26/08/2024
When I was a little girl, I remember hearing the adults in my life instructed not to stop at red lights, or our vehicle would be parted out in short order. I remember cat calls from strangers, and making sure not to make eye contact on buses. Small talk carried a risk, and whoever shoved their way to the front of the line the most aggressively was the one who was served.
By necessity, lies and manipulation were a way of life.
One night as a teen, friends and I walked a dimly lit street where I made out the blood covered body of an old man, the clear stench of urine and alcohol traveling my way.
“Don’t stop,” my friends said. “It’s a scam”
Thieves, beggars and elaborate scams were a normal part of city life. But I felt deeply unsettled as we stepped over his body to make our way home.
As an adult, i made it a point to live in rural areas. But that suspicion took years to melt away - the suspicion of a stranger saying hello, a man offering to help me with a door, or someone legitimately needing help. I missed out on many a community of people looking out for each other due to residual jumpiness. Everyone was a potential risk to keep an eye out for.
Now, whenever I drive through a cutthroat city, with folks weaving in and out, honking, cutting in front of each other; I have the fading memory of this life- where every man is for himself; where if you don’t push your way forward you’ll be left behind to struggle. I remember this as a bad dream of the past.
I make it a habit driving through these smog dense, cortisol spiking cities to play Don Edwards in my truck.
To imagine campfires and the sound of coyotes and the smell of cattle. To remember eating at a strangers table and having old ranchers hold doors open for me with gnarled fingers and dirty flannel shirts.
And I remember my fortune, to see both worlds, and ultimately have the freedom to make my home where the fireflies still light up my pastures.