When the embers had cooled to the touch, the women would sift through the ashes and collect the burned bones. They were then crushed with a mortar and pestle to a fine dust. Banana milk was added, and the funeral ritual was completed by every person in the tribe taking a drink until nothing was left.

“Why are we drinking Capa’s bones?” I asked Paraila when the gourd was passed to me.

Placing his hand gently on my shoulders, he said, “You know that life is created when a man and a woman lay together, right, Cor’dairo?”

I nodded my head that I understood that. It was one of the first things that Paraila ever taught me… after I first saw a man coupling with a woman.

“Well, we are doing nothing more than returning Capa to life. We ingest his bones and make him part of us. Then, when new life is created, part of Capa will be reborn, and his spirit will live on within the tribe. To us, life is never ending. You will always come back in some way or another. Everything comes back in the end.”

As I watched the barber inside take a brush and clean off the man’s neck, I thought about Paraila’s teachings. Everything always comes back in the end.

I didn’t hesitate a second longer. Walking in, I asked how much for a haircut, and then had the barber take it off.

When he turned me around in the chair and I saw myself in the mirror, I waited for sadness to hit me that my hair was gone… because it was one of the things that identified me as a Caraican. But it didn’t. I just stared with interest, noting how short it was on the sides, but he left it a bit longer on top. My hair was actually a bit wavy and, without the weight of the long locks pulling it down, it flipped at the ends in about a dozen different ways. I looked younger, or so I thought, and I was generally pleased.

Standing outside the barbershop, I look down the street left and right, trying to decide what to do. No doubt, Moira would be up by now, but I still wasn’t ready to face her. I had no clue where we stood, and I wasn’t ready to find out just yet.

So I head in the opposite direction, and just start walking.

I need more time to think.

I’m so f**king lost.

How in the hell did that happen?

I’ve been navigating my way through the Amazon for most of my life, hacking away new paths with my machete and exploring unseen areas. I always found my way back.

But after walking around the suburbs of Evanston, Illinois, f**k if I have a clue as to where I am.

Turning down a new street, I hope for some familiarity, but find nothing but new sights and sounds. I walk for another few blocks until I emerge on another street that has some businesses. A small diner, an antique shop—no clue what that means, and a locksmith. No clue what that means either.

Just down the street in a small parking lot, I see two police cars parked beside each other, facing in opposite directions. Knowing what those are, I head toward them. I have a sudden and distinct memory of a police officer coming to my school when I was little. I don’t quite remember why he was there, but he talked to our class, and I remember him being in a position of authority and security. I figured they were my best bet to figure out how to get back to Moira’s.

When I approach the cars, I see their windows are down, and the cops are talking to each other. Their gazes lift toward me, and one of the officers gives me a small smile. “Can I help you?”

Scratching my head, because this is awkward and embarrassing, I tell him, “Yeah… I’m sort of lost and can’t find my way back to my friend’s house.”

The officer arches his eyebrow at me. “New to the area?”

“You could say that,” I tell him.

“What’s the address and I’ll get you pointed in the right direction?”

Address? Fuck.

“Um… honestly, I don’t know. It’s a white house with black shutters.”

I can see immediate distrust wash over the cop’s face, and he opens his car door to step out. “You don’t know the address?” he asks skeptically. “And you say this is a friend’s house?”

I put on my friendliest smile. “Okay, I know this sounds weird… but, um… I’ve actually been living in Brazil for the past eighteen years and the woman I’m staying with was hired to bring me back here to the United States and help me adjust to this culture. I’ve been staying at her house.”

Apparently, that didn’t go over any better because I see the cop’s distrust magnify. The other officer now steps out of his car and gently shuts the door to face me. I expect at any moment for them to pull their guns or something, which makes me feel twitchy. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, so I take a step backward.

“You needed help to acclimate to what? Your English seems pretty good to me,” the cop says.

Taking a deep breath, I let it out and lay it on the line. “I actually lived in the Amazon… with an indigenous tribe. This is my first time back in the modern world. The woman is an anthropologist at Northwestern, and she was hired by my godfather to ‘rescue’ me and bring me home.”

Now both of the cop’s eyebrows raise high with surprise. One of them says, “Are you f**king with us?”

“No, sir. I’m not keen on you shooting me,” I tell him with a grin.

The other officer starts laughing and gets back in his car. “I’ll pull up her address, Carter, and give him a ride over there.”

The cop, whose name I now know to be Carter, nods and gets back in his own car. “Go ahead and get in his backseat. He’ll take you over there.”