“The one with the trees.”

Brian was pointing above the rooftops.

We sat in a bench, taking a break from playing football with his friends.

One of them ran over.

“Hey, papa!”

Brian looked up and nodded, then turned his attention back to me.

“There.”

I followed his finger.

Barva Volcano rose beyond Heredia, its summit hidden behind clouds.

“We’ll go there one day.”

I looked at the mountain.

“Okay.”

Brian’s daughter was born a week later.

After that, I mostly saw him coming home from work.

He’d shuffle through the front door long after dark, kiss the baby, eat whatever his mother reheated for him, and disappear into bed.

Some evenings he’d fall asleep at the table before finishing dinner.

~

Months passed.

I kept looking for someone to go to Barva with.

Every few weeks, I asked classmates.

“Not this weekend.”

“Maybe next time.”

Then one weekend I learned a group of friends—the same ones who’d turned me down days before—were going after all.

I invited myself.

~

From Brian’s house, the volcano looked close enough to reach in a morning.

It wasn’t.

Buses carried us into the foothills before we hired an aging four-wheel-drive taxi for the final climb.

The road narrowed as we climbed, little more than mud and rocks cut into the mountainside.

The truck bounced and lurched around the corners.

Halfway up, it slid into a ditch.

Our driver climbed out.

The rest of us climbed out too.

Another vehicle arrived, hooked onto the truck, and pulled it free.

We all climbed back inside.

At the entrance, I ran into Jonathan.

He was packing up camp with his host family.

“We’re heading home,” he said.

Then he looked at us and turned back to his family.

“I think I’ll stay another day actually.”

Nobody objected.

~

The mountain had been dormant for thousands of years.

Moss covered the branches and hung from the trees in long strips.

Water dripped from leaves even when it wasn’t raining.

Even the stones felt soft and impossibly old.

We hiked to the crater lake, then sat down for lunch.

By the time we sat down for lunch, everyone was hungry.

My friends pulled bottles of water from their bags.

Someone had a packet of cookies.

They passed it around.

A few people checked their pockets.

Empty.

I reached into my backpack.

My host mother had packed my lunch that morning.

Bologna and beans between slices of bread.

Bananas underneath.

A juice box.

A second bottle of water.

Another sandwich.

Brian’s mother had packed my lunch that morning.

“¿Vas para Barva?” She’d asked.

I looked up and nodded.

“Sí.”

She’d then smiled and pushed the bag toward me.

It felt heavier than normal. Now I understood why there was so much food.

I ate until I was full and shared the rest. Then I folded the paper bag and tucked it back into my backpack.

~

By the time we finished, the clouds had rolled in.

We stood beside the empty road, hugging our backpacks against the cold while we waited for the taxi.

Far below, the lights of Heredia flickered on one by one.

Somewhere down there, Brian was getting home from work.