Early

At two in the morning three uniformed boys about my age come and sit next to me in the nearly empty airport terminal. Their arrival is awkward. They work for the airlines, moving luggage and printing tickets.

They ask me many questions in Spanish. Where are you going? Why are you alone? What is your name? Do you have a boyfriend? Why not? Do you want a Peruvian boyfriend? Why not? Do you have a phone number? No? ( I say, “I don’t have electricity!”) Do you have a cell phone? Why not?

I am not amused. I don’t want to be mean, but it’s two in the morning, for crying out loud. I just want to sit here and read my book. I try to think of an escape. These guys are really getting on my last nerve.

I stand up suddenly, grip the handle of my luggage cart. “I’m going to get something to drink,” I tell them in Spanish, “Bye.”

I push my cart to the only café in the airport. I sit at a round dark table and they bring me café con leche and a cold bottle of water. I already have a headache from lack of sleep but I’m determined not to doze off until I’m on the plane in seven more hours, headed for Pucallpa.

There will be no sleep. I didn’t bring these jars of peanut butter all the way to Peru to have them stolen under my very nose in the Lima airport. No sir.