Tuesday. A day of hope, of nervous excitement, of wonder. Tuesday. A day of disappointment, of hurt, of broken promises. Tuesday was of course the one day out of every week that the alcalde (mayor) was supposed to be in the municipality, the one day that volunteers could meet with him to discuss their goal, projects, fear, hopes, dreams and above all else, their budgets. Tuesday was a magical day that Becca would rise extra early, eat a quick breakfast and catch a combi (bus) to Morrope, the district capitol. Tuesday was a day that Becca would jump off the combi at the stop and practically skip to the municipality.
Unfortunately that Tuesday morning journey to the municipality had ended the same for the previous two months:
“Buenas dias, el alcalde esta?” Becca would ask the secretary, looking doubtfully at the empty office but hoping that he was simply in the bathroom. (Good morning, is the mayor here?)
“Buenas dias, oh no, el no esta, se fue temprana esta mañana,” the secretary would respond. (Good morning, oh no, he’s not here, he left early this morning).
“Oh, va a regresar hoy día?” Becca would ask. (Oh, is he coming back today?)
“No, no, pero el proximo martes, si,” (No, no, but next Tuesday, yes). And Becca would smile and say goodbye always waiting until she reached the park outside before she began muttering angrily to herself.
But this time Becca left with a different feeling. Perhaps it was the fact that she’d told her host mother she didn’t like sugary drinks and since received everything without a drop of sugar, or perhaps it was the decaffeinated coffee she’d been served that morning, but Becca knew she finally had the answer. The alcalde was obviously a ghost.
How he’d been elected when no one could even see him, she didn’t know, but suddenly understood his secret. Having seen enough movies and read enough books to fuel a glimmering imagination, Becca hoped he was more like Moaning Myrtle than well any of those other paranormal beings that had caused her to cover her eyes and weep like a child. Lost in thought, she turned the corner and entered the internet cafe, he had some research to do.*
*This last part is of course completely fabricated, but hey I haven’t written fiction in a while and the story of how I keep missing the mayor isn’t that interesting.
**Also I’m sure the mayor is actually out doing a lot of great things for the community, there are a lot of wonderful projects happening in the region.
***OR HE’S A GHOST!
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