As I cut into the passion fruit (Spanish: maracuya), a familiar scent hits my nose. I scrape out the pulp of the fruit and take a small bite. As the familiar taste hits my tongue, a flood of memories rush into my brain.
C'est si bon.
Singing American songs along with the Spanish radio.
Never finishing my pint before Kelly finished his liter.
Being mocked for my slowness.
Walking down the street, listening to Spanish rock music.
Ben.
Feeling like I could stay there forever, and never regret it.
"Rating" the waitresses with Kelly and Ian.
The last visit.
Pretending like the end wasn't coming.
Laying on the roof.
Saying goodbye.
Walking to the gate, watching as Cesar leads Ben away slowly.
Flying away from Pucallpa, not knowing if I'll ever return.
I sit here, crunching the familiar tasting seeds and chewing the familiar tasting pulp. I know there are other things going on around me, I know that time is still moving. I hear people talking to me, but just barely. It seems to me that time has stopped, that I have gone back. The familiar sweetness of the fruit brings back so many memories.
The fruit is gone all too quickly. The memories, however, will never go away. I left my heart in Pucallpa, Peru. A piece of it will remain there forever. It's funny how a smell or taste can bring back so much.
