“Do we have taxis in Wichita?” I asked.

“Taxes? Yeah, we have taxes,” he replied.

“Taxis. Like cabs,” I said.

“Oh. Nope.”

Though this brief conversation took place about four and a half years ago on the corner of a street I would not recognize even if I bought a house on it, it remained locked away within the confines of my memory vault.

I had spent a mere three days in Wichita when I found myself stranded on south Broadway without a car, phone or money.

Details about that night are vague at best.

After exiting an uneventful party an acquaintance had dragged me to, my faux adventurous spirit decided to let the gods of fortune (or misfortune) arrange the path for me. Much like Dorothy and the Scarecrow did at the beginning of their journey, I pointed right and scurried toward the unknown, hoping I would eventually make my way back to the Wichita State campus.

I had chosen misfortune.

I roamed this unfamiliar location for 30 minutes until I stopped and looked around. Even though I hadn’t pegged Wichita for a vibrant city during the day, I didn’t expect it to be an ocean of dim lights and silence at night.

The winds of January, which had caressed my cheeks with their cool touch earlier that week, now delivered a series of ice jabs to my face.

It was time to cut my exploit short. I needed to find an actual way home.

Back in Lima, Peru, one cannot venture into the city without running into a group of people celebrating the successes and failures of the week. Even though I have consequently found several establishments across town that stay open for hours, every single business in the area seemed to have closed early that night, as soon as they caught wind that a lost international student headed their way.

Therefore, I couldn’t go into one and ask an employee to borrow their phone.

Not that I knew any numbers (or people) that would grant me a way home — I just found the idea of calling someone comforting.

A handful of right and left turns led me to a man working on his car in front of his house. Of all things I could have asked him, I inquired about taxis. Nevertheless, he informed me that we stood close to a major avenue and, if I was lost, it would be easier for me to find my way home from there.

I ended up at the same house I had left hours earlier; nothing but silence emanated from it.

At that precise moment, I cursed the day I made up my mind about coming to Kansas. I had my own selfish reasons to leave Lima and the only lifestyle I’ve ever known, yet it all seemed so petty and minuscule in comparison to finding oneself in the middle of a vast, unfamiliar street, miles away from home.

But it didn’t matter anymore. I wasn’t back home dining at my favorite restaurant by the beach, sharing a bottle of wine with my parents, laughing as the waves crashed and the seagulls squawked.

I took three, four, five steps. Then I ran.