I have tried to write this post a few times now.
There are many embarrassing parts about this story that had prevented me from finishing it.
But those parts give sense to the whole thing, and that’s why I’m sharing it.
Thanksgiving gave me the perfect excuse to finally write it.
In my defense, embarrassment aside, this took place 16 years ago.
Most of my values, leisure time preferences and habits were not what they are today.
Hopefully that leaves me and my friends better off after sharing this.
Hope you like it Richard.
Wherever you are.
I had an awesome group of friends in college.
We like to call ourselves “alternative”people (as opposed to “mainstream”).
And I find that description befitting.
Well, one Friday night, my alternative friends and I, around the Christmas season, found ourselves at this pretty boring house party (which we were crashing, I may add).
Not happy about it, we decided to get stocked for the rest of the night, with booze, mixers and snacks -this is the most embarrassing part for me.
A couple of hours later, it was just Carlos, Julie and me.
Thank God we’ve already dropped everyone else, including the girl I was dating.
Who wasn’t too alternative and pretty mainstream. Ah the love. She drove me crazy. In a good way.
Anyway, by then we were at some park, in zone 15, listening to music, on a brand new car my dad had just given me.
Not too drunk. But certainly not sober.
We were listening on replay mode to the song “Aquí no es así” by “Caifanes”.
Endlessly.
And then, someone proposed: “Let’s go to Amatitlán“.
Which at the time, around 2:44 am in the morning seemed like the BEST idea.
Of course.
We took the road to El Salvador.
And took the turn right off the Texaco gas station.
Still listening to Caifanes.
Endlessly.
This part becomes a bit of a blur.
But I remember Julie saying to Carlos and me, “we should see the lake anytime now”.
Instead, after a few strange turns (bad sign # 1), on an unpaved road (bad sign # 2), we found a large soccer field (bad sign # 3).
No grass of course. Just dirt. Plain dry dirt, which was perfect for making stunts. With my car. Listening to Caifanes.
Endlessly.
We were expecting to see the lake right next to us. But before we could approach the end of the soccer field, the car fun ended abruptly: the front tires of my car had gone into a pretty deep crevice, losing all traction. When the car hit the crevice, it was a dry, hard bump, that took the air out of our lungs. Engine and music instantly shut off. As if making some dramatic effects. We got out of the car, only to see both tires in the air. Both Julie and Carlos jumped to the front of the car, both shouting “just get on reverse, we will push the car out of this in no time”.
Yeah, right.
We even switched places, taking turns on the wheel and pushing the car from the front, only to see the wheels spinning in the air.
“We must get stones for the wheels”, said Julie, so it can get some traction and get out of the hole.
Find stones we did.
But there were not any around.
We kept walking away from the car.
Temperature was freezing. Definitely bellow zero.
But we started finding some stones. Which we kept on the front of our sweater, making an improvised bag. Collecting all the stones and dirt that we could.
It was Julie and me, Carlos had stayed in the car, just in case.
And then, Carlos found us, running, letting us know that someone had come to the car, hit him in the face and told him to leave.
He managed to lock the car and left.
We didn’t know what to do at that moment.
But considering the possibility of an angry mob around the corner, which could destroy my car in no time, we decided it was time to reach for help.
After brief consideration, Julie called her dad.
Richard.
He answered, with some concern, and Julie told him all about our pretty unique ‘expedition’.
She told him, we’re right on kilometer 39, on the road to Amatitlán. We’re right next to the sign.
Richard told us he will get one of his friends, who happened to be a weapon aficionado, and bring not only the gear to lift my car, but some little arsenal too.
In case of the mob, you know.
We had our brains frozen by then.
And the wait began.
Away from the car, not knowing what may be happening around it.
Expecting Richard and his weapon lover friend to arrive.
It was a LONG wait.
The sun rose.
Buses began routing the road.
Julie and Richard spoke on the phone at least half a dozen times, as they couldn’t find us.
Then I read on one of the buses “Santa Elena Barillas”. I asked Julie if she was sure we were in Amatitlán. She was sure.
Over the hours, fear had turned into cold, cold into desperation and desperation into hunger.
Finally, Richard commanded Julie to ask where we were. She asked a local. “Santa Elena Barillas” she said. Julie reported, and 15 minutes later, Richard and his friend were there.
Smiling, not at all like three college students just ruined their night’s sleep.
They showcased the weaponry to us.
In a coffin attached to Richard’s jeep there were shotguns, rifles a machine gun and some grenades.
Thankfully, none of it was necessary.
We went to where my car was. All alone, unharmed. With the front tires in the air.
Richard pulled out an iron cable, placed it on my car, turned on the winch installed on the front of his Jeep, and within seconds, it was out of the crevice.
Just like that, we were out of trouble. No threat to us nor to the car. No damage done.
And I just remember the clear and sincere smile that Richard displayed.
He was not mad. He did not make any questions. He simply got there, helped and was done with us.
Smiling.
It was Saturday morning, and we got some heavy traffic going into the city.
We stopped to have some breakfast at McDonald’s.
Looking as filthy as one can look.
Devouring our breakfast.
All I could think about was how nice Richard was.
Of course I always remember that night.
It could have been such a crazy night -in a bad way-.
But it wasn’t.
So, what’s the deal with this story and sharing even the embarrassing parts?
You see, Richard never asked any questions about that night.
Ever.
Not to me at least.
That is as non-judgmental as someone has ever been to me.
And coming from a pretty chastising family, not having to respond questions on such a night was really something for me.
That night and early morning, Richard showed us how you are supposed to simply let life be.
Even if that involves three very irresponsible college students, with little conscience developed and reckless behavior.
Oh, and whom you had to go out in the middle of the freezing night to get out of trouble, by the way.
I think that is as Christian as you can be: no judgement -whatsoever.
I will never forget the calmness, the friendliness, the unquestioning attitude to help us that Richard displayed on that day.
With a frozen smile on his face.
Richard passed away earlier this year.
On this day, I thank Richard again for his help, for his example, for teaching me how “no judgement” looks like and for his sincere smile.
Big hug to you Richard,
Omar.-