She was, is, foreign.
She didn’t speak my language.
I didn’t speak her language.
She sat next to me on the bench. I wanted to engage her. Because she and I had differences and I wanted to know them.
I was curious about her and tried to use words that might sound familiar.
She held up a finger to me. She spoke into her phone and showed it to me. It was her language, with a translation to my language.
I asked her if she is enjoying being here.
Her eyes got wide as she read my question and said it is very ‘messy’ from where she is.
Here, it is beautiful. And she loves America.
I asked her if America is being good to her.
If possible, her eyes got wider with her smile as she read my question from the translation. She nodded emphatically and said “very very” in her language.
Our interaction was brief.
And it was pleasant.
Very, very pleasant.
We were both happy to be talking to one another. I don’t know about her, but I thought it was wonderful we could speak our own language and still communicate with one another. I liked hearing her sounds and answering with me sounds.
And honestly, it felt good to have someone else tell me how wonderful America is. I could have hugged her for seeing what I feel about my home.
It made me appreciative for where I am. What I have. And what is here.
We were both very glad to be there.