THE LONELY GHOSTS

 

The woman behind the information counter is small and wears glasses. She appears to be like millions of other people, except when I speak to her:

 

I ask her for a map.  She says “No problem,” and smiles.

 

I ask where a certain street is. She gives me a specific and simple answer.

 

I ask if she could recommend a hotel. She does . . . but in English.

 

“You don't understand my Spanish?” I ask.

 

“Oh no, it's fine. But when I was in your country I had to speak English all the time. It got lonely hearing my own language.”

 

“What did you think of my country?”

 

“Everything was fine, really, parts were beautiful, there was a lot of food. But I just felt like a ghost, like I could see everyone but no one could see me. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes. I know exactly how you feel.”

Observations, After

©2008 Sorrowland Press and all respective artists within.