Saturday, September 13, 2008

Run It Off

I was forced to take a collectivo up the hill from my high school (“liceo”) to the Poblacion Carrera, my neighborhood, due to my excessive baggage (not the metaphorical kind, surprisingly enough). The government delivered a sweet new stereo to my liceo that afternoon, and of course, I had overdressed that morning -- one can never be sure whether to brace for Antartica or Hawaii in these parts -- and worn heels. I needed the walk, I was dying for some exercise and some time alone with my million-miles-an-hour thoughts and the calming beauty of the valley between at sunset. But as I resignedly sat stuffed in the window seat beside a stone-faced woman determined to take up two seats, I made up my mind. I would run. I needed to run immediately, before the sun stopped setting and finished its waning magic act of slowly whipping all the colors of the hills up around it til it was gone from the valley and on to other parts (where Becca is perhaps?). I pushed through the front door of Dora´s tiny house, gave her a weak smile and headed straight for my bedroom, almost knocking over a chair on my way through the kitchen with my over-stuffed "Programa Ingles Abre Puertas" messenger bag (another gift from the Gobierno). "Me voy a correr" I huffed, untangling my bag and scarf from the chair. "Before tecito?" Dorita asked sweetly, the way she sometimes asks an innocent question, with a hint of uncontrollable motherly reprimand/surprise; yet without any intent of stopping me. "Absolutamente," I answered.

It had been a bad day. It was Tanya´s birthday and I missed her. I wanted to be the first person to call her that morning, to surprise her with birthday cake and Starbucks, to glue myself to her side at her birthday dinner, surrounded by the easy company of our cousins and friends and showered with love. In general I am not homesick, I am perfectly content each night watching telenovelas in Dora´s company. But, when I called Tanya that morning from my classroom computer and got choked up in between "Happy Birthday," and "dear Tanya," I knew today would be different. I struggled through class with the notorious Primero D students, spending a solid hour going around the room chanting "I am..., I like to/ She is..., She likes to...." and bribing them with a brand new bag of "prize candy" for participation. They are not that bad, but their English is depressing. They leave the room and I collapse in my chair completely drained. I use more energy on that class, remaining positive, entertaining and patient, than with any other class.

The day before, I taught a lesson to a different course on introducing family members. I taped up pictures of my mother, father, Thomas, Tanya and Eddie and introduced each of them, relaying their ages, personalities and personal characteristics. I get the question all the time, every day almost: "How many children in your family?" I still freeze, miss a beat, think carefully about which answer I´m going to give, three or four. 99% of the time I say four. But while I´m standing at the board introducing Thomas I feel like I´m pretending. The girls all think he´s handsome. "How old is he????!" I have to think before I say, uneasily, 20. "Does he have a girlfriend?" Oh God ... can we pleeeeease move on? "No, " I answer definitively. It´s my fantasy, no harm done, I can pretend my brother is still alive because giving them the truth will just confuse them and make them uncomfortable, but I refuse to leave his picture at home and omit him from my lesson. I am the oldest of four, I cannot stop identifying myself in this way. The only problem is, it takes a toll on me. Like settled street dust that is suddenly distrubed after a truck barrels through, my latent grief has been stirred up. And now, today, Tanya´s birthday, the emotions and memories are still swirling around in my head, and I am sad.

I throw on my running gear and lace up my sneakers with an urgency I have not had in weeks. I have not run here in Vallenar because I have not had the courage to face the whistles and whispers and catcalls and stares. Nevermind the abundance of barking, drooling homeless dogs. But this night, I race out into the brisk night air fearless. I head in the direction of the fading sun and as soon as my feet find their rhythm hitting the pavement, my eyes on the bright orange sky, I relax. I am completely unaware of the stares and honestly, come to think of it, I don´t think many people seem to notice. "Follow the sun," I keep thinking and I run, faster than I have in forever, and chase the sun past endless tiny houses connected together haphazardously, without a nod to what is aesthetically pleasing. I run so far that I find myself panting, on the edge of a new neighborhood atop the city in near darkness, my lungs stinging with happiness. I remember hearing that this is a semi-dangerous neighborhood and finally head back, this time my eyes on the twinkling lights of the city below me. I feel strong and realize my heart is not as heavy as it was 30 minutes ago. The dust has settled significantly, enough for now. I love this city with it´s obnoxiously-painted houses and dirt roads and I love my students. And right now, I love my alone time with the night sky and my heart, pumping furiously. I love my life. I miss my sister and I miss my brother and I miss the constant love of everyone in Charleston, but I just feel so strong. I am learning to take care of myself, really take care of myself, without getting mixed up in the needs of those around me. Teaching is different, it´s a job (granted, I don´t get paid), but it´s a job. But here, I am finding a balance I really have never known, and I really really like it. Like Kevin says, I am finding my groove.

I treat myself to a bottle of wine on the way home and sit down for tecito with Dorita and tell her about my day before we oooh and aaaaah over the horrendous telenovela I can´t live without called "Hijos del Monte." Julieta is pregnant with her (once-fiance) Juan´s baby, but he is falling for his half-sister, Paola – deemed "the blond," –- who is trying to ransack his relationship with the mother of his child. Scintillating. I tell Dora very matter-of-factly that she is my best friend here and then take a sip of my glorious "Gato Negro" $1 box-wine. It´s amazing what a little exercise will do.

2 comments:

Unknown said...

Hi, Gervase. Exercise is so good for the soul, yes? John and I are off to Sicily today. We think of you often, and wish you well.
Love, Susan

RrrrreBecca said...

Isn't that the truth?! And, I gotta love the Gato Negro. As for our sunsets, I am blowing a kiss to you through them -- remember that! And...by "dairy air" do you mean derrière...as in buttocks, rear end, behind? I was so confused when I first read that. haha. it's okay, it's french i believe. quien nececita ese idioma! que fome! anyway, i love you gervase and you can always say there are four of you. i know it gets complicado, pero, its a good reminder of tomas and maybe he's laughing about this scene of all the girls fawning over him. :)