You are hereBlogs / barjjh's blog / At Peace with Death at 21
At Peace with Death at 21
Through tears, the grout
lines seemed surreal. Delirious from dehydration and exhaustion, I laid
lifeless on the bathroom tile. It had been over 48 hours since I had
slept for fear of soiling another set of sheets, clothes, and towels. The
floor must have been cold, but I could no longer feel it. From beneath
the door, I heard Senora Campos, the matriarch and cook of the
household, hen peck her husband, "él no necesita a un médico !" A house
call would have ignite neighborhood gossip, chard her reputation, and
incinerated her livelihood. The Spanish language school would never
send her anymore boarders, if they found out the food poisoning had come from her kitchen. "...pedo, el médico no trabaja los Domingos" was followed by a moment of silence before foot steps walked away from the door.
The Thursday before we had taken a road trip to Temple of the Sun, the perfect place to experience a solar eclipse. I scrunch my wide shoulders forward to fit into the car giving me a pen hole view of the floor mat. "Why did Shelly wear heals?", I scoffed as the lack of suspension and excessive load cause the car to feel unstable weaving around traffic and road obstacles: pot holes, a bent tire rim, and a lost donkey. The Temple of the Sun was filled with pilgrims. Marms were warning not to look directly at the Sun while teachers were using rudimentary pinhole viewers to report the eclipses progression. As if the sun had a dimmer switch, everything became dark and still. The birds stop chirping. Even the breeze stood still. Before the awe wore off, the bustle of daylight was turned back on. With slack jawed smiles, our eye glisten with excitement.
The roasted ears of corn smelled wonderful as we all pitched in to buy a sacrificial lamb in the form of barbecued mutton to take home. The car ride was filled with chatter. Senor Campos drove smugly interjecting, "En Espaniol! Practican Espaniol." Our exuberant English turned into Spanglish at best. Periodically, Sr Campos would interject with an ancient Mayan sayings that he clearly had just made up; nonetheless, we put 3 weeks of conversational Spanish classes to good use with: "Si,si", "Es verdad", "Claro". That night felt like a communal feast. After sharing our experiences over and over, our Spanish versions were flowing much better with wine.
As I left for school the next morning, I noticed Senora Campos tossing chicken into a dirty bowl. Friday's were light days of review and my thoughts had turned to a night out at thediscoteca . I stopped by the gym to get a good pump and was starving by the time I got home. I thought to myself, "I beat that chicken that has been sitting out all day." As I came to the table, I was pleased to see the leftover mutton. "Me gustoborego muncho mas a que pollo", I declared to claimed the mutton. The meal was quick and quite. We were all egar to dance the night away. Exactly 2 hours into shacking my groove thang , I felt a painful grumble in my gut. It had take us 20 minutes to walk to the club. How was I going to make it back to the house in time?
Late Sunday I was still motionless on the floor. Weak and defeated, I started day dreaming obituary headlines. "Death by Dysentery at 21" was my favorite. Seismic activity in my gut shot me up on top of the towlet. The change in altitude gave me a sobering perspective. I could die. I thought I would be more afraid of death. Instead, I surrendered into bliss. We have to live each moment. We have to be ready to die each moment. I was at peace with death.
Senor Campos opened the door as he knocked. "Vamos at Doctor." He helped me dress and hustled me into the car. I wobbled onto a scale that read 162. I had lost 20 pounds in 2 days. The doctor seemedun -phased as he wrote a prescription that would essentially paralyse my gut allowing me to make the 1 hour bus trip to Mexico City and the subsequent 2 hour flight to Matamoris. I was punch drunk happy. Even the abrasive boarder patrol could not shake me from bliss. Pail and gaunt, I was welcomed across the boarder with a hug from mom. She insisted I eat even though I told her I could not. She marched us into a McDonald's that was a few blocks away. In the door way, I said, "Just think, I will never have to unbutton these paints again." The jeans that had been holding up at the waist fell to the ground as I took my right hand away. She burst into tears running back to the car.
Since then, I have been more honest with myself and in turn more truthful with others. I have honored life being ready to die at any moment.
The Thursday before we had taken a road trip to Temple of the Sun, the perfect place to experience a solar eclipse. I scrunch my wide shoulders forward to fit into the car giving me a pen hole view of the floor mat. "Why did Shelly wear heals?", I scoffed as the lack of suspension and excessive load cause the car to feel unstable weaving around traffic and road obstacles: pot holes, a bent tire rim, and a lost donkey. The Temple of the Sun was filled with pilgrims. Marms were warning not to look directly at the Sun while teachers were using rudimentary pinhole viewers to report the eclipses progression. As if the sun had a dimmer switch, everything became dark and still. The birds stop chirping. Even the breeze stood still. Before the awe wore off, the bustle of daylight was turned back on. With slack jawed smiles, our eye glisten with excitement.
The roasted ears of corn smelled wonderful as we all pitched in to buy a sacrificial lamb in the form of barbecued mutton to take home. The car ride was filled with chatter. Senor Campos drove smugly interjecting, "En Espaniol! Practican Espaniol." Our exuberant English turned into Spanglish at best. Periodically, Sr Campos would interject with an ancient Mayan sayings that he clearly had just made up; nonetheless, we put 3 weeks of conversational Spanish classes to good use with: "Si,si", "Es verdad", "Claro". That night felt like a communal feast. After sharing our experiences over and over, our Spanish versions were flowing much better with wine.
As I left for school the next morning, I noticed Senora Campos tossing chicken into a dirty bowl. Friday's were light days of review and my thoughts had turned to a night out at thediscoteca . I stopped by the gym to get a good pump and was starving by the time I got home. I thought to myself, "I beat that chicken that has been sitting out all day." As I came to the table, I was pleased to see the leftover mutton. "Me gustoborego muncho mas a que pollo", I declared to claimed the mutton. The meal was quick and quite. We were all egar to dance the night away. Exactly 2 hours into shacking my groove thang , I felt a painful grumble in my gut. It had take us 20 minutes to walk to the club. How was I going to make it back to the house in time?
Late Sunday I was still motionless on the floor. Weak and defeated, I started day dreaming obituary headlines. "Death by Dysentery at 21" was my favorite. Seismic activity in my gut shot me up on top of the towlet. The change in altitude gave me a sobering perspective. I could die. I thought I would be more afraid of death. Instead, I surrendered into bliss. We have to live each moment. We have to be ready to die each moment. I was at peace with death.
Senor Campos opened the door as he knocked. "Vamos at Doctor." He helped me dress and hustled me into the car. I wobbled onto a scale that read 162. I had lost 20 pounds in 2 days. The doctor seemedun -phased as he wrote a prescription that would essentially paralyse my gut allowing me to make the 1 hour bus trip to Mexico City and the subsequent 2 hour flight to Matamoris. I was punch drunk happy. Even the abrasive boarder patrol could not shake me from bliss. Pail and gaunt, I was welcomed across the boarder with a hug from mom. She insisted I eat even though I told her I could not. She marched us into a McDonald's that was a few blocks away. In the door way, I said, "Just think, I will never have to unbutton these paints again." The jeans that had been holding up at the waist fell to the ground as I took my right hand away. She burst into tears running back to the car.
Since then, I have been more honest with myself and in turn more truthful with others. I have honored life being ready to die at any moment.
Bookmark/Search this post with:
- barjjh's blog
- Login or register to post comments
