Lost Wheels

I wondered how long I'd been asleep on the bench when the sensation of raindrops on my face roused me. A drizzle had begun. "Why does it always rain when I sleep in the park?" I pondered. The rain began to intensify, prompting me to gather my belongings quickly. I sought shelter beneath the overhang of a nearby kiosk. As I settled in, the rain started to pour heavily. Watching the downpour, I realized a peaceful sleep tonight might be wishful thinking.

Lost in the rhythm of the rain, an older man joined me seeking refuge. His name was Roman, a 70-year-old gentleman. We chatted, blending English with Spanish. He was delighted, mentioning this was his first conversation with a Korean. Our chat ranged from oceans and mountains to family and cities. As the rain lessened, we exchanged farewells. He intended to catch a bus, though he wasn't sure of the destination. Roman showed me his free senior bus pass, implying he likely used it to travel between buses and parks daily.

Wishing each other well, I searched for a new sleeping spot as the rain subsided. I found an inviting space in front of a grand bank. The elevated platform seemed safe, and despite being exposed to the wind, it had a large overhang and a sprawling marble floor, making it ideal for rest. Laying my bag as a makeshift pillow, I tried to sleep. Even with layers of clothing, the plummeting temperatures and gusty winds left me shivering. Whenever I woke from the cold, I'd sit up or do push-ups, desperate to generate warmth. Around dawn, a man nudged me awake, requesting I move so he could prepare the bank for the day. Gathering my belongings, I watched him begin cleaning the entrance. The rain persisted even after retrieving some items from the fire station and having a quick breakfast. Fatigued and faced with the dreary weather, I decided to rest for the day and depart tomorrow. Recalling yesterday's tip, I planned to find P. Jimmy at 10 AM.

Waiting under a building overhang, flipping through a dictionary, I went to the previously mentioned building at around 10 AM I discovered it was a "Pre-Universidad" -- a type of preparatory college. The entrance was bustling with students.

As the bell rang, students streamed inside. Following them, I inquired about P. Jimmy. The male attendant, different from yesterday's lady, informed me that P. Jimmy wasn't present. Despite several calls, there was no answer. After waiting a while, I decided to leave.

Another tip I'd received mentioned a free shelter for the homeless, but one needed permission from 'Puerta de Entrada.' When I arrived, I found the doors were locked. However, a young man sitting outside told me they would open at 3 p.m. Since I had some time to spare, I decided to sit and chat with him.

He introduced himself as Daniel, around my age. He was job-hunting and showed me his resume. Time flew as we chatted, and soon a diverse crowd gathered. Some were raggedly dressed, others had missing teeth, and some bore fresh injuries. Yet, conversing with them, they felt like friends.

At 3 o'clock, a man opened the shelter's doors, admitting a few at a time. Another homeless individual vouched for my early arrival, allowing me to enter ahead of others. Inside, I sat on a sofa scanning the unfamiliar surroundings. Daniel approached, asking about my bicycle. "I placed it outside the door," I answered. He gestured urgently to bring it inside. With assistance from an employee, I went out to retrieve it.

To my horror, the bike was missing. I stood frozen for a moment, then started shouting at the people I had been chatting with just seconds before and asked if they had seen someone take it. They all shook their heads. I looked at each of them, trying to argue, but they refused to meet my gaze. It dawned on me that I couldn't trust anyone there, and my distrust of people resurfaced.

Suddenly, I became concerned about my luggage, which I had left inside the building. I worried about others who had gone in before me and whether I could trust them. My bike became an afterthought as I rushed back inside to retrieve my backpack. Thankfully, my luggage was still there, and I crouched down next to it.

Feeling a bit disoriented, I surveyed my surroundings. The individuals present seemed to be unfazed by the recent event that had occurred to me. Daniel, who had averted his gaze and sealed his lips, conveyed a sense of familiarity with this situation. The individuals near me moments ago were no longer present by my side. It appeared that there was an implicit understanding among them, which I could faintly perceive.

The shelter's manager approached,

"I heard about your bike. Is it true it got stolen?"

"Yes," I replied, distraught.

"I'd advise against making a scene here. For your safety."

"Why?" I questioned, frustration evident.

"These people, they're desperate. They might know who took your bike, but confronting them might be unsafe. Also, it might be best for you to leave soon."

"Do they know who took my bike?"

"Most likely. Many here are battling addictions and are desperate for money. They probably sold your bike for quick cash."

"So, you're saying it's unsafe for me to sleep here tonight?"

"Given the current situation, yes. But I know a place, Casa de Immigrante, for immigrants. You should head there."

Thankful for the advice, I headed to the suggested shelter. As I was strolling down the street, I noticed one of the homeless people walking silently beside me, whispering, "There are many bad people here. They're hungry and broke." I thanked him, finding solace in his words. Walking away, I repeated to myself: It's not that they're bad. It's that poverty is bad. Hunger is bad.

The path ahead seemed uncertain once more. A few hours ago, I was charting my cycling route beyond Montevideo; but now, following the theft of my bike, I felt lost once more.

My bicycle had left me. For the short while we shared the road, it had vexed me with one flat tire after another --- and now, in the end, it had abandoned me. Were you never meant to be my road? Or did you leave only because you had already done all you came to do?