dreams come at the oddest hours

Last night I spoke with el genio for the first time in months. He was bouncing his nephew on his knee, complaining about his little brother and his mother fighting all the the time. I asked him if he knew what happened this summer and when he said, "No," I thought, now is as good a time as ever. So I told him about the summer visit from his dad and his little brother and he asked me one thing: Did you reject him because of his age? And I told him: no, I rejected him because he is too old-school. And I am from the future, and born to fly.

El genio and I are are friends who share an interesting story, that has lasted a long time.



Here we are en route to Cabrera, in a little town called Sabana de Yasica. I was just off the plane from Newark, remember that three day stretch in Newark?

Running out of money for the ridiculous internet fees at the airport. Feeling blue and down. A sinking feeling of how will I return to Cabrera? All the plans messed up, delays, appointments on certain days. No fear. I called el genio as soon as I hit Puerto Plata and he woke up from his siesta and came and collected me.

We stopped in this little town to meet up with the farmer who was fortuitiously on his way home from Santiago. Of course, me being me, and coming out of three days in New Jersey in the same clothes, all I wanted was a nice cold Presidente while we waited for the pick up. El genio bought me two bottles and we split both of them. Small, icy cold bottles of amber-colored beer. In the picture above he is holding up one of the plastic cups.

I do believe this is the last time I saw him in person.

Back to this summer and why I wanted to tell him about it. It's a story and a half but I will condense it.

His father and little brother came to Maine to see me. I have known the family since I was 21 years old, having stayed with them and them with us (back then it was an "us") doing missions work. Unknown to me, the father had divorced the mother. So he shows up with the little brother for two weeks and at the end of the two weeks I suddenly, uncomfortably realize I am his top pick for Wife #2.

How I laughed yesterday when el genio and I discussed this strange turn of events! How good it felt to FINALLY tell someone who was familiar with all the players in this ridiculous comedy! How he told me, don't be surprised, it's because tu eres especial, any man would want to marry you.

How it felt better after that. I'd held it in for too long.

Hence this picture. The last time I saw him in person, we were in a little town drinking little beers, laughing at nothing and never imagining the future, just living in the moment.

Talking to him brought back a sweet memory. Not just the picture above, which was an average moment at the end of a very long day during a very interesting time in my life. I remembered a different time, when I had a different mission.

It had been a long process, over a year, of raising the money, coming back to find Damalbi, testing her, and then working with Midence and his son to realize she had severe nerve damage. I was staying with el genio's family, per custom, and I'd woken early that day, trekked to the city, gotten lost, called a friend, been picked up and delivered to the right office, waited anxiously for the results, gotten a ride to Midence's house, met him and his son and watched as they discussed in dominican Spanish the fate of Damalbi. The link goes to my photos of her with my ex-husband.

A year's worth of work and no hope. Talk about draining.

Home, to la casa de la Plaza Isabela, dejected and not triumphant. Me being me, I did not want to face my host family, el genio, his father the pastor, his mother the teacher, his brother and sister. First I wanted to sit at Cafecito, the bar beside the jeweler's offices.

So I did. No dinner, just a few drinks. The barmaid, in her fifties, brought me breads to snack on. The busboy, Mirdad, listened to my story but wanted to tell me his--so I listened. His was sadder. I am American. He can't even get in. After three beers, and a removal from the sorrow of failure, I walked home.



No one was home except el genio. (Ask me what el genio means, it means genius). He told me, they'll be coming soon to pick us up for church. Oh really? I said.

Just him and me in the room, a humid, deep blue afternoon. I put on my favorite song, a beautiful song about a girl who cuts cane and her beautiful man who cuts cane with her.



El genio danced with me. Not a close dance, or anything creepy. He just moved with me to the music, completely with me as I danced away the pain of the day.




A dream remembered in November...a Dominican dream from long ago. A connection, a tie, a piece of a plant that roots and grows. It's strange, this life!