Laundry

The night before we left El Salvador, my professor told us that it would be a good idea to jot down some ideas, thoughts, etc. about the trip while it was still fresh in our minds. Although I didn't do it right then, I keep having this vision, this one memory that I can't get out of my head. I had to write it down. It seems to haunt me in both positive and negative ways. Usually when I blog, I don't get that personal. I know I talk about a lot of personal things, I talk about my life, I even talk about my period blood. But this is something that is different. And nobody, but the 11 people that went to El Salvador with me will understand.
I can still see her hands. Rythmic. Washing. Almost as if to music, but the only audible sounds are those of Spanish words my brain has to strain to make out. I can't take my eyes off her. She has it down to a science. Water. Soap. Clothing. All mixed together to create a single everyday task that both impresses and murders me. She is young. Maybe not even my age. Yet she has come a long way. Figuratively, not literally though the path to the stream is rocky and steep at times, ripe with loose dirt that will delightfully give way without warning making even the toughest shoes feel like socks sliding across a freshly waxed floor. Forcing this motley group of travelers to hold hands and stumble down the well worn trail. But she is wearing sandals. Her hands are fascinating, her arms strong as she kneads the cloth back and forth against the hard rock surface. Back and forth. Back and forth. Stopping intermittently to apply soap and water. But the water serves more than this purpose. It is to drink. Plastic wrappers float in the stream and curious children jump from one rock to the next. It is hot and I feel the beads of sweat running down my spine and the moisture collecting in between my fingers. I want to leave, but I am just watching. She seems to sense me starting and she turns, never pausing in her task, and smiles. White teeth against brown skin. I want to cross the few feet between us, take her wet hands into my own and kiss them. I want to kneel down at her feet and beg her forgiveness for my selfish materialism. I want to tell her everything I know. Somehow link hands, connect myself to her and show her hopes, dreams, and everything that could be. I want to tell her how much I want to help her. How much I want to change things for her. How horribly impossible it all seems at this moment. I silently lift one corner of my mouth in a shy smile and she turns back around. Never breaking her cadence of washing.