No one has ever become poor by giving.
-Anne Frank
I didn’t know where I was or how I survived but someone helped me.
A stranger. A bunch of them actually. Dame tu mano said a guy who pulled me through my broken windshield. Someone had broadsided my van and flipped us into a desert ditch. Am I okay? I’m okay. Right?
You’ve been in a car accident, is there anyone we should call?
I felt anointed by the angelic realm by surviving. Sounds lofty I know. I didn’t see any bright lights or hear trumpets, just some farm hands in the middle of nowhere Sonora, MX calling for my lost dogs who sprung (flew with wings?) out of the van somehow through locked doors and closed windows and 110 degree August heat, they were gone.
Strangers stacked my belongings and found my passport and insurance, my phone and my organized bag of papers and immigration stamps. Someone called the police and an ambulance. Paintings and blankets and dog food and my fancy granola from Oaxaca were spread all over the highway. Grandma’s antique glass lamp shade broke despite the careful wrapping and all those big “heavy duty” totes I spent time selecting, broke like eggs in the ditch.
Surely I had died. I started to walk away down the road looking for my dogs.
Brady! River! Brady!
Someone led me back to the van and said get your important things, when the wreckers get here they’ll haul this off and you’ll never see any of this stuff again. They’ll steal it all.
I don’t care. I just want my dogs.
The heavens heard me I guess because someone found my dogs and I was dropped off in a gross little fishing pueblo with hundreds (some days feels like thousands) of orphaned, starved and injured dogs.
I am dead, for sure. And this is hell.
What is going on here? I asked.
Yea it’s a real problem, said the guy who had the house I rented. (The only phone number I knew in Sonora to call from an Airbnb inquiry). Maybe you’ll be the one to help them.
I should have left I guess. With some bigger money and a plan maybe I would have.
(to be continued…)
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