Different With Me

She is from another continent.

She wore a hijab.

I wore nothing on my head but my spiky hair.  She removed her hijab while talking with me because a man had not come to visit.  She explained to me what I didn’t know.

We both smiled at the sharing.

She made me coffee the way she drinks coffee.  With not American coffee.

We discussed what we had to discuss.

And we enjoyed discussing what we wanted to discuss.

She hopes I can visit her home land.

I was happy that she loves my home land.

We talked about our children.  Her eyes lit up.

Like how I feel when I talk about my children.

We talked about the safety she feels for her children, here.

I shared that I felt it was less safe than it used to be, here.

She shook her head, no.  It is safe, here.

We talked about perspective.

I was sad to leave.

She seemed to have enjoyed me being there.

We appeared to be different.  It felt wonderful to be different.  Because we seemed to both celebrate a discovery of things we didn’t know.   And we both seemed to feel safe in our little space combining our worlds.

We seemed to share joy in being different together.

Our laughter, our curiosity, and our tears, were evidence that our insides are the same.

Thank you, for being different with me.