Change Brewing

Today’s the day I change. The scorching Colombian sun warms my face. I soak in every last ray. I feel it tinting my cheeks a brilliant ruby red, but I don’t mind at all. The landscape is green for miles, and the hills roll out to eternity. The sky is crisp blue all year. The people who live here take pride in their blue sky. This is the only air I’ve ever tasted, but I can’t stay here.

I take one last look at the wilderness. I try to remember every last leaf on every single tree. I paint myself a mental picture of the river that twists and turns through the valley and the mules that wind up the hills like sleepwalkers. Farmers are out reaping their harvest, making jokes with one another as they work and swapping stories they heard in town. Sometimes if they were near, I’d listen in on their conversations. I’m sure they didn’t think I could hear them.

I’m not ready to go inside yet. I lay myself flat on the ground and continue baking in the sun. I let hours go by, or at least that’s what it feels like. I’m careful not to burn, turning a few times and letting the light of the sun color every inch of me. Who knows when I’ll see the sun again.

When I felt too dehydrated and can’t take any more, I go inside. Someone was kind enough to run a bath for me. The water welcomed me with its warmth. I was entirely submerged. I let my thoughts wander as I enjoyed the bath. It could have been a moment or two. It could have been a day or two. Time made no sense to me.

From the bath I went to the sauna. Each drop of moisture from the bath evaporated in a hot puff. The heat comforts me and envelops me, but it’s also a kind of heat that’s almost painful. Ten minutes or ten days go by. I leave the sauna knowing that it’s time to go.

I had a linen cloth draped around me for warmth on my journey. The fabric was not soft or welcoming but sturdy. A cramped old Dodge pickup loaded to the brim chugged down the dirt road leading out of town. Any rotation of the four wheels could have been its last and no one would have batted an eye.

The truck winded up and down mountains, snaking around treacherous bends that had cost many a man his life. Salvador was a skilled driver, though. I heard the men in the fields say he would make runs to the city and back every week. I trusted him to get me where I needed to go.

The air flowing in from the windows was crisp and cool. The blue sky turned to black by the time we got to the city. We were the only car on the streets. The city wasn’t how I imaged it. There were rows of buildings, but they weren’t tall. Each was a different color, though it was hard to tell which in the darkness. The windows that lined the buildings were black squares on an endless chess board. Street lamps poured golden rays that washed the streets with light.

At the end of a lonely street was a port. Waiting for me was a ship so massive that the ocean waves had no affect on it. The sea air whipped the flags of the ship. It smelled like salt and sand. I left dry land, my land, with very little fanfare. The ship slid across the glass of ocean in silence. My Colombia faded over the horizon.

A few hours or days later, the sun rose red and cast warm gold onto the deck of the ship. I drank it in because heat is all I know. The ship was traded for a van that whizzed through more city streets. The buildings here were taller. The streets buzzed with the sounds of people laughing, yelling, and living. I tried to count how many times we turned and remember which direction we were headed in because I couldn’t see where we were going. I let my self get lost quickly. I don’t know how to count.

The van came to a halt. I felt giddy and nervous. I was not sure where I was, but I was excited to find out. I heard the van doors scream and the light trickled in. All of it flooded my senses. I became overwhelmed with emotion and overstimulated by the noise and light. Perhaps I passed out for a minute because I don’t remember how I got inside.

The shop was modern. It had high ceilings and windows that stretched from bottom to top. There were wooden tables and chairs scattered in front of the window. To one side, thick arm chairs made of green suede sat ready to welcome guests. The floors were hardwood, and the walls were covered in green wallpaper. 

The images on the wallpaper were familiar. I saw my home. The sprawling mountains dotted with trees, the twisty river, the blue skies were all exactly as I remembered them. If the walls were a little longer I might have been able to see my house or Salvador and his truck in the driveway ready to make another trip. What was this place that knew so much about the only world I knew?

Above the river was a green circle that I knew didn’t belong. Inside it, a mermaid smiled down at me. The more I looked around, I began to notice her everywhere. She was on fabrics draped in the back of the store and on the door at the front. She was on papers left on a table and on cups stacked high.

No one could have ever prepared me for what came next. The last stage of my transition was the hottest and hardest of all. I wasn’t sure I’d make it, but I still exist. I’m just different now. And I’m always kept warm in one of those cups stacked high with the mermaid on the side.