A Light in the Dark

by Michaela Giddy (Australia)

Making a local connection Mexico

A LIGHT IN THE DARK I jogged through the zig-zagging streets of Mexico City, to where the only friend I’d made in the two months I’d been here, lived. I ticked off the turns in my head as I went; left, left, right, straight for two blocks, left, and stop! There! Tucked under the rubble of a broken, abandoned building was the cardboard box with the dirty sheet draped across it, which I’d crafted as a home for my best and only friend one month ago. I reached in with a doggy treat in my hand. “Hey little buddy, look what I’ve got for you today”, I cooed, like a proud mother hen. I waited for the familiar wetness of a furry nose to scrape my hand as the treat was devoured. I frowned when none came and twitched the sheet aside. The box was empty. My stomach plummeted. It’s okay, I thought desperately to myself, he’s a dog, he could be anywhere, dogs go walking all the time. But I couldn’t unclench the dark feeling tightening the muscles in my gut. I sat beside the box until darkness fell, still my friend didn’t come home. Okay, I’ll come back tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day. On the fourth day, I could take it no longer. Where was the little ball of energy, I had unknowingly let into the deepest part of my heart? Was his little, wet nose safe and sound? Were his soft paws padding around somewhere exploring? Or..? I swallowed, as dark thoughts seeped in. It is incredible how, in the darkest times of your life, a light can form in the most unexpected of ways, and seemingly guide you out of the maze of dark and back into the light, and it is furthermore incredible how cruel life can be, to take that light away and leave you reeling in the darkness, more lost than you were before. I got up from the dust and walked over to a man I had seen almost every day that I’d visited my friend here. “Dónde está el?” I shouted, in horribly accented and broken Spanish, “dónde está el perro?” The man looked at me quietly, his eyes guarded, “Que?” He said. I dropped the shaking hand I was pointing at the box and shook my head. It was no use. My heart was broken. I spoke quietly to myself, not realising the old man could hear, “dónde está mi amigo?” “Tu amigo?” He said, and something in his tone made me look up at him. His old rheumy eyes crinkled as he smiled, “Ese perro es tu amigo?” My heart flipped slightly at his smile, and I realised he’d said, that dog IS your friend, not that dog WAS your friend. I nodded slowly. His smile widened, and he beckoned with a wrinkly hand, follow me. The old man led me through a windy alleyway between two tall buildings and out into an open street on the other side, I thought belatedly that maybe I shouldn’t follow a complete stranger to an unknown place, but before I could think about doing anything about it, the old man stopped at a door in the wall. He unlocked it deftly and the door swung wide. I looked inside suspiciously. An open courtyard greeted me, decorated with green potted palms, small splashing water features and a beautiful wooden trellis dripping with fairy lights. And there, sitting in a tub of soapy water in the middle of the sandstone tiled floor – splashing the three laughing kids who surrounded him as he tried to get to me – was a familiar little ball of fur. My heart soared as I took in his soft, little nose, his wet soapy fur, and his big huge eyes. He made a little whimper when he saw me and broke free, trailing soap and water behind him. I dropped to my knees and wrapped my arms around his warm body, a tear of relief and joy mixing with the water on his coat. My light was back. Mi amigo.