Jose y Raquel los peregrinos

In which Raquel says Adios

Ya estamos terminado.

The days have fluttered by with ever-increasing speed. And now our little apartment is bare and our bags stuffed.
And my heart is confused.
Like the hem of my red skirt on a barbed wire fence, a piece of my heart has
snagged on Honduras while the rest of me pulls towards the States.

The small brown hands of Alba clutch mine.
(“No vaya,” she pleads after our last lesson.)
Santos, sick with AIDS and an unshakeable fever, lets his tears fall as I take my leave of his wife, Yamilet, who is also sick with AIDS and tuberculosis.
(I found out this morning that he has now been moved to a bed in the city`s bleak public hospital.)
I remember the warmth of Alejandrina`s last motherly embrace and her special farewell meal for us.
(“Dios le bendiga, hermana” she says.)
My heart bleeds with Lola`s irrepressible sobs and the loneliness they betray.
(She can`t let me go and won`t be consoled when we say our last goodbyes.)
The trusting eyes of the 20 kindergarteners I visit weekly tug at me.
(To them I am “La Teacher” and have introduced strange English words like
“bye-bye,” “Good morning,” and “yellow.”)
I couldn`t promise a return to any of those people. I told them I wanted to return, that we would save money for a visit, that I cared about them.
And somehow it all sounded hollow.

At the same time I pull and am being pulled towards the States. The
bank account dwindles, our English-speaking friends and family eagerly count
down days, and our tickets say June 1st. I`m eager for that first hug from
my mom; I can`t wait to get to know my two-year-old goddaughter again, or
to drink tea with friends and demonstrate my newly acquired tortilla
making skills. My hands itch to dig in my little garden and pet my cat. I
have an English curriculum to plan and a creative writing class to think about.
Enough comfort, love, and things to do to keep me from remembering those brown eyes and the kind Spanish-speaking friends that go with them.
Where will it all end? Will my heart stay un-mangled and comfortable and
Honduras fade like a dream, or will the pain of distance ache like an old wound and remind me of friends left behind?
I`ve left it in hands bigger than mine, and I`ve seen before the miracles those hands have wrought from a frightening and muddled future. I have a future and a hope, a comforter and a fortress.
And so do my friends in Honduras.