I'm sitting on the porch eating an imported gala apple from Washington. I let the sweetness crush against my teeth and burst. And I wash it down with a beer so cold it tastes like frost.
I walked to my best friend's home today. His name is Jean Rodaine. He is 28, married, and has two baby girls. One is three, one is only days old.
My creole has grown, and we talk about more than action verbs.
Not only what we're doing, but when we're doing it. And how we feel.
How we feel, and who we are. As friends.
As people.
I had forgotten, like when I moved to Spain,
That you can lose yourself in the unknown.
Without the words to be yourself.
Who are you?
Who am I in creole?
Without my words? Who am I?
I'm beautiful but not exceptional. I'm musical but not virtuosic. I'm smart but not a genius.
In all of these things.
I am loved.
And I am patient.
I waited. To learn. To speak.
I waited for them to know me.
And they do.
Who am I in creole. Who am I,
Anywhere.
Jn Rdn has two jobs. I didn't know this until today.
We left work at four, and walked up the mountain for about 45 minutes.
We arrived and stayed no more than 30 minutes when he said, well, we'd better go back.
He had to be at 'work' at 5:30. We needed to catch a motorcycle.
It's a big deal, to be invited into a Haitian's home. It means that they trust you. It prefaces a real relationship. It's the fourth home I've been invited to.
When we parted ways, Jean asked me if I could come to dinner on Monday.
He and his family live in a two room cement building. The ceiling has sunlights cut out, and the doors are partitioned with plastic and fabric. The walls are sparsely decorated, and the bed is a frame he carved himself. Living with his family are three orphaned children from the neighborhood and two teenage boys that help out around the house.
And I understood. One thing.
'Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the earth.'
If you've ever been asked to share a meal with someone who has nothing.
If you've ever known love you couldn't return.
If you've ever been known.
I ate an apple and watched some of the kids. They stand on the balcony and gaze into the mountains. So still.
The rain had settled and the clouds are warm.
I feel insignificant in the wake of Jean Rodaine's friendship.
How I'll never be able to reciprocate his generosity
And he may never know,
How much I care about him.
How I've been so humbled by his love.
How I spent more on an apple than he will make tonight at his second job.
How I'm sorry.
And in no languages, and in all languages,
How I thank God.
e mwen lapriyè pou mwen ka fè pi bon pase mwen fè
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