Mosquito Bites

Playa El Zonte’s sweltering sun licks at my skin, burning up every pale bit not hidden by my bikini. Brick-red mosquito bites crowd my unshaven legs, from toes to thighs. Resisting the temptation to scratch the fresh one blooming on my knee, I open my beaten-up copy of The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, held together by a bobby pin. Cross-legged on a towel stretched over the hot wooden deck, I lean over the yellowed pages, my stomach folding into rolls.

A few pages later, a tall shadow appears over me. I place a finger next to the word I last read before turning.

A man looks down at me: molten emerald-gold eyes, long lashes wet and clumped, a bead of liquid hanging off the tip of his nose. He wears a white tee with a poorly drawn dog on the front. Black shorts cling mid-thigh. He’s beautiful, effortlessly so. His short, wavy black hair plastered to his forehead: dripping.

“Is it alright if I join you?” He gestures at the open space next to me, a book and a journal in one hand, a towel in the other.

My lips part slightly. I’m staring, amazed and dumbfounded. My skin prickles up my neck. I drop my gaze and turn back to my book.

“Yeah,” I manage, hoping he didn’t notice me ogling him.

“I’m Dani,” he says, placing his towel next to mine before sinking onto the deck. His long legs cross, taking up nearly double the space I do. He places the novel and journal into his lap like they’re an extension of him. “What’s your name?”

“Silver,” I say.

We don’t speak after that—not for a while. I try to read, eyes glazing over words I don’t absorb. His scent keeps pulling my attention away: sunscreen, coffee, and cinnamon. It’s a weirdly wonderful combination. Like he’s made of warmth and spice.

Behind us, the useless umbrella wobbles like it might fall over any moment. A pair of dogs barks in the distance. A blender whirs in the open kitchen, making the silence feel heavier.

His presence is thrumming off of him and penetrating my left side, making me feel impossibly hotter. I steal a look at his thighs: honeyed, splattered with freckles, glistening. Beads of sweat trail down over the curve of muscle.

I have to say something—anything. I started traveling to make connections with people! Too bad I suck at it, though. I exhale through my nose, fingers gripping my novel. I should ask something about him, something normal. My mouth opens, and I hear myself say:

“Looks like mosquitoes can’t resist a pair of thick thighs.”

Instant regret seeps through me. Can I take it back? Please? I want to catch the words floating around us and shove them back inside.

Dani looks up from his journal, mid-writing. His eyes pierce mine.

I feel like a weirdo. What is he even supposed to say to that? What would I say to that? I wish I could teleport out of my body. Vanish into the ocean. Evaporate. I would face-palm, but he’s looking at me so intensely.

“You have itch cream?” His pen hovers above his page. If he thinks I’m weird, he shows no indication of it.

“No. I tried to find some at the shop up the road, but they didn’t have any. I found double-ended nail clippers, though. Like, who needs that?” I sputter, trying to forget what I said before.

I did buy the nail clippers. I walked out with those, a bottle of water the size of my head, and some snacks after using my not-so-amazing Spanish speaking skills with the woman behind the counter. I still don’t understand why it’s double-ended, however.

“I can lend you some. I brought a large tube, but I haven’t needed it.” After a brief pause, he adds, “You could have it, actually.”

“Oh no. I’d hate to take it from you. I just need a little.” I close my book and set it in the space between us. I nibble on the inside of my lip, biting it to ease the nerves.

He drags his gaze from my face to my legs. My heart pounds in my ears. I can feel the weight of his look on my skin. Sweat drips down my spine.

“You need it more than I do. You’re like a mosquito magnet.” He smiles. Dark stubble stretches above his lip. His pen gestures to my legs. The all-you-can-eat mosquito buffet.

I look out to the ocean, surfers riding waves, boats in the far distance.

It’s been three sultry days since I’ve arrived from San Salvador.

Dani’s not the first person to approach me, and he won’t be the last. I’ve had surface-level conversations like this in every place I stopped at on my journey through Central America. It’s exhausting, nerve-wracking. I don’t know how people do it. They just talk and connect. I wish I could.

“Thank you, then.” I nod, still looking out at the horizon, forcing my thoughts back under.

“Which dorm are you staying in? I can bring it around later.” He turns back to his journal, his book tucked under his knee. I want to ask what he’s reading, but the question never leaves my mind. I could ask where he’s from, but that question gets stuck inside as well.

“The room next to the kitchen,” I say, knowing he’ll understand the one I mean, considering there are no room numbers. I would turn around and point at it if he needed me to.

His phone rings in his pocket. He apologizes for the interruption and answers it. I release a breath of hot air and let myself deflate again. Grateful for the break in conversation.

“What’s up?” Dani says into the phone. He gets up to collect his things. He looks at me and says, “It was nice to meet you. See you around?”

“You too. Thanks for the cream.”

I press the back of my hands onto my cheeks. I’m so flushed. I’ll have to think about what to say next time I see him.

“No problem,” he says, offering a radiant smile.

He walks up the deck and jogs through the hostel, his steps pounding the wooden path to the other side. He hops over the ledge leading to the beach, where he waves to a group of people waiting for him.

My stomach grumbles. The bites start to itch again. I was so wrapped up in my head, I didn’t notice the hunger or my itchy legs. He had consumed me whole.

I sigh, rise slowly and tiptoe off the deck, careful not to disturb the moment that passed. I enter my room to throw on a sundress and sandals. The dorm has six messy, unmade beds, open backpacks and suitcases lining the floor, paperbacks on pillows, and wet swimsuits hanging from the windowsill. A salamander zig-zags through the mess.

I walk up the road from the hostel in search of warm pupusas to engorge myself with, black sand between my toes. When I return, the sun has dipped below the horizon, sunlight still spilling over the sky. Pink and blue clouds float above. In the open doorway to my room, a tube of cream and a note set to the side. I bend over to scoop them up. The note reads:

For Silver,

the mosquito magnet

—Daniッ

***

I left early the next morning for Nicaragua.

No goodbyes. No numbers or socials exchanged. Just sunburn, regret, and a backpack full of dirty laundry and wet bikinis.

I haven’t seen him since.

Maybe one day we’ll meet again.

Maybe one day we’ll be in a random country on a random street, and he’ll tap my shoulder. And when I turn to him, he’ll say, “You again.”

And maybe I’ll smile and finally say everything I couldn’t that day in El Salvador. Hopefully with more confidence and less mosquito bites…