Perpetual Return

Written for Fictionalizing Autobiography

September 7th, 2009

When I crossed the border into Mexico, the first thing I noticed was the graffiti. Far removed from the graffiti in Duvall, where pubescent vandals scribble out the ‘Free’ on the ‘Drug Free Zone’ signs or smear 'F U’ on the local playground slide, it was common to see ‘José’ or ‘Rafael’ spray painted on building facades and fences. I asked a local about it, surprised to see names in the graffiti instead of the usual profanity or pranks. He explained that often vandals could not spell much, if anything, outside of their own names. Desperate to leave their mark, they would scrawl anything they knew. I nodded, watching the names go by as we headed out to the countryside. It was odd to see graffiti without vulgarity.

When we arrived at Tent City, we all pitched in to set up the six-person tents. It was so different from home. The landscape was barren, a stark contrast to the rich, lush green of Duvall. The air was hot and dry during the day, but the temperature plummeted at night. I only packed one sweatshirt, and I wore it every time the sun set. I ‘roomed’ with five other girls I barely knew, wore the same pair of jeans every day, and braided my hair to keep the insects away.

Here a mini box of Lucky Charms was breakfast and baby wipes were showers. We had the luxury of a port-o-potty, and climbed the steepest hill I have ever seen to get to our meals. One morning, as I was brushing my teeth outside of my tent and watching the colorful sunrise, I spotted a coyote on the hillside. It picked its way through the sagebrush and I felt like I was in my backyard. At home, a family of coyotes had gathered to raise their young underneath our blackberry bushes. I went for a walk one day on one of our trails, and saw a coyote pup picking its way through the grass. It looked at me and I looked at it. Now, here in Mexico, I was having the same experience with an older, skinner coyote. He looked at me and I looked at him, the colorful sunrise and brown, dusty landscape setting the scene. We blinked, the moment passed, and he returned to hunting hares. I spit in the dirt and rinsed my mouth. We both turned away.

~Brittanie V.