Goodbye

It’s six pm and I’m sitting at an airport Starbucks. I feel so incredibly strange. I feel like I am going to a new world, rather than returning to the same old thing. At this time yesterday I was at the gate of Alalay, standing in the same spot where I always eat Anahi with kisses, complying with tradition for the last time.

The French have a saying that I discussed with Casey a few days before he left for home. “To say goodbye is to die a little.” Truth. Especially the little part. Because you don’t really die. You go on living and you leave a piece of yourself in the heart of another person. You go on living with a hole in your heart. You fill it with memories.

It was a slow Monday afternoon; many of the girls were not at the home. I sat quietly with Maria and Shirley in the living room. I had spent the entire day before buying little presents, wrapping them and writing notes. That morning, Alex and I made a few last minute purchases and bought two cakes from Brosso. When it was time for coffee, everyone sat together at the long table and Gaby gave me a big card, signed by the girls. It had a big drawing of Piglet on the front. I acted surprised but Yoseline had spilled the beans twice already that afternoon. I tried to say something nice, thanks girls, I love you so much…but I choked on my own sobs instead. Gladys patted my back as we ate cake and then we handed out presents. I was glad Janeth like the skirt. I got her something extra special because she had a birthday on August 10^th. She twirled it around and showed it to the director. She will look so beautiful in it. I couldn’t stop crying the whole time. The girls kept coming up for one more hug, one more kiss. Gaby and Anahi gave me some more bracelets and Janeth gave me a beautiful woven bracelet that must have taken her weeks to complete. Gladys stood behind me and threw her arms around my neck as I sat talking with girls before it was time to go. Lourdes, Anahi and Shirley gave me cards they had made. Mary gave me a rose she made in school and a ring from her boyfriend Miguel. When I hugged Shirley goodbye, her tiny body shook. It was the most awful feeling to hold her as she cried. I never realized how small she was.

Yoseline did not say a word. She just sat in my lap, looking at me with her sad, beautiful eyes. I have never seen her so silent; she is a natural chatter box. We sat quietly for a moment, just the two of us, in a chair by the window. The sunlight blinked on her new jeweled hair band. I…love…you…I stammered. We held each other so tight. She sniffed sharply and buried her soft, brown cheek on my shoulder. I didn’t want to ever let her go. I wanted to stop the horrible, clumsy crash of the second hand that brought me closer and closer to New Jersey. This sucks. And other poetic thoughts too.

Anahi scampered up the steps to put away her present. I gave her my Tower sweatshirt. For a year, I wore that thing with pride all over Princeton campus and now my little sister can wear it, oversized, baggy, sleeves drooping over her hands, to keep warm in the Andean winter.

Gaby walks with me back to my home in Sopocachi. I am glad I did not have to leave alone. Her school is more or less in the same direction so we walk most of the way together and then part on a street corner. I hug her twice, her gorgeous smile lights up her face and then she is gone.

Elise and Alex arrive late to their night shift so that they can have dinner with me. We go to my favorite restaurant, sushi and Thai food. We say goodbye and I finish packing my suitcases. It’s amazing how many alpaca products I actually thought I needed. I tell Arminda that she has a lovely granddaughter and should be very proud of Lorena. When I was wrapping presents for the girls, Lorena came up and asked me what I was doing. I thought she would ask me if she could have a lip gloss or something that I was giving to the girls at Alalay. Lorena is only eight years old but when I told her these were presents for orphans, her eyes flashed with understanding. She took off her headband and said, give this to one of the girls. I don’t really need it.

I see a red car with a familiar luggage rack on the roof. I wait. The driver is not in the car. It’s 4 a.m. I wait another ten minutes. I realize the driver came early to take me to the airport and is sleeping in the front seat. Jorge! Wake up, it’s time to go. Jorge wakes up and asks me what time it is. Don’t worry, I say, we have plenty of time, thanks for driving me so early in the morning. Tranquila señorita, it is my pleasure to serve you. Jorge is the CFHI designated chofer. He is in charge of all the airport transportation for the CFHI students. We chat on the drive up to El Alto. I stare out the window at the black night, sprayed with the million yellow city lights of La Paz below. A mountain rimmed basin draped in a wet spider web, each droplet of dew reflecting the crescent moon’s shine. Jorge is glad that I enjoyed my time in Bolivia and my rotations. I tell him I am sad to leave. He says not to worry. You’ll come back. You have grown, your character has grown and you’ll come back again some day. He reaches out the window to grab a highway pass. You will see your hermanitas again. Sí, pues, sí. He’s so sure. And when you do come back I will be here to pick you up from the airport. I smile and wonder how one country can have so many beautiful people, up to the last drop. We pull up to the terminal and he opens the door for me. I tip him, we hug and kiss, and then I begin the long journey home.