Colombian Princess

The picture was nostalgic. Creases on the corners, faded colors of blue and white, smiles so big you'd think they just got married. I found the old photo of my dad and who I assume was his Colombian girlfriend buried in the attic with a 'don't touch' label on the box. He died a year ago so for the anniversary of his death I decided he no longer had power over the mystery crate. I didn't show mom for obvious reasons, although it looks to be older than their marriage. Dad must've been in his early 20's at the time, and as a man now reaching that age, I was jealous. Yes, the scenery was gorgeous, and the woman he's holding couldn't be considered anything less than a goddess. But more than the picture, I was envious of the note on the back.

'To the most engaging and handsome man I've ever met, please never forget your Colombian princess' - Ayana Avila

Even her name held you in a trance. It made me wonder why my old man ever came back. 

Actually, it made me wonder much more than that. Why was he in Colombia? Why did he go against the note and in theory 'forget her'? He must've been there longer than a vacation to earn such high praise and I never took my dad for a disloyal man. Him and my mom were like two peas in a pod. 

I just felt it. There had to be more to this photo. So I did some digging through the box. 

The stunning beach with white sand and clear blue water - San Andrés. I had no idea the island was a part of Colombia. Dad had a T-shirt with the cities name. He also left a few Colombian dollars and a menu to a tiki bar with a number written on the back. 

My dad was always around growing up, but he didn't tell me much about his past. He was diplomatic in his speech and stoic in his behavior. I looked up to him, but wanted so much more. I thought I had plenty more time to get it....

If there's one thing my dad taught me it's to keep moving forward. Don't let things linger and keep you from your goals. But I needed some lore. I needed to know where I came from, who I was, I needed to see a piece of him that I knew he'd only share with me. A part of me felt like he kept that box to show me one day.

I had all the information I needed. So, I took a flight to the island of San Andrés.

Once I arrived, I was quickly reminded of how little I've travelled. It was shocking how few buildings they had and half of them were ruins. People were driving by in decade old cars blaring Spanish music. You could feel the drugs moving around you from person to person like the entire island was a chain. The food smelt great and horrible at the same time. I was both terrified and excited to try everything. 

I was worried my Spanish would be too proper, but as it turns out, my dad must've taught me the Colombian dialect. Everyone I spoke to was just as shocked as I was that they understood me. Once I arrived at my hotel, I whipped out my computer and searched the number on the menu. 

I had no luck finding an address, and I didn't want to cold call and scare her off. I searched the old tiki bar, and apparently it went out of business 10 years ago. Then I did what I should've done first. I searched her name. 

Prostitutes. Strippers. Escorts. Those were the services offered on the only website that featured 'Ayana Avila.' Surely my dad didn't seduce a lady of the night to that extent. If he did, I'd be more impressed. 

I started to wonder if she got so depressed after my dad left she decided to do this. That was nearly 25 years ago, but I still felt bad for her. Using the number on the website I called and placed an order.

Now I'm sitting in my hotel room waiting for my dad's ex girlfriend stripper from Colombia to show up without a clue of who I am.

knock, knock, knock. 

I open the door. 

"Hello, are you Mister Vick?" She asks. Her accent is as cute as can be. For being 50, she sure doesn't look it. I'm briefly considering following through on the arrangement, but my brain promptly reminds me that I'm here because she dated my dad. 

"Vick Sanders. Yes Ma'am." I respond. "Please, come in." She softly walks in the room. Her dress is promiscuous but not too revealing. I'm starstruck. Why am I here again? 

"Please, don't call me ma'am. it reminds me my age, hehe." Her giggle makes me smile like I'm about to get married. I get it, dad. 

"I call all women ma'am. Don't worry. You look as stunning as the you did 25 years ago."

Her smile wipes away as if '25 years' itself was a memory.

"Sanders?" She stands up from her spot on the edge of the bed. "You say Sanders is your last name?!" I nod my head, unsure if I should. "Like, Nick Sanders?"

"That's my dad's name."

...

Slap!

I haven't been hit like that since I came home from getting detention in middle school.

"I'm sure he deserved that," I say. 

"I'm so sorry. Oh no, no, no." Ayana sits back down and puts her face in her hands. "Why are you here?"

"I found this picture of you in my dad's attic box." I pull out the picture. "I wanted to know what you knew of him."

"Ask him yourself. I never want to think of that man again."

"Well I can't. Because he's dead."

...

"I lied. I've thought about him constantly." Her eyes were so full of hopelessness now. 

"I'm sorry." 

"Is he really dead?"

"Yes, unfortunately."

"He promised me one day he would come back."

"Why did he leave?"

"Well he had too. The Medellín cartel had found out he was an agent."

"Why would they care that he was an insurance agent?"

"Insurance? You mean the CIA?"

...

"I'm sorry, what?"

knock, knock, knock.

"They are here already? Shit!" 

"Who's here?"

"When they take your wallet and see your last name is Sanders they might find out you're his son."

"But what did my dad do?"

"He and Cesar are such enemies, he forced me to work for him forever once he learned of our relationship. He'll kill you without hesitation."

"What the actual fuck!"

"Sh! Hide in the closet. And take your bag." I do as I'm told. Ayana answers the door.

"Hola chicos. ¿Alguna idea de por qué abro la puerta de una habitación de hotel vacía?"

Who the hell is my dad? 

I'm blurry on their conversation, so I watch through a tiny crack in the door of the closet. The men don't look any more scary than most I've run into on this island. That is, until they pulled out their pistols. But Ayana seems calm through it all. They trust each other.

Before long, Ayana gets the goons to gallup. I wait until she opens the door to do anything.

"Phew. That was close," I say.

"Yes it was. Now leave."

"What? I can't leave now," I say as sweat soaks my clothes.

"I cannot do anything for you, Vick. Except tell you that the longer you stay, the more likely it is you'll be caught."

"What were those guys here for anyway?"

"They come in while I'm working and steal the clients valuables."

"Why do you let them do that?"

"Because of your father! I said this earlier."

"Were you always a prostitute?"

"No. Me and your father met when I was a bartender. Little did I know, he was a CIA agent looking to uncover a drug trafficking ring. Almost a year later, the cartel found out, and forced him into leaving. But that's all I'm going to tell you."

Ayana goes to leave.

"Wait! He never told me any of this."

"Clearly, otherwise you wouldn't've been stupid enough to come."

"Well I want to make right by him. I want to right his wrongs."

"What does that entail?"

"I don't know. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"You can leave. I've asked that from you at least three times now."

"Anything else?"

"Bye Vick. I am very sorry about your father. He was once the love of my life."

"Wait, Ayana-"

Slam!

And just like that, she's gone.

Is she right? Was I stupid for coming? What can I do to fix this?

I can't live with myself if I quit here. I need more answers. I need to know what my father did before me. I need to know why he never talked about it before.

I need to reconcile the Sanders name with this Colombian Princess.