For the last few weeks, her life had revolved around her preparation for getting here. She hadn’t given much thought to being here. She tried to swallow the knot in her throat as she clutched her duffel bag and stood in the aisle, waiting for the passengers to move off the plane. Spanish conversations were exchanged all around her. She’d heard them all the way here, and it had seemed like a novelty at first. Now she realized that she was the foreigner, in a country where she didn’t speak the language. She should have paid more attention in Spanish class. Or at least bought tapes and brushed up before she came. A tear dropped to her cheek, but she brushed it away. She thought of little Miguel and the other children she would get to know. She didn’t feel much older than they. What on earth did she have to offer them? She followed the passengers up the aisle and off the plane. As she walked through the jet bridge, she wondered what she would do if Sylvia wasn’t waiting for her? How would she call her?
