Page 26 of Between Then and Now
“Now you start following people. Here, I’ll start you off,” she says, taking the phone back and searching for a few accounts. “Follow me, obviously. And Alexa. And a few other people we know.”
I watch as she adds a few more profiles, her concentration unwavering. “This feels weird,” I admit.
Bon laughs. “It’s just a tool, Ryan. You don’t have to be obsessed with it. But it can help you stay connected and, you know, maybe get to know people a bit better.”
“Alright,” I say, taking the phone back and looking at the accounts she has followed for me. “I’ll give it a shot.”
“Good,” Bon says with a satisfied smile. “Now, go ahead and post something. It doesn’t have to be fancy.”
At that moment, an ice cream cart passes in front of us, and Bon squeals, “Sorbetes!” She looks just like she did when we were kids, always excited for ice cream. She buys one for herself and one for me and starts eating with a huge smile. I don’t know why, but I take a photo of her looking so happy.
Bon notices the camera and laughs, a sprinkle of ice cream on her nose. “Really, Miller? You’re gonna start your Instagram journey with a photo of me? I know I’m cute, but, come on, isn’t that weird?”
“Nah, not weird,” I reply, grinning. “You look happy. It’s a good memory.”
She rolls her eyes playfully, but her smile stays. I decide to post the photo to my Instagram account with the caption: “Exploring new places with old friends.”
“Come here,” I say. I stand up, grab my ice cream cone from her outstretched hand, and run my thumb across her nose to get the lingering ice cream off. I wipe it on her shirt with a grin.
“Oh, so you posted a photo of me with ice cream on my nose?” She scowls at me but continues to eat anyway.
“Told you, it isn’t weird,” I say.
She makes a mocking face and says, “Sure. Let’s go before I regret giving you a platform to embarrass me.” She stands up and heads to the motorcycle.
Before we hop on, I can’t resist bringing it up. “Bon, about earlier, I didn’t mean to sound so…”
She cuts me off. “Don’t sweat it. You were practicing. You were supposed to sound affectionate. That’s the whole reason.” She waves her hand dismissively. “If we’re gonna get awkward over something so trivial, then we might as well charge tickets to this trainwreck,” she adds with a grin.
I laugh and say, “Yeah, you’re right… so, we can still practice?”
“Definitely, Miller.” She snaps on her helmet with a wink. I follow suit, and as the engine roars to life, the tension from earlier slips away.
Just like that, we’re back in sync—like nothing ever happened.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Bonita
Ryan is my friend, and I’m helping him date his dream girl.That becomes my mantra each day I wake up and find Ryan with his shirt askew, sprawled on his bed, snoring softly like a bear in hibernation. It’s not that I have feelings for him, but he’s physically perfect, and I’m just a girl who likes her piece of eye candy.
The next few days follow a similar routine: vaccinations, consultations, and a few insightful villagers here and there.
During the day, I capture footage of our activities, making sure I get the best angles and moments that showcase the team’s efforts. Ryan is a natural in front of the camera; his genuine concern for the villagers is evident in every shot. Occasionally, I catch him looking at Alexa, and I nudge him playfully, reminding him to focus.
Evenings are spent editing videos and preparing for the next day. Ryan often sits beside me, offering input on which clips to use and which stories to highlight.
Today, an elderly woman arrives in our triage. She stands out because she looks more… native and insightful. For starters, she’s wearing avakuland traditional woven fabric. I thought these things were only worn during festivals and special occasions, but it’s refreshing to see them used on a normal day. I approach her as she wraps up her check-up with John.
“Good morning,” I start. She looks up at me, her face a map of wrinkles, each line telling a story. She speaks in her native dialect but understands me anyway. Her voice carries the weight of years spent watching the world change around her. I ask if I can film and interview her, and she shyly agrees.
We sit under the shade of a large mango tree just beside John’s triage tent. She shares tales of the village's history, recounting how they’ve faced and overcome various challenges over the decades. She talks about the importance of community and how everyone looks out for each other, especially during hard times. John approaches us, also interested in the woman’s insights.
“My husband used to be the village healer,” she says, her eyes distant with memories. “He taught me so much about plants and their healing properties. When he passed, I tried to continue his work, but times have changed, and people now prefer modern medicine.” Her gaze softens as she looks around. “The pandemic was also a terrible time for us here, with many people unable to access health care. I’m thankful for you all,” she turns to John, “for doing this.”
John and I listen intently, captivated by her stories that seem to bridge the gap between past and present. She speaks of how the village has evolved, adapting to new ways while still holding onto cherished traditions. Her words paint a picture of a resilient community that has weathered storms, both literal and metaphorical, preserving its cultural heritage amidst the currents of change.
As she speaks, I can’t help but feel a deep admiration for her resilience and wisdom. Here is a woman who has seen the world transform around her yet remains steadfast in her commitment to preserving her heritage and sharing her knowledge with the younger generations. It’s a humbling experience and a privilege to sit under that mango tree, listening to her stories that carry the weight of history and the warmth of human connection.
