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June 24, 2013 There is something surreal about sitting on a dirt floor. Incessant flies flutter about while rain drops slowly fall through the scrap metal, plastic, wooden, rustic roof of sorts in a methodic hum. Children run around screaming as they play with no shoes on, a baby cries in the home next door. Fingers run through your hair, twisting braids while the little girls whisper in their native tongue, thinking you do not understand. The girl in pink continues to try to form a likeness of a braid, with no avail. The older girl, wearing a child’s dress as a shirt, continues to help her learn the craft. There are no men around, and you catch the word, "botella," as one of the three women shakes her head. They are standing together by the fire where the woman in a Ralph Lauren navy polo is making tortillas out of the corn and water mixture the woman in the dirtied white blouse just mashed with a rock. Your shoulder is tapped, so you slowly swivel your head, as not to disturb the masterpiece being created. The pantless, shy boy stands there with a kitten in his hand, beaming through the water droplets glistening on his eyelashes. He remembered you told him "me gusta gatitos" the day before. The girl in the blue Abercrombie shirt giggles, the shy boy still beaming, holding out his gift. Nine pairs of eyes watch as you accept the gift, accepting one of their own. The kitten has a white string tied around its neck with a dull silver heart dangling. It barely looks two weeks old. The children love the kitten well, giving it spoiled cow’s milk to lick. They each take turns letting the kitten lay in their laps. Excitement lights their eyes and time passes as they care for the little creature. Dusk settles. All nine pairs of eyes known that it is time to go. Nothing good happens after dark. Sweet good-byes fill the room. Tears fall faster than the rain dripping inside, tapping on the makeshift bed in the one room home. You give the kitten to the little boy and make him promise to take good care of it. He is your last goodbye. You head towards the bus; heart wrenching, mind racing. As you step onto the platform, your leg is tapped, so you slowly swivel your head, as not to show the tears. The pantless, shy boy stands there with the white string dangling a heart in his hand, beaming as he gives you the gift. He makes you promise to take good care of it. February 28, 2017 You touch the dull, silver heart on a frayed cream string. Promise kept.