Like vaccinations.
“How’d the shots go today?” I ask Wallace.
“Pretty good,” he says. “Costa Rica requires vaccines, but it’s harder to administer in some of these more remote places. Some people here have to walk hours to even reach a hospital. We’re coordinating with the Ministry of Health to get as many of these kids vaccinated as possible. I’m doing more tomorrow in another village not too far away.”
“I’ll ask if they can spare me tomorrow so I can help you. I used to want to be a clown. That should count for something. I can distract them from the needles.”
“Okay, Bozo. It’s a deal.” Wallace laughs and takes a sip of water. “So how’s your boyfriend doing?”
I don’t stop my smile in time, and Wallace, who knows me so damn well, points at my dead-giveaway grin. “Lenny’s in love!”
“Oh, good grief.” I try to erase the perma-smile that paints itself on my mouth every time I think of Maxim—of the night we had together and the morning after in Ohio. Of what we’ll have when I return. “It hasn’t even been that long since we started . . .”
The word dating teeters on my lips, almost falling out. I’ve gone from avoiding Maxim, to tolerating him, to sleeping with him and missing his arms around me. I’m afraid to admit even to myself how deep my feelings for him run. I’m certainly not admitting anything to Wallace.
“How’s Viv and the baby?” I ask, hoping Wallace will let me change the subject.
He offers a you don’t fool me look, but launches into his latest tale from the uncle chronicles. The students and the rest of the team finishing up their dinner laugh louder the more animated Wallace becomes. Their good humor provides great cover for my less-than-happy thoughts. I miss Maxim. The little time we had before I left wasn’t enough. My body longs for him, but it’s not just my body. My heart aches and feels like it’s barely beating with him so far away. I open my hands in my lap and follow the invisible map he sketched across my palms so long ago.
Now you have the whole world in your hands.
I caress the compass charm dangling from my bracelet. I know it’s expensive and I should probably take it off while I’m working here. If I was smart, I would have left the obviously valuable jewelry at home. But there was no way that was happening. I needed this part of him with me.
“You ready to turn in, ladies?” I ask the girls, noting the faint lines of weariness on their faces. “We all have a really early start tomorrow.”
We cross the reserve, walking leisurely over the lush green grass, the palm leaves casting shadows in moonlight. We climb the few wooden steps into our thatch-roofed hut. Five of us share it, each having a mattress on the floor and mosquito netting.
Once we’re in our pajamas and under our mosquito nets, the conversation starts. I love their questions about boys and college, love hearing their dreams and ambitions, and how they want to hold on to our culture, language and traditions even while navigating the world beyond the reservation. The same things I had to figure out.
There is a unique duality to our experience that’s sometimes hard for others to understand. Living on patches of land when all of it, by rights, belonged to our ancestors. Living in, loving a nation professing freedom, liberty and justice for all, when our traditions were suppressed, and we were forced from our homes and endured unimaginable injustices. Things like Thanksgiving, Columbus Day, even Mt. Rushmore, which is built on our sacred grounds—all are symbols of American tradition, but also blaring examples of how we’ve been mistreated. Conquered. In America’s transition from annihilating our people to assimilating them, we lost so much. These young girls have to reconcile making peace with that truth enough to succeed here, but still agitating so we don’t lose any more of the traditions and culture our ancestors entrusted to us.
If I wasn’t here, I’d be home, curled up by my fireplace in a cashmere robe, clinging to a wine glass filled with my favorite Bordeaux. Probably reviewing data and policy papers for Owen’s campaign. I love my life, and can’t imagine a path more suited to who I am and how I’m made. But these trips, these nights talking with girls like these about their dreams and how to hold onto and pass on our rich heritage—I wouldn’t trade this.
“Can I ask you something, Ms. Hunter?” Anna asks after we’ve been talking for a while.
“Sure.” I stifle a yawn and force myself to focus. “What’s up?”
“Your, um . . . your first time,” she says in a rush and with a deep breath like she’s diving underwater. “Did you, well, did you love him?”
The question takes me by surprise. We’ve talked about boys, sure, and crushes, but I didn’t expect this. Anna’s sixteen, so I guess that’s about right. Most girls don’t seem to wait quite as long as I did, but most girls don’t have Maxim Cade as their first. A reminiscent smile curves my lips in the dark. God, he was so careful with me, but then, so completely out of control, like he couldn’t get inside fast enough and wanted to stay there forever. I didn’t have words that night for what I felt when he initiated me not just into sex, but into this world that is just ours. Just our two bodies, sun and moon, just our souls, earth and water. We are the sky and the sea, and the horizon is where our hearts meet. Every part of that world is made by and from and for just us two. I couldn’t articulate it then, but now I have no choice.
“Yeah, I loved him,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, the hot emotion in my throat nearly melting the words.
I don’t have time to process those words and their meaning before the girls dig deeper and for more. More questions, harder answers. Finally the girls’ words start slurring, and my eyes grow heavy. The stirring breeze through the open window keeps us awake a few moments longer, and then we sleep.
Morning comes quickly. It feels like I’ve barely closed my eyes before Wallace is gently shaking my shoulder, asking if I still want to go with him to the village. The sun isn’t even up. The girls have another hour or so to sleep, so I dress as quietly as I can. I join Wallace and Paco at a Jeep that has seen better days, climb into the back seat, and rest my head against the window.
“At least we get to ride,” Wallace says wryly. “The village is about ten miles away. That would have been a long walk.”
“Promise me I won’t have to stick a needle in some poor, unsuspecting kid,” I say on a yawn.
“Just be my clown, Lenny.”
He reaches back to give one of my two braids an affectionate tug. We share a smile, and then lapse into silence. For once Wallace doesn’t keep up a running commentary about everything we see, but allows me to appreciate it. It’s hard to believe that a mere five hours away, there’s an airport and a bustling city. Here on the fringe of it lies this wild, untamed jungle, the narrow road carved into the side of a mountain the only concession to progress. Paco is carefully negotiating the road, and I can’t help but risk a glance over the side, the precipitous height making my belly dive and flop.
The Jeep screeches to a halt and jerks my attention forward. A small camouflage-spotted truck with a canvas-covered bed blocks our way forward on the narrow strip of road.