“My panties?” Sebastian asks as I fish into my freshly dried sleeping bag-liner for a mysterious ball-of-something.
I chuckle under my breath at what I thought was a joke.
Standing at about 6’4, Sebastian the young German man does not crack a smile.
I pull from the liner a large pair of pinstriped boxers and hold them up for his examination.
“Oh good, my panties.”
He nods politely and takes his undergarments, retreating to his bunk without so much as a giggle.
“Sebastian, you know that they aren’t called panties, right?” I ask him later at dinner. He is hunched over a bowl of now-steaming canned stew.
“Yes, they are my panties. What do YOU call them?”
“Underwear…maybe boxers in this case.”
He shakes his head dismissively, plunging his spoon into a chunk of potato.
Soon after he finishes, Ida and I offer him some of a salad of which we made too much. We plate a generous helping for him, and he goes to work.
“STICK TO THE PLAN!” Sebastian slams his hands down on the table, and then continues munching at his gratis leafy greens. Ida chokes on her pesto pasta and I almost spit my wine into the floor, Sebastian continues to eat, looking curiously at the two of us, fighting fits of laughter.
For desert, I have my Milka Cookies, like always. In Ida and Sebastian’s company I have put down maybe six or seven tubes of them.
“You love those cookies SO HARD.” Sebastian observes.
After clearing tears from my eyes and NOT choking on my postre, I try to explain why Ida and I continually crack up at his statements. He does not understand, nor does he seem to care. Not everything translates.
I wonder how many times I have tried to find the nearest ATM and accidentally asked where I can have a doorknob resoled.
I met Sebastian one last time in Sobrado, where a monastery has stood for nearly a millennium. The facade of the church was carved granite, worn to many tones of grey, brown, and green. Ivy grew without hinderance up the twin bell towers, where colonies of pidgens had made thair homes. The building was a stark contrast from the grandiose presence of most popular Spanish Cathedrals. I had spent all afternoon laying atop a stone wall in it’s shadow.
“What did you think?” I asked him over a grilled chicken breast.
“Sick shit.” He replied, grinning proudly at his English proficiency.