The pink light of the setting sun settles on the desert, like I resting on the ridge, breathing shallowly from the climb, the boots are coated with a thin layer of dust. Around me, the light of the Santa Catalinas seemed to illuminate from the inside, their jagged edges softened by dusk, while the valley below stretched endlessly, and the silhouettes of the cactus faded into shadows. I stopped and let the silence squeeze in, only broken by the faint call of the cactus ren. Here, surrounded by so much space, it is impossible not to feel the weight my brother lacks, and the strange and painful freedom I carry is what he carries.
Christine Chitnis
Christine Chitnis is a photographer, journalist and writer. Her work focuses on connecting culture and history through the visual world, which is evident in her book Indian model and Portugal’s model. Christine The New York Times, Elle, Travel + Leisure, Domino, And more. From childhood summers in northern Michigan to the farm and coastline of her house in New England, to exploring Rajasthan culture with her husband Vijay, she loves sharing this passion for discovery with her three children (Vijay, Vikram and Meera).
Two years ago, I unknowingly joined a huge, usually invisible traveler network with almost 6 million. We come from all walks of life, by car, train, bus or plane to bridge the distance from our loved ones. My own journey began on Rhode Island and ended on a dusty, desolate road in the suburb of Tucson, Arizona, where I visited my youngest brother in prison. In the United States, most prisons are far away from where inmates and their families are at home. Accordin
My brother is 16 years younger than me – we shared the same parents and I still remember the day he was born, the little weight he had in my arms when I first hugged him. I am his elder sister and he is my younger brother. Even though the time we share is regulated and restricted, nothing will change. Our visit was conducted on weekends, in a sterile room with chairs fixed to the floor, which was the strict rules: no food, no drinks, no cell phones, no distractions. We talked for seven uninterrupted hours. Through our words and memories, we go beyond barbed wire and armed guards. Together, we imagine a future that will come—what we will eat, where we go, and once again fall into the sense of precious lakes of our Midwest childhood summer, shared freedom. These conversations are constantly disturbed by modernity, which has taught me the value of sitting discomfort. My brother’s life will never be what we once imagined, and we talk about it with unwavering honesty. The most difficult moment is always the end of the visit. We allow a brief hug before he is taken away, and then I retreat to the faded light of the desert-minded but unwavering, ready to start the long journey home.
Arriving from Rhodes Island to Tucson is neither easy nor cheap. Every time, I weighed the fact that I drove to Boston directly or left from our smaller airport, and I had to make connections in Atlanta. Should I rent a car or rely on a ride, fully know how difficult it is to get Uber to pick you up from a federal prison 15 miles away from town? Then there is the question of accommodation. Costs pile up – assuming the visit goes as planned. After a long trip, I arrived in Tucson more often, just to find out that the prison was locked. Our family – my husband, our three kids and me – once spent the Thanksgiving week there, plan to visit my brother on the holiday itself and on weekends and after. After landing, we learned that the prison was locked and will remain so throughout the trip. Since then, I have learned to book refundable hotel and airline tickets, as well as window seats on my return flight so I can cry privately.
On my first visit, I totally expected to be upset with the permanent sunny desert town surrounded by vast mountains. Santa Catalinas, Lincoln, Santa Ritas and Tucson Mountains circle the city, glittering at sunset. How dare this place stay warm, bright and beautiful in my sadness. However, as time goes by, the distinct beauty of the Sonoran Desert attracts me. Now, I look forward to these visits – not just seeing my brother, the painful and missed brother I miss, but also to experience this wonderful landscape.