Be Kind, Please Rewind

Back in the Peace Corps, the children used to call you rye-rye. They hid behind wooden chairs to avoid your camcorder, smiling through the banisters as you introduced each of their names to an invisible audience. In the attic of old, forgotten things, I found the VHS tape of your time in the Dominican Republic. It had no labels or markings - only dust from decades of neglect. When I pressed play on the machine, the tape was already halfway through - as if the viewer never finished it. 

I wanted to erase the distance for you. After all, I too have a special place that I long to be. When I told you about my discovery, I persuaded you to go back. Be kind, please rewind, Ryan - I joked. The village defined who you are now. A man with the resources and means to do so, should. You agreed. But as time passed, there was never an attempt to return.

After three long years, I reserved a flight back to my special place in Colombia. As the time grew near, I had become troubled. Everything I wished to reclaim could easily be replaced. Maybe the places I adored will fade in fondness. Maybe my friends will become mere acquaintances. In my mind, I suspended the memories in permanence. Now I fear placidity would take its place. It was then that I understood. Pain lies more heavily in the fondness of memories than the sadness of loss. But it does not matter - your absence gave you both. By now, those children have children of their own. For you to return, your given name might be spoken in full.