The Battle

by Grant Huber (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find Latvia

Mortified in a cemented shelter. One window, one door, broken glass across the floor, and no escape. A bomb just went off! It was a horrible and deliberate act. That's for darn sure. The battle had ragged since morning. I rose wary from a squat as the stench engulfed the room burning my nose and eyes. My adrenaline filled eyes darted left and right like an animal paralyzed by oncoming lights looking for any incoming intruders. Did anyone see me? Has the embarrassment killed me? The natural light quickly illuminated the room to reveal my compromised position. Bare-assed, I desperately grab leaves from outside and wipe the once clean crevice. The smell still lingers. An aromatic mixture of a dead skunk, surströmming, and gutted insides which nothing could hide. The smell is so bad that it is indescribable even with all the distasteful English adjectives mashed into one. Imagine the worst thing you have ever smelled and multiple it by 2. That’s where I was at in the makeshift homeless structure mortified as I cautiously pulled up my pants. My upset stomach had revolted as the wretched smell exited the Gaujas Nacionālais park in Latvia. The day was supposed to be perfect with a cable car ride, and castle views over the Latvian countryside. We had made this journey to meet again and explore together. I stood there in horror. It was not just me here. I was on a second date with a beautiful woman from Germany. We had met days earlier on a bog tour in Estonia. I was a few minutes late after a 4 hour train journey and jokingly made my way into her car for the day’s adventures. The moment I saw her I wanted to get to know her. She had confidence, beauty, and something about her put my heart on fire. Now, the only fire was the rosy red humiliation strew across my face as I walked up the hill with my head near the ground. Ashamed, I could her my mother’s voice ring loudly. “Never poop in front of a woman!” That lesson was abandoned when I pooped in the woods. Worse yet, the extreme smell clung to my clothing. There was no escape or time to out run my anxiety. I was about halfway up the trail as I began to pray. I prayed that she would still be where I abruptly abandoned her and cursed at God for this crappy situation. My mind ran through uncontrollable scenarios and the potential hurtles ahead. Had she run away? Would I see her again? Was she laughing uncontrollably at my misfortune? I finally dared to look and caught a glimpse of a figure in the distance. It was her. She was there. I was ecstatic. I stood in front of her, head down and humbled to address my greatest fear. Vulnerability. I mustered up the courage and brokenly said “You do not want to touch my hands or kiss me.” Pause. Pause. Pause. Pause. Pause. This felt like forever in my head. Then she said “Do you want some wipes?” Yes. I exclaimed in a low voice. At that moment I knew that she was empathetic and caring. I sensed this deep connection days prior as we looked across bog and nervously took a picture together. This deep connection continued as we walked to the mansion and enjoyed lunch while the gardener trimmed her pink roses on a gorgeous sunny day. She was something I didn’t expect to find. Fast forward to night. We had pulls of Riga Black Balsam and Tequila while we munched on Pringles. Clothes are gone and we're both turned on. She crawls onto me and announces sexily that she was ready. Seconds later she does an about face for the bathroom. Quickly, I got out of sexy mode to help out. I held her hair, encouraged her to puke, and rubbed her back the next 3 hours. I loved being needed. What stuck out to me was when she said "She felt guilty and I really wanted to...” I followed with “It’s okay. I pooped in the woods. We’re even.” The battle for love was won.