Loving in New Ways
Sometimes the best love is the one that can exist without words.
“¿Cuantos años tienes tú, Norma?” “Dos.”
Dos? I thought. That’s odd. Norma had to be older than 16. Later that night, after dinner, my homestay mother told me that Norma has an intellectual disability: she is twenty-eight and doesn’t know how to read or write.
Because my Spanish wasn’t entirely perfect, I was unsure of how I should go about communicating with Norma. I had tried conversing with her using my Spanish, but even then, she seemed not to understand basic phrases I was saying. So, I sat there, at the dining table, shelling the lima beans for dinner. I could feel her staring at me, smiling as I plopped the shelled beans into a bowl. She then stuck one of them in front of my face. I had put the unshelled lima bean into the bowl with the shelled ones. She started laughing both with her mouth and eyes, and I did the same. We may not have been communicating using words, but using our emotions was enough.
For the next four days, I didn’t feel so nervous around Norma anymore. I found that just by smiling and laughing, we could read each other’s minds just fine. The next few mornings, I would be applying sunscreen in the bedroom and she’d come in, freshly showered, combing her silky, long black hair. We’d sit there in silence, taking care of ourselves separately, but fully aware of the other’s presence. Much as I had when peeling the lima beans, I found that if I pulled off humorous actions, we’d improve our communication. I would play around with the stray dogs and cats and have her try and throw food in my mouth. One way or another she’d burst into a fit of giggles.
Through forming this sisterly bond with Norma with hardly any speaking, I learned perhaps one of the most valuable life lessons that any teenager could learn at my age: relationships don’t need to be built on much. Norma and I surrounded each other with smiles and laughter and I came to realize that positive energy and emotions were all we needed.
The last morning of my homestay, my homestay mother, Carmela, was cooking us breakfast. Norma turned up the radio, humming along to what I assumed was her favorite song. She took me by the hands and started dancing with me. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes—the tears I refused to let fall because I knew that if I showed her how weak I was, I wouldn’t be able to explain it.
I miss her. I miss her cooing at the stray cat underneath the dining table. I miss her combing her wet hair as she watched me spray sunscreen on my mosquito bites before I left to weed the garden. I miss the dimples in her cheeks from when she’d get herself into a fit of giggles and couldn’t stop laughing.
Sometimes the best love is the one that can exist without words.
