(Rachel Somewhere in the Woods, 2011)
When I think back at the time my father and I went over to Jorge's, the real Jorge's, house in Albuquerque, NM in 99', I remember being confused. No one ever sat me down to tell me what had happened formally, that he had disappeared and left all of this things behind. I was given bits and pieces of information, where I catch the chatter of the adults as I roamed the empty house. There was a strong sense of emptiness in there, and his things, the things I grew to know were his, had a life of their own, now were just things, belonging to no one. I never got to see the letter he left behind back then, I didn't even know it existed. Eventually I would have to ask about Jorge, what exactly did happen with him, over the phone with my mother, who still wasn't sure herself. He had left this world, but not world as in he died, he had vanished like a phantom. He could be amongst us right now, camouflaged as everyone else, and all we have is speculation. All I have is a feeling, and at the end of the day, that is the only thing that seems to remain true. He is far away, amongst strangers like he always has been. Seeing the world one last time, as Jorge continues to explore the world as well as himself. And perhaps he did die that day, leaving this world, in an Obi Wan Kenobi way, watching us as he is gives up his life only to guide us, to be that voice in the back of our mind when we most need guidance.
I have yet to hear a voice calling me from another universe, and perhaps I haven't been in need of anything that deep and immediate yet. Something in me changed that day, and I haven't been the same since. All I know is I feel less alone, that Jorge can be anywhere, but most of all, he is with us, inside of us, carried in our hearts and minds. I've never told anyone before but every once in a while I have this reoccurring dream that I am in the desert, sometimes alone sometimes with old friends, and the sand and all the plants are an ashy black. I could see storm clouds far off in the distance and the little blankets of rain fall beneath them. Two glowing eyes appear from far off, and come closer and closer, floating as if they were just two spheres of light. Then they disappear. A moment passes and I feel fur against my body, I look down and it is a black coyote, brushing up against me. I pet him on the head, then the heck, and he brushes up against me some more. The moon is out, and he howls, I turn into viper and cover the moon, the light shines through me, and the dream ends. It almost always happens exactly the same, with the same sequence of events and atmosphere, that coyote and the moon. To me it is Jorge inserting his presence in my mind, telling me he still roams, and that he is by my side, brushing up against me.
I wonder if I'll ever seen him again. I picture that being the climax of my life, during this huge shoot out, and I'm on the run or something, and when I am all alone against some army of thugs or cops or something, he appears, and is some badass god of destruction blowing them all away with a lifetime of experience of doing just that.
When the whole world is against me he'll be there, and perhaps he was always there. Right by my side, waiting for that moment to happen.