Descent
As we descend from the mountains that cradled the baptism party, my ears are ringing and I’m quite certain my two buns have come undone. Airy from all the sprite I’ve had in place of cerveza, I sit in this bouncing, off duty trufi, thinking about the evening and my time here.
Tiquipaya’s khaki colored streets are bathed in a warm amber glow, the kind of light only a streetlamp can cast. It’s the glow under which life both happens and yet seems also to stop momentarily. A snapshot of moments as we bounce past: townspeople surf the web in late-night internet cafes, street food turns under a red buzz, boys walk home, dogs trample underfoot, in the way of cars.
We descend, and I recall how the sun looked, or at least how the space around looked, setting behind the cloudy range as we had driven up. We all remarked how beautiful it was, Maxima, her sister, her niece, and I. It must have been a special sunset. I feel lucky to have witnessed it, as I feel about most things here.
Yes, we descend, the sky brushed blue and black, the stars not visible, but the moon bright as ever. As we turn a corner, I gasp at the emerging constellation underneath us–Quillacollo and Tiquipaya. Their stars are multi-colored, sparkling in different directions, and grouped in snowflake-like lines.
These stars rival the sky tonight, and as I look down, the problems with humanity that I know to exist melt away and all I feel is a fondness for our species. I feel grateful for what exists here, with the twinkling lights smiling at us from afar, this civilization, these people, this community. I like the way they dance, with two feet and a dinner napkin, to music in which its difficult to ascertain a dance-able beat. I like their potatoes and juices and language, and how it all fits together.
We descend, and I catch myself craning to catch every last morsel of the city lights. They appear and disappear with irregularity and I fear each time I get a glimpse it will be my last. I pray, as we pass a cement soccer stadium filled with people in this trufi, that I will be reincarnated as a boy from Tiquipaya, who spends his childhood playing soccer under fluorescent lights with the rest of the neighborhood kids, a pair of dogs and a pair of braids at home, and that I will walk home every night to the lights of this constellation, never questioning whether I will see them again.
