The Blue Backpack

 

The Blue Backpack

Fabián adjusted the straps of his midnight-blue trekking backpack. It was a gift from his father for that trip, bought at Decathlon in Lisbon, and he already felt it was an extension of himself—an accomplice and a burden at the same time. Inside, in the secret compartment with a hidden zipper against his back, he carried his “management supplies”: eight Etapa 10 Ultimate Protection diapers, unscented wipes, barrier cream, and the inevitable black airtight bags. The 9th-grade end-of-year trip was the ultimate experience: twelve hours from Lisbon to the Peneda-Gerês National Park in northern Portugal, with his entire class. Thirty kids on a bus, plus Professor Rojas. An adventure, in theory. For him, a high-risk infiltration mission.

“Do you have everything, son?” his father asked at the door of their apartment in the Alvalade neighborhood. The absence of his mother, who had left them years earlier, made those moments more serious, heavier.
“Everything’s under control, Dad,” Fabián lied, feeling the familiar weight of the diaper under his long jeans from the Portuguese brand Mo. No flashy brands. Discretion was the rule.

On the bus, the atmosphere was pure adrenaline. Lucas, the most energetic of the group, was already shouting from the back:
“Hey, man, this trip is going to be epic! Twelve hours—I don’t even know if I can handle it!”
Meanwhile, the group of girls, with Valeria at the front, traded snacks and comments.
“Can you believe Gonçalo brought a one-person tent? How weird is that?”
Professor Rojas, wearing a sports T-shirt, did the headcount:
“Thirty… is everyone here? Alright, let’s go!”

Fabián sat in a single seat halfway down the bus, with the blue backpack in the overhead rack directly above him. The first part of the trip, along the highway, was calm. But after two hours, the first “slow leak” appeared: that constant, warm dampness that the polymer in the Etapa 10 silently absorbed, making the material swell slightly. Fabián went into full alert mode. Under his jeans, the bulk was minimal, but he felt every gram.

The first stop was at a service area near Coimbra. Everyone got off to use the bathrooms and buy juice.
“Hey, Fabián, are you carrying your whole house with you or what?” Lucas joked when he saw him get off with the backpack.
“No, bro… I’m just too lazy to keep taking it off and putting it back on,” Fabián improvised, with a forced half-smile.
“You’re really weird, man,” Lucas said, before running off to the shop.

Fabián went into the bathrooms. A normal stall. He hung up the backpack and took a deep breath. The worst moment: the four adhesive tabs. With sweaty hands, he pulled the first one.

CRRRRIC.

The sound tore through the air of the bathroom. Outside, he heard Mateo:
“What was that? Someone opening a pack of cookies in a hurry?”
“Hahaha, what nonsense,” Diego laughed.

With his heart racing, Fabián ripped off the other three tabs as fast as he could, a symphony of peeling sounds that, to him, felt like a megaphone announcing his shame. He changed in record time, put the used diaper into the black bag, and went out, washing his hands with cold water to hide the flush on his face. Crisis one, overcome.

The tension increased at the second stop, in Viseu. The bathroom was full, with a line of classmates waiting. He couldn’t risk the noise of the tabs with that audience. He went back to the bus without changing, feeling the diaper nearing its limit. In his seat, another leak—stronger this time—dampened the seam of his underwear. He bit his lip, watching the Portuguese landscape rush by. Hold on, he told himself. It’s just a trip.

They arrived at the lodging in Gerês at dusk. Shared rooms. Fabián was assigned to Lucas, Mateo, Diego, and Tomás. The blue backpack ended up under the lower bunk, against the wall. That night, he waited until Lucas’s rhythmic snoring filled the room. Then he slid out of bed, grabbed the backpack, and locked himself in the small closet. In the stifling darkness, he made the most tense change of his life. Every CRRRRIC sounded like thunder. When he came out, sweaty and trembling, he saw Mateo move in his bunk.
“Everything okay, Fabián?” he asked, half asleep.
“Yeah… I just woke up. I’m going to get some water,” he whispered, hiding the black bag.
“Oh, okay. Good night.”

The next day, during the hike through the Homem River valley, the critical moment happened. While jumping over a stream, Fabián slipped on a rock and fell sideways. The impact was light, but the jolt to the already very full diaper was disastrous. A dark, obvious stain appeared on the leg of his khaki pants.
“Hey, Fabián, you fell!” Valeria shouted.
“You got all wet!” Diego pointed out.

The silence was worse than laughter. Fabián got up quickly, trying to turn away, feeling the shame burn his skin. At that moment, Professor Rojas reacted immediately.
“An accident with the river water—perfectly normal,” he said firmly. “Fabián, I have spare pants in my backpack. Lucas, help me carry it to that shelter. The rest of you follow the guide.”

The order worked. At the shelter, the professor handed him a pair of pants.
“Take your time,” he said, with a serious, understanding look. “This stays between us.”
“Yeah, man… don’t stress,” Lucas added more quietly. “Something embarrassing has happened to everyone.”

The return trip to Lisbon, two days later, was different. Fabián still had his blue backpack and his technical stops, but something had changed. At one of them, Lucas came up to him.
“Hey… the teacher was right. I was an idiot. Want to get a pastel de nata? I’ll pay.”
“That’s really cool, bro,” Fabián replied, smiling almost naturally.

No one ever talked about the incident again. Professor Rojas even sent him a discreet message: “If you need more time at the stops, say you’re helping me with the map. I’ve got you covered.”

The bus entered Lisbon at sunset, the Tagus River shining in the distance. His father was waiting for him on the sidewalk.
“So, how was it, son?”
Fabián looked back, saw his classmates, the teacher, and felt something different.
“It was… it was amazing, Dad,” he said—and this time it was true.

Today I understand that the blue backpack was never just a weight to hide, but proof that I managed to cross fear without breaking, to find support where I least expected it, and to learn that shame grows smaller when someone chooses to stand by your side.