Squinting, I see the dark eyes I remember from the open window before I blacked out again. Her skin is the color of mocha and her long, dark hair hangs stick-straight down her back. She looks Hispanic or some kind of Native American. I remember seeing a photo of the Anasazi once. She’s like that.
“Where am I?” I say with my sandpaper voice, easing slowly into a sitting position.
Her brow lines, and she stands, crossing the room to a small table where a bucket sits. Using a gourd, she scoops water and returns to me.
“Bebe,” she says.
Her voice is soft but direct, and she only meets my eyes briefly before looking down again. I take the cup and hold it to my lips. The water is warm, but it’s wet, which is all I care about. I slurp it down with all the decorum of a Labrador retriever.
“Thank you,” I say, gasping for air.
She’s up and across the room repeating the procedure and giving me another scoop of water. Again, I drink it down in record time.
We repeat this process once more until I’ve had enough. She looks around the space, and I do the same. We’re in a one-room, cinder-block structure. The table is in the center, and an ancient, small stove is in the corner. A box, which I guess is a refrigerator, is a little further down. My cot is against the eastern wall under an open square that serves as a window. Two other cots are on the opposite wall from me. I assume that means another person shares this shelter with us. Is this woman married? Is it for another woman? I have no idea what to expect.
“Baño?” she says, doing a nod and holding her hand toward the door.
I think about the word. I’ve heard this word in Miami. It means bathroom. Suddenly my bladder feels like it might burst.
“Yes,” I say, nodding. “Si,” I try, and she lights up at that.
“Si!” she repeats, smiling and nodding.
She stands. I try to do the same, but my knees shake so hard I have to sit down again. Dizziness hits me. I don’t know what I’m doing as instinct takes over, and I lean forward moaning, holding my head.
“Dushi!” she says, sitting beside me and rubbing my back. “Sori!”
It’s hard to think through this hurricane of pain, but I recognize the last thing she says. I need to make it to the toilet. I’m not sure if I’m about to vomit all over myself or pee in my pants—or both.
“Help… me.” I say, barely able to see. “Help,” I whisper again. “Baño.”
Her arm is around my waist and mine is over her shoulder. Together we rise slowly, and I lean heavily against her as she walks me across the dirt floor to the thin cloth constituting the door. It gets caught up around us, but we keep going until it gradually falls free. Thankfully, the bathroom is only a few paces down from where the line of side-by-side cinder block houses stands.
It’s a closet-sized tin room and inside is a chair with no cushion over a hole in the ground. The tin door slams shut, and the smell of urine and fecal matter hits me full force. I immediately vomit all over the ground and flies rise around me. I start to cry again.
“Oh, god…” My shoulders shudder, and my heart feels like it’s breaking.
Breathing through my mouth to avoid the stench, I pull my skirt up and my panties down and hover over that bottomless chair as I pee in that hole. When I’m done, I look around. No toilet paper. No surprise.
I wait, doing a little hip-shake, hoping the final drops fall away. When I can take it no longer, I step forward, pushing through the door. The blast of fresh air that hits me has me gasping frantically.
“Oh, god!” I gasp, leaning against the wall of the outhouse.
My new friend looks at me and nods. “No bon.” She motions to the trees around us. “Baño.”
Blinking at her a few moment
s, I try to understand. Is she telling me to pee in the woods? It would certainly make more sense than enduring that torture test every time I need to relieve myself.
I nod as if I understand. The vomit followed by peeing cleared my head a bit. I’m able to walk back toward the cinder-block houses by myself, but I need to lie down again. I stagger through the cloth hanging over the door and make it to my bed.
For a minute I sit watching the makeshift door, but my new friend never joins me. After what feels like an eternity, but is probably only a few minutes, I give up and lie on my side to sleep.
Voices rouse me, and when I open my eyes again, I see my friend is back and with her is a little girl. I say “little,” but she’s probably twelve or thirteen. She’s skinny and tall, and her dark hair is wavy, unlike the woman’s.
I watch a few moments as they move around the kitchen talking in their strange language. The girl is animated and fun, as if somehow she’s managed to rise above the squalor surrounding us. She’s also dressed in a plaid skirt and a white, button-up shirt. It looks like a school uniform.
Whatever my friend is cooking smells delicious. Or maybe it’s because I haven’t eaten in two days. Sitting up, I rub my eyes and wonder if I can figure out a way to communicate with them.