the chances that in Morocco they will have consolidation? It's a sad idea that they likely won't. At least, not without PC sending Bad-LuckKathleen there to be country director first. At the same time, however, it seems like it will be a challenge just to meet and know all 50 members in my group! And with 234 people volunteering now, meeting half would be hard to do.
Still, nothing like B-47.
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