As I washed my dinner plate in the sink, I wondered how I was going to say goodbye. It was too cruel that I had said goodbye to my family and friends, and my whole life in the States, only to have to build everything anew and say goodbye again. I was so comfortable with my Lima host family; I knew I could make it if I lived with them for two years. I had found a way to be myself, to be happy, and I was so scared to start it all over again in the mountains of Perú.
My host mom sat at the table with her hands clasped, unable to make eye contact with me.
“Voy a usar el baño…” I blurted out and hastily made for the bathroom. I had a heavy weight in my chest, the kind of hollow weight that with enough breaths seems to squeeze up the back of my throat and burn behind my eyes until tears run down my face. But I didn’t feel the burning, or the thickness in my throat; it was trapped under my rib cage. I didn’t know if it was fear for where I was going, or sorrow for what I was leaving behind, but I was surprised that I, notoriously weepy at goodbyes, felt no tears coming. Had I just said too many at this point? Or was it just too much to feel right now?
I walked back into the big room, home to dining room table, computer table, TV area, and kitchen, to find my host mom in the exact same position at the table. I looked at Sheyla and we both looked at Mamá.
“Necesito salir, Mamá.” I said softly, my cab was probably already waiting for me down the hill. My host mom turned her eyes to me but still couldn’t look me in the face.
“Ya, hija.” She said, quickly looking away from me as a tear ran down her cheek.
“Ya, vamos.” Said Sheyla hastily, jumping up from her chair and running around the table towards the door. “Puedo ayudarte.”
I wanted to thank my host mom, I wanted to tell her how much she meant to me, but felt my tongue tied with too small a Spanish vocabulary. Sheyla also was trying to hustle me out the door, and felt like I should follow her, like she knew how my host mom would prefer me to leave. But it didn’t seem right to leave without saying anything so I left Sheyla anxiously standing in the doorway and went to my host mom.
She took my head in her hands and hugged me close, tears pouring down her face. She told me I was a beautiful and good daughter, she was proud of me, that I had to visit and call, that she was going to miss me, and that she loved me very much. I said what I could, that I would visit and call, I would miss her too, I was thankful for all she had given me, and that I loved her too. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and let me go.
“Nos vemos, Mamá.” We’ll see each other. I said to her, and followed Sheyla out the door. In the dark outside, I felt the heat in my throat and a few tears fell between blinks. It was just a small piece of the boulder resting inside my chest; I guess I was only biting off as much as I could chew.
Sheyla helped me carry my bags down around the corner to where the cab waited. We loaded my stuff into the back and waited for Lauralee and Alli to come down the hill. Once we all had jammed our hiking packs and giant duffle bags into the way back, I turned back to Sheyla. She had started to cry. I opened my arms and she squeezed me tight, mumbling into my shirt as I bent to rest my cheek on her head. When she finally let go, she turned and walked quickly away. I heaved a heavy sigh and got into the taxi. As we drove out of Chacrasana, I tried to cover up my regret at leaving the best host family ever and my absolute terror for what was coming, with excitement for my last night out in Lima with my friends.
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