M.I.

​Since the first moment I saw her, I’ve been speaking to her as if nothing had ever happened. I brought her to the waiting room and made her comfortable, got her food, a blanket, and a pillow. I drove to the store several times to get things she might need. She never asked me; I just felt the need to take care of her.

Yesterday we went to the Royal McDonald House, showered, and changed clothes. We felt so much better afterward. We sat outside in the garden, eating under beautiful weather, and for a moment it felt calm and almost relaxing.

At some point Lydia left M.I. and me alone. We started talking, and little by little I began to feel more comfortable. I told her about my experience in the hospital when my appendix burst. She asked me questions, and I kept talking, feeling more open with her.

Then suddenly something changed, I saw it in her eyes. Cold, judgmental, distant. 

Right then Lydia came back.

I felt strange afterward. Maybe even a little annoyed with myself for having been talking too comfortable and too open to M.I.

I went for a walk around the place. I stepped into the chapel, sat in silence, and did some breathing.

“I need to forgive. I need to let go.”

We were talking in Salvadoran Spanish to each other, and for a moment it felt nice, like comadres, that nice familiarity from being from the same place.

But then there is that look again, that coldness, marking the distance between me and her, those eyes reminding me that even though we come from the same country, we do not belong to the same class, that I still fall below her standards. 

Later, I wonder if she approves of Lydia or she also feels her son could’ve done better? Just by Lydia being a “gringa” she is already better than me. 

I actually do not care. I shouldn’t. I had that dream and felt needed to write about what I felt yesterday. 

But it matters nothing! 

What she thinks or doesn’t think of me, matters nothing and has no power over me anymore. Is irrelevant so irrelevant.