Treasure

Words. So powerful. I use them to share this story, you use them to understand this story. They can be funny, romantic, cruel, frustrating, etc. I try to use them carefully, and often make mistakes. I say hurtful things purposefully, and then other times, try so hard to say the words that will bring understanding, only to get caught in frustration and doubt.

Last week, after a cerveza, tapa, and “it’s a small world” connection with a newly made friend in Milan, I was making my way to the bus stop on the romantically moonlit streets of Granada, when I came upon a treasure.

It was in front of a library.

I saw a man with one of those reflective vests you see worn by roadside workers , slip between two gate posts around a construction site. He had left the treasure by the gate for me to marvel at, sitting on a push cart amongst what I consider junk, debris, and garbage.

I stood there for a full minute with my mouth open while other passersby looked at what I was staring at. One man, nodded his head in appreciation and agreement while my eyes searched his body for a camera- or some device for recording my find. I did contemplate how I could take it with me. Would it be possible to store it at my friend’s house? I knew though, that it belonged to the man in the vest. It was his. He had found it, he knew it to be a treasure, although he must be in pursuit of another treasure of greater importance to have just left it here in this cart, for anyone to nab, and make off with.

But, I was on the wrong side of the river.

I needed to catch the bus, in order to get back to my friend‘s house. It came on the other side of the bridge, 200 meters away, and -most likely- it was the last bus of the evening. I could chance it, that perhaps another bus would come, yet it would be unwise to get myself stranded in another country, in an unknown city and worry my friend with no easy way to contact her of my predicament.

So I pushed it for another 2 minutes, hoping that the man would come back, hoping I would see a passerby with a camera, and at the minimum get a picture of the moment. Just to make it real. I mean- what was the chance of seeing this here? In front of a library, no less?

No one even walked by. I saw a bus coming, too blind to read the numbers clearly, so I ran.

I got visually clarity just in time to see the backend of the bus pulling away from me, 50 meters away- #171. I was waiting for either 180 or 181. Breath started to return in short gasps, including a sigh of relief.

But now, I was on the wrong side of the river.

I couldn’t go back, couldn’t chance the bus coming and me missing it. So, I strained my eyes across the river to see if perhaps my friend in the reflective vest might possibly be making his way towards me. Then maybe we could talk, he could tell me the story of how and where he came across it, and what he planned to do with it.

Or maybe he’d have a camera.

So in the meantime, I pulled out my book to occupy my brain with words. The images, the feelings, the world they invited you into , and allowed anything at all to exist. As I read on this journey, I often think of the words I will share with you, and how they might affect you-and your world. How important it was to me to have a keyboard, a way to type and save and share my thoughts with others during this singular experience in my life.

It was then that I realized that a reflective vest had just passed me by, pushing a cart with the treasure!
He was now 50 meters away…what do I do?

I ran after him.

Pardon! Pardon? Eh, Senor? Um…tienes un camera? Quisera un photo con….o solo de….una cosa? Come say dice…esto?

I crashed through my Spanish, awkwardly trying to ask he if would take a picture of it, and send it to me. I reached into my pocket, for one of my moo picture cards with my email on printed on it.

Mi correo electronic es aqua, y un photo de mi tambien. Si possiblemente enviar un photo a mi …correo electronico?? Por Favor?

The man laughed. He did not speak English or Spanish. He pointed at the 1950s antique type writer and then me.

Photo?

I nodded by head vigorously. He chuckled again. He took out his cell phone and took my picture. He said the words CD, yet I tried to convince to email me (I have no CD drive) by pointing to my email address on the back of the card.

I posed. He took the photo. We both smiled. And the bus pulled up.

Sitting safely in the last bus of the evening I thought of excitement and freedom that the typewriter signified for me, adding doubly by being in front of a library. The place that hold all those moments of typing, creating and expressing.

From one key at a time, to the keys that open all. Letter to line, page to book, I hope someday mine will be resting in a nook.