THE NEXT day, Cali and I plan to meet after my Spanish class to grab some lunch and walk through the botanical garden. A group that includes a few Americans and Germans who seem to have become friends are packed in on the small couch in the lounge killing time between classes, and whatever they’re watching is on commercial. I get out early and linger idly there with one eye on the door for Cali. The programming resumes and the familiar image of the start house comes into view. For a moment, I’m transfixed by the sight of one of my old teammates, Andrew Weibrecht, getting prepped by the team’s hype man, Rudy, a bodybuilder Luke brought on as a trainer. His energy became so invaluable that the coaches made him an official part of the staff two years ago. Rudy’s not mic’d up, but I can still hear him, and the memory of his voice reverberates in my brain. I’ve been trying so hard to avoid seeing any footage of the races, but now that it’s in front of me, I can’t take my eyes off it.

“Hey, there you are! I was waiting downstairs but figured I’d just come up. Oh man, the Olympics! I’d totally forgotten they were happening right now,” Cali says, turning to look at what I’m staring at. “Whoa, earth to Liz? Hel-lo.”

I turn to her slowly, trying to force a smile, but given her reaction, I guess it emerges as a grimace.

“Hi, Cali,” I say. I’m trying and failing to regain my composure; my voice sounds as though it’s coming from the bottom of a well.

“Are you okay? Jesus, what’s wrong?”

“Can we just . . . I need to go home.”

“Yeah, of course, come on.”

Cali bustles me out and we’re suddenly in the teeming streets of the Microcentro, with what feels in that moment to be all of humanity: tourists, office workers heading home, little kids. Cali puts her arm in mine and guides me to the subway and to my stop in San Telmo. Mercifully, she doesn’t say anything, just keeps her arm tightly wound around mine.

Back in the courtyard, I try to recenter myself: I’m in Buenos Aires, where I’m having a not bad time. It’s been a week since I’ve had to take an Ativan.

Cali waits for me to say something.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” She gives me a sad smile. “I just wish you could tell me what’s going on.”