the baggage

I woke up early this morning to the sound of raindrops dancing on the roof. My first thought---"Oh crap, this is the last thing the relief workers need." I turned over and tugged on the duvet, causing Mr. Beebs to groan and shift his position as well. It was then I remembered I was no longer in Pakistan but rather thousands of miles away in Spain. Yesterday Big Jim went out in the village to buy bread. He ran into one of our English neighbors, who greeted him with, "Bet you had a fun time then." Neighbor then went on to say, "You guys should make some money here, sell your story to the papers." Big Jim, still jetlagged and still full of much raw emotion nine days after the earthquake, replied by saying there was nothing fun about our experience and how dare neighbor make such a suggestion that we gain financially on the misfortune when so many people are suffering and homeless. Angry neighbor answered back, "Well sod you then," and stormed off. It took several days before I was able to sleep with the lights turned off, and my famous appetite vanished. It is slowly returning, but my loose jeans that barely stay up are evidence of pounds lost. I started smoking again almost as soon as the ground stopped shaking. We both know it is going to take time for our wounds to heal. As we begin to resume the motions of a normal life, we watch each other carefully, looking for signs of the other having difficulty coping. We know how lucky we are to have each other, and our bond strengthens. Still I reach for another cigarette. I know I can't allow this slip to go on much longer, but for the moment it is a needed crutch. I have the luxury of time, something I know too many others, still waiting for food, for shelter, do not. I stub out the half-smoked cigarette and head for the shower, the one place where I allow myself to cry. Hasta pronto, mylifeinspain