We've got nothing left.

I am writing to you on what has unexpectedly become my last night in San Jose. I was not able to post my last entry before I left for the weekend, but if you read it, you will see that I have been trying against all of my gut instincts to make this work and see the sunny side of every terrible situation that has been thrown at me thus far. I was rallying. I was going to make this work. I had done more difficult things right? And a long weekend at the Arenal Volcano was going to be the perfect remedy.
Grace, 2 other Máximo girls, and myself were scheduled to take the 615am bus out of San Jose. We left the Rojas residence at 5am and took a taxi over. The bus costs and unbelievable $4 for a 4 hour ride. We got on the bus almost without incident, but the bus smelled kinda rancid and travelling with your bags in your lap ( which was sternly advised) was extremely uncomfortable. Grace was a little worried about the whole ordeal since she gets severe motion sickness, so I was trying to be calm and soothing, which is not usually in my nature.
The whole bus settled in and almost everyone was asleep. I was in an anxious half-sleep at about 7am when our bus driver slammed on the breaks ( we were on a highway going about 70). We skid for 4 or 5 seconds before we hit a car. The front of the bus was completely crunched and the whole bus was covered in glass. The car we hit was completely flattened. I heard the people inside get hit, moan, and die. People hopped out from cars and roadside stands to see what happened – as soon as they peeked into the car, their faces fell. No rescue attempt was made- a family of 5 was dead at impact. Elisabeth and I were ok physically, but Grace hit her head pretty badly and Meredith has what appears to be a broken nose.
My mind was blank except for the neon flashing thoughts saying “you need to get off this bus in case something explodes.” So there we were. 60 of us – ranging from 8 months to 80 standing on the side of a Costa Rican highway nursing bloody noses and waiting for the next direction. Grace and I looked at each other and we realized we were almost completely alone. We had no one to call and no way to call them. We seemed eons away from our families and friends, who had no idea that we were ok or that we were even on the road. I knew instantly that I wanted to go home as soon as possible and Grace agreed. What were we doing here? We had felt unsafe and isolated from the first minute we arrived and I couldn’t even say that I felt I was doing meaningful work.
They unceremoniously pulled up a second bus and told us to continue on to La Fortuna. We had to endure 3 hours more, as the bus wound around hilly coffee plantations, praying and bracing ourselves around each turn. I was shaky and sick to my stomach and trying to remember all the people I hadn’t said I love you to lately.
I have never been that close to death before. Silently, five stories ended for good that day. There was no negotiation, no challenging it, there wasn’t even time for anyone to get used to the idea. 5 futures, 5 pasts, 5 sets of dreams, 5 people with connections to countless others. The earth didn’t split open; most people didn’t even stop their car. The first thing the bus driver did was to make sure he collected his money pouch. For anyone who knew anyone in that car, Saturday was the last day of their old lives. I found myself praying, which hasn’t genuinely happened in a long time. It’s very cliché to reach out to “God” at our most mortal moments, but at the time, he does seem like the most logical option, especially to a 20 year old, for whom death is about as relevant as water aerobics and Ross Perot.
To really know for the first time that it could all end that quickly made me feel two opposite ways. My first reaction was to grasp for the people I love and hold them close. I want to snuggle up to them and remember exactly how their voices sound. My second reaction was that I was happy I was out experiencing things. No one has given me a free pass from fate. It could easily have been me and my friends in that car and Grace and I (sitting in the front seats) could have been seriously hurt and our bus was inches away from going into a ditch. Nowhere is it written that I get any certain amount of time here – no matter how entitled we feel to a long life. I can’t make my life any longer than it will be, but I can make it as full as I want to and I have done a pretty good job of chasing life around and seeing what I can make of it. I don’t have to fly half way around the world every week to make it full, but once and a while that’s a part of it.
It makes me want to crack myself open and let my dreams and idea and loves splatter all over this world. How else will anyone know they ever existed? That I existed?
I’m really shaken up and this entry is a little hokey, and I hope you will forgive me. I have more to tell and more to reflect, but I am sick of thinking about the accident and wanted to set it loose in the blogosphere.
If you are reading, expect a long, huge hug in the next 48 hours.
Pura vida,
Emily