El Salvador, 2011
There were four of us traveling through Central America that spring, on a week-long break from school. Rachel—forthright but impossibly picky. She knew what she wanted, and sometimes that was Taco Bell, even if we were in El Salvador. Vanessa—impulsive, living off instinct. Pretty, and quick to flirt, though her looks often felt more like armor than intent. Emily—introverted and quiet—one of the planners. I’d always thought of myself with these attributes, but compared to her, I felt brash. And me—thoughtful, cautious, always trying to keep order when plans fell apart.
Rachel and Vanessa saw a connection that Emily and I couldn’t, so when we stepped off the bus at Rubén Darío Street in downtown San Salvador, they tried to do us a favor—they tried to give us space.
The thoroughfare before us transitioned from a busy street to a sprawling flea market set up in the middle of the road, blocking traffic. For them, this market created a perfect excuse to slip away. From our perspective, they’d wandered away, leaving Emily and me, alone and uncertain, and neither of us knew how they would ever find us again.
We ventured inside the market, in search of our friends.
Everything became a senseless array of textiles, mannequins, and colors. Clothing racks from one shop spilled across the street, intermixed with boxes of shoes from the next. The shops appointed themselves in garish colors, and lit with artificial lighting. Each had a radio, blasting tinny-sounding Spanish Reggaeton music in a hundred different beats. I wanted to cover my ears and run away, yet I was drawn inside.
Emily and I picked our way through the labyrinth, textiles brushing against our skin. Tarps fluttered between the shops overhead, providing midday shade, which now felt stifling and hot. Shoppers pressed in all sides, cutting us off and slowing our progress, while their keepers called out to us. The smells of diesel, sweat, and pupusas pressed in—a maze that seemed to repeat itself for miles.
A hundred feet in, we turned around.
With the sky now overhead again, I looked around. The city had changed. Shadows had elongated and the had air cooled, the merchants hurried to close shop before nightfall, and the streets grew empty. As the vendors turned off their lights and pulled down the corrugated shutters across their shops, the market dimmed. Shapes blending into each other, faces began to obscured. This transformation happened in what felt like an instant—bustling to empty, like everyone was in a hurry. A shudder ran up my spine
San Salvador had already unnerved me in daylight. Every wall tagged, every bus dented and scarred. Men lingered on corners, tattoos creeping from sleeves and collars, watching the flow of traffic with unreadable eyes. Others, faces marked by old injuries, moved between the buses asking for change. The city carried a reputation for danger, and I had no intention of testing it after dark.
At this moment, Emily found a police officer walking the street asked about our friends. They stood out here—one Black, one Asian—and he nodded, saying he’d seen them heading toward the market. Beyond that, his directions grew vague.
“I don’t want to go back in.” I said, but I’d already resigned myself to the deed. Dread had filled my mind, and I had no idea how this would turn out.
“Okay, let’s go.” This time, to myself.
Then Emily tapped my shoulder and pointed.
I followed her finger, and there they were—browsing jewelry at one of the last open stalls. Not in the market at all, but just on the outskirts. They were fine, and somehow that made it worse. They looked up and smiled.
“How’d it go?” Vanessa said, glancing between Emily and me.
“It’s getting dark,” I said. “Let’s find a cab.”