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Sunday, August 15, 2004

I'm back home for good now, y'all! Crazy huh? The summer flew by and was awesome. I'm definitely going to miss Tucson, but I'm very happy to be back home and getting back into the groove here.
Yesterday the other intern (Lynn), the border reporter (Michael) and I, hit Hermosillo, Altar and Magdalene, Mexico. It was a day of lots of driving, but it was so great to get back to Hermosillo and also check out Altar. Altar is known for being THE staging town for smuggling. Kiosks full of backpacks, tables full of deoderants, soaps, shirts, pants, kids underwear, hairbrushes line the roads. The shops say "Every clothing accessory" on signs worn by years in the arid desert.
We followed a road back a little way that led to Sassabe. (I think I may have misspelled that...) That's the specific area where coyotes and their followers try to cross, but it was about 60 miles from the point where we started, so we just took a quick look and went back. The mini trip to Altar was about 2 hours out of the way, but worth it. You can't just read about these places and not see them. At least that's how I feel about it.
My summer traveling the border, exploring another world there but also in Tucson, was in a word, great. It was freeing and I felt like I was able to learn many things and also dash some stereotypes. It was a growing experience and it's going to take a while, like I said, to completely readjust to life up here, especially with school starting up in a week. A week. Yikes. Nah, I'm actually looking forward to doing and learning new things. I'm most excited about snooping around for more story ideas. We'll be discussing those this week at our "State Press Camp" at school. The only bad thing right now is I can't remember where it is we're meeting...I somehow misplaced that information...
Good ol' Norah Jones. She's so good for tuning out a much-too-loud television. That honestly is one thing I haven't missed one ounce. Television. Especially blaring television. Bleh. Waste of time if you ask me. I need to be reading, running around and reporting. That sounds good. What do you accomplish watching TV? I'm not criticizing anyone who does, heck, I'll probably end up watching more of it as I grow more accustomed to my new old world here, but seriously, if there's a more unproductive thing out there, let me know. Write me a little note...okay, so I've just thought of a few things: watching paint dry...watching the grass grow...staring at the wall...No, they're not nearly as "entertaining," but you get about the same amount of stuff done; nothing. But sometimes it's just background noise or whatever...okay, no more tangents...
Back to Tucson and Mexico.
I didn't have fancy computer equipment to cart around with me yesterday and, stupid me, I forgot the two things I practically had sown to my hands all summer; a pen and notebook. I had the "writer itch" and was going nuts in the car because I needed to write and had nothing to write with or on. There's nothing worse for me than to not have something to write on when I get "inspired." Most of the time the inspiration is just me getting stuck in my head, being semi-contemplative. Anyway, fortunately, Michael had a notebook and pen so I spent a little time in the truck bent over a notebook, trying to write as steadily as possible and at the same time straining to see what I was writing in the middle of dusk on our way to Altar. Anyhoo, here's my old-fashioned blog; started with paper and a pen--go figure. I think someone used to call that a journal entry or something...

Returning to Hermosillo --j.g 8/14/04

Peace. We're driving down a highway moving away from Hermosillo. The place where my heart was...is...will be forever. I remembered Patty today as we were driving in. Her 6-year-old face washed over my mind's eye over and over, like a never-ending ripple in a massive lake. A stone face. A bright pink jacket with white trim. She was hesitant of me at first, but somewhere between conversations hampered by a language barrier and the large, fluffy marshmellows she and the rest of the kids would stuff into their mouthes, she grew fond of me and me of her.
She and her other girl friends at the orphanage crowded around me wherever I walked. Even for photos.
They all smiled; she did not.
The night is blanketing the sky now, the reds and oranges fading into the horizon. Marizco and Lynn are chit-chatting about road construction and coworkers. Michael's face is serious as he stares at the road--intent, focused. It's better to make him, anyone, smile.
But Patty didn't smile and it didn't get any better when she found out I was leaving. Por favor, ¿Vas a regresar muy próximo?
Tears. Pleas that I return, that I stay.
I told her I'd try to come back. Back to the orphanage. Back to Hermosillo.
Our day was filled with a little bit of coffee and a little bit of a mango-flavored margarita, tortillas and grilled meat, shopping on broken, crowded streets. It's a place "only a mother could love," so why am I so smitten? I have no blood ties, no reason. All I know is I'm hooked. Desperately in love with an unattainable goal.
The trees raced by as I watched the white lines on the black asphalt jog steadily behind our green truck. I could see the Big Dipper low in the sky. The city was long gone.
I had betrayed her. Hadn't even looked for her. Two-and-a half years past the date when I first met her...She had remembered me one year after the meeting. She asked my friends who were able to go where I was. She remembered me. I remembered her, but that's all.



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