Carmen

My dog Indio sleeps right outside of my window at night. I keep it open and he’s always just a few feet away. I’m used to him barking occasionally at night, but he worked overtime last night. I know my canine companion well and can tell by the tone of his bark when someone is bothering him.

He does a short burst of four or five hard “woofs,” which means that the neighbor’s dogs are in his space. He’ll lunge at these doggies like he’s fixing to attack, but stops after taking only a few steps toward them. Their size makes it difficult for him to catch, and they usually understand that he doesn’t want them around–so they croos the street and go back home.

Last night, he kept doing this particular barking, all night. Every 20 minutes or so: woof, woof, woof, woof. He’s a big dog, easily over 100 pounds, and his bark has some serious base. I’m able to sleep through most of it because it’s familiar, but it wasn’t until 4:30 this morning that I realized why he was at it all night long.

Carmen spent the night in my daughter’s bedroom. She’s my elderly neighbor from across the street and once in a while, she gets frightened and seeks refuge with my family. She’ll come see my mom and if things are really difficult for her at her house, she’ll spend the night. I’ve known her since I was a kid in junior high school. That’s when we moved here and built this house we’re in. Life alongside them has drawn our families closer, and we definitelycare about our neighbors.

Apparently, her little dogs know she slept here, and they’ve been waiting for her, right on the edge of Indio’s insecurities. When I realized in my sleep why Indio kept barking, I leapt out of bed to check on my elderly guest; I fear she’ll die, on my watch. I can’t help but reminisce in the doorway about what she’s been through…

I saw her husband on the living room floor of her home, framed in a pool of blood and gray matter. A moment in which I realized, a bullet leaves a literal mess — for someone else to clean. I hate being a helpless burden on anyone, so with his last gesture, he convinced me to steer more toward a sterile suicide, even if it’s just in my daydreams.

Her beautiful grandson is facing life in prison. He’s a precocious athlete with a shy smile and a thoughtful heart. He’s a young man who managed to pull his baby son and another child out of a burning car, and wondered why nobody tried to help him save his pregnant little sister and the children’s mother before the fire consumed them. They all died — including a part of him.

His mother was a beautiful, brown child with shiny black hair — my little sister’s best friend for a time. I haven’t spoken to her in a while, unable to tolerate her erratic mood swings. She’s the one who actually cleaned up her father’s mess. She’s the one who washed her hands in his blood. She’s the one who lost her daughter and her grand babies in a fire. She’s the one mourning for a son wrapped up in a public cage. This drunken Latina with graying hair is struggling to get by, and I don’t know what to do; so I avoid her.

I cry more than I pray. It’s mostly because I lose faith in God — every single fuckin’ day. I falter and demand that he comes back in all his glory to stop the hate, the greed. The homelessnes and war. “Why?” My blaspheme is childish — boring to Hell. So I’ll write since I’m awake so early and share; I’ll declare that I love my neighbors and will be here for them as they’re living and healing.

Carmen has woken, and I’m floored by her awareness. Her body’s decimated but her conversations hold substance. There’s not enough light for her to go home yet so I give her my coffee and we speak candidly for a while. I held her firmly as I walked her home. The dogs walked with us calmly… on this beautiful, brand new day.

I love you Las Cruces. Have a great Sunday and please, pray for my neighbors…