The Holy Days of Gregorio Pasos by Rodrigo Restrepo Montoya

Author:Rodrigo Restrepo Montoya
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Two Dollar Radio
Published: 2023-07-11T00:00:00+00:00

PART TWO

Magdalena’s House

I stayed in a hostel for a week, in Adams Morgan, by all the bars and clubs and hookah lounges. The receptionists were kind enough to let me pay night by night while I looked for a more permanent living situation. I received a keycard, a sleep mask, shampoo, a toothbrush, toothpaste, a towel, and a lock and key for my valuables. I was assigned a bottom bunk on the second floor, across the hall from the men’s bathroom. The quarters were tight, but clean. The room was empty when I arrived. Some bunks were a mess, littered with clothes, chargers, maps, and pamphlets. Others were a bit tidier. I took my spot in the back corner, by the window, slid my luggage under my bunk, and slept through the evening, through the night, and into the weekday morning. I woke up as the more serious types buttoned up for work. I followed them downstairs into the communal kitchen and a complimentary continental breakfast. I reminded myself that I was lucky and returned to my bed for more sleep.

In the afternoon I walked, but not far. I walked through Columbia Heights, Shaw, and Dupont. The hostel guests mainly fell into two groups: tourists and professionals. The tourists wore backpacks and the professionals wore nametags. They were easy to tell apart on weekdays. On the weekends, they blurred together. They drank. They talked. They laughed. They fought. And so on.

Every day, and most nights, I ate at a small empanada restaurant in Adams Morgan, about a block away from my lodging. The empanadas weren’t the best I’d ever had. They weren’t the worst, either. The woman at the counter was very nice. One night, I asked her if she was the one who made all the empanadas. She laughed and pointed to the name on the door. “Julia makes them.” I took my time eating. Every now and then the woman at the counter would run back into the kitchen or out for a quick errand. She would ask me if I would look after the counter while she was gone, which I did. It felt good to be trusted. I sat at the table by the window while I waited for her to return. I basked in the feeling, however slight, of being welcome.

One night, a Saturday, I was having a hard time sleeping. I was in and out of dreams for hours. Despite my earplugs, I could hear some guests singing downstairs. Later on in the night, I woke to a couple having sex on the other side of the dark room. I remember wishing I were both of them. It must’ve been three or four in the morning when I was woken up for the last time. The woman on the bunk above me was praying.

The morning after, I waited around for someone in the lobby to leave their Sunday paper behind, then brought the news back to bed with me. I came across an article about an unlikely, yet practical, living arrangement that was becoming more and more common.

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