Three Kinds of Smiles

I didn’t remember taking a ride in a time machine, but straddling my beautiful gray horse with adobe houses on both sides, I was sure that I was back in time. Could there really be parts of the world that still remained so untouched by human advancement and technology? On my right, a woman was leading a flock of sheep down the dirt road, clad in homemade clothing with a baby slung on her back. On my left, a man was training two oxen in a yoke so they could later plow his giant field. The village around me consisted of garage sized mud houses with ceramic tile roofs whose crumbling walls and collapsing ceilings made me wonder at their age. Farmland stretched for miles, and rolling mountains framed the village on every side. As we waved at the staring villagers (gringas are apparently fascinating in any age), I half expected Paul Revere to ride up behind me shouting, “The British are coming!”

But when I saw a car parked next to a tiny house with a llama tied nearby, I remembered that I was not in colonial America, but 21st century Peru. I would not be meeting George Washington or John Adams on this particular day. Nevertheless, when thunder boomed, I kicked my horse to go faster and smiled confidently as my imagination transformed me into a galloping 18th century heroine racing to beat the storm.

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When you find out you’re only going to have eight out of thirty five kids the next day, you know you have to do something fun. So yesterday when we showed up at the school, we came bearing gifts. The kids arrived to find the tables laden with cupcakes, colorful icing, fudge sauce, M&Ms, sprinkles, and everything else necessary to decorate a cupcake. With wide eyes, they each sat down next to a cake and grabbed a bag of icing. Not ten minutes later, every cupcake looked like the Mile Hile City, with mountains of icing piled on top. Towers of candies and mounds of chocolate adorned each one.

A frenzy followed the signal to begin eating. Seeing their faces, you’d have thought the day’s activity was face painting. I burst out laughing when I saw Benyi lick off his icing and hand his now plain chocolate cake to Efrain, who put it in a bag for later. Soon, the only sign of the cupcakes were the stains on the kids’ lips and noses. As they looked up at me with their Cheshire cat grins, I pitied their mothers. Sugar high…sugar low.

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A chilly breeze slipped under my blanket of hair raising goose bumps on my neck and sending a shiver down my spine. But though I was chilly, my right hand was warm. Lizbeth clutched my hand tightly as she walked next to me. Her grip was neither the reluctant hold of a child too old to hold her mother’s hand while crossing the street, nor was it the obnoxiously tight squeeze of an ornery boy trying to be difficult. Instead, she held my hand as if it contained a hundred soles that she was determined not to lose.

I felt her gaze as I talked to Krista and Molly. She watched me intently although she couldn‘t understand our English. Her smile widened each time I said goodbye to one of the children tagging along, and her satisfaction was evident when she was the only one left, finally having me to herself.

When I reached her road, I bent down to kiss her cheek and say “Hasta mañana (see you tomorrow).” But instead of kissing me back, she turned her head and clutched my hand tighter. “No!” she exclaimed. “Voy a tu casa. (I’m going to your house).” Despite my shaking head, I felt my smile stand on its tiptoes to reach my eyes and somehow also reach all the way down to my heart.