Finite Days
no. 56
Our days are finite. I resist every urge to grab Leifer as I walk past him. I want to hold onto him and not let go. I catch Abuelita with tears in her eyes. I know she is scared for her hijo (son), our separation biting at our heels. Enzo tells me he will miss sleeping next to Leifer. I wonder how we will cope.
The casita was quiet, most had left. The day was underway, the sun beating down on us and urging us to move out of its path. “Let’s go down to the river,” Leif told me. I grabbed my sunscreen, hat, and tennis shoes. I filled up my water bottle. Lucca changed shoes, so Enzo changed shoes too. We left the house, the five of us. I trailed Leifer, looking ahead as we went. I took pictures with my eyes to keep this moment in my memory. Lucca trotted ahead, wanting to stay with his dad.
At the end of casita row, we looked left and then right. We wanted to get across the field and considered which path to take. We would go through the middle. We walked with cornstalks on the right and freshly plowed dirt on our left.
Leifer and I had talked about the geothermal water that bubbled up in the river. We wanted to search for the warm springs with the boys. We were up the hillside, and looked for a way down. We found a path with newly planted lettuce. We stepped around it, the sun still at our backs. We switched back twice. We stepped across boulders and smaller river rocks. More sand.
There was a big boulder in the middle of the river. I wanted to get to it. I leapt from rock to rock, out to the boulder. “I am king of the rock,” I told the boys. They ran over and tried to find a way. Enzo fell into the river, soaking his shoes and pants. My eyes found Leifer. He was further along, staring up at the wall in front of us. Beyond it was the chakra, or farmland where Abuelita would soon be planting alfalfa. “I used to bring my cows down to graze. Now it’s overgrown. We had to take them to graze where there was food.” Our steps, a window to Leifer’s own childhood. He was lost in his thoughts, and I tried to let him be.
We retraced our steps to a small swimming hole. Water was siphoned off, and rocks surrounded it. The boys wanted to get in. We urged them to strip down. Leifer did as well. He stepped in, checking its depth. He could barely stand in the middle of it. He swam to the sides to grab more rocks, tossing them into the middle, and raising the floor for the boys. The silt stirred, floating to the surface. The swimming hole turned brown. The boys squealed, happy to swim. “Don’t drink the water,” we urged them knowing better. I noticed bubbles floating to the surface. I touched the water, it was warm. I wondered if it was the sun, or geothermals rising to the surface. I picked up the boys, walked over to the river, and started cleaning off the sand. Then I sat on a big boulder nearby, watching my boys play and laugh.
The boys’ skin was beginning to redden. Time to head back, I told them. They shivered as they stepped out into the breeze, putting on wet clothes.
Later that afternoon, Leifer and his brother worked to fence off the orchard behind the casita. The fence would keep out the dogs, and give the chickens space to wander. I watched the chickens’ feet rake at the earth, uncovering worms and organic bits. Abuelita and Abuelito looked on, delighted by the transformation, calling out directions. Abuelita sat with the chickens as they foraged in their new space. By evening, they had finished the fence and installed a gate in the corner.
As the sun sets behind the black mountains, we slowly congregated in the outdoor kitchen where the fire heated our water and food. Abuelita’s chair sat empty. I looked around until I found her kneeling inside the walls of the casita, planting lettuce.
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