Out of Order

for Juliann, January 4th, 2018

coffin 2

The full moon loomed. She was a creature of the night. She was an intricate piece of the jungle puzzle. She was Juliann.

I have never seen such a narrow coffin. A small glass, over her face, in a closed casket, for her viewing. I made myself move slowly to see her; to say my good bye.

It was about ten o’clock  p.m., when the government vehicle backed up to the entrance of the local salon, delivering her body. A large crowd of the Potrero community had accumulated, little by little. It was Tico Style.

We gathered, in small groups, and chatted. The bay sounded off, just meters down the road, to the right. The soccer field, laid silent, in our view, to the left.

There were few gringos. The green-gringos could not understand Juliann. A Texan teenager, brought here by her mother, many years ago, in the free and real days of Costa Rica. Unlike the fast paced, onslaught of pseudo-pure vida that has now taken over.

A few weeks back, she had gotten angry and broke the camera, posted outside the local juke joint, that touts itself, as a five star dive. And that’s exactly what it is.

What a changed community. Seventy thousand dollar cars, screaming down the road with no concern for the lives of children, old people, pigs or chickens. I call them entitled (arrogant and ignorant) mother fuckers. They don’t belong here. Juliann belonged here.

The monkeys screamed this morning. I wonder if it was for her loss. She knew them.

She could roll under a fence and nab a stalk of bananas, as fast as a monkey could collect them from above. It was a theft of sorts, but no different than the creatures living on nature’s abundance. She was a survivor.

She had a beautiful heart – but she experienced the crack – the results of two worlds colliding. The power of her decisions were taken away by others. She could no longer control her nights; she was under surveillance. She had too much anger and too little tears.

Now she rests in “the womb of time”. Her death a public display. She will not be forgotten. She is historical in our small community of Potrero.

Last night I said good bye to my friend.

As I write, I cry tears in Spanish.

 

4 thoughts on “Out of Order”

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