Esther

Her name was Esther. She had sweeter eyes than my own grandmother. Eyes that loved innately. Eyes that trusted. Eyes that could see right through someone’s bullshit. Eyes that had seen things they wish they hadn’t. Eyes that had chosen me out of an entire crowd of people boarding a flight back home to California. It baffles me to this day that our seats happened to be right next to each other on a plane with 200 something people. 

The flight was a particularly terrible one because of the amount of turbulence. I could tell by the look on Esther’s face that she was concerned and scared by it. “Es ok,” I reassured her with my freshman Spanish knowledge. She giggled and corrected my terrible grammar, “Está bien.” My cheeks flushed bright red as I wondered how the hell I blanked on the easiest Spanish phrase known to mankind. “Dónde está el baño?” she asked me. I removed a headphone and replied, “Atrás” as I pointed to the back of the plane. “Ok. Vamos.” She said as she unexpectedly grabbed my arm, signaling that she needed me to take her. I smiled to myself and helped her out of her seat, assisting her to the bathroom. I waited outside the bathroom about five minutes until she folded the door open with a relieved grin on her face. We went back to our seats and slept through the rest of the flight. 

We finally made it to California and deplaned. Esther needed a break after the walk from the plane to the airport, so I sat her down and told her to wait while I asked a lady typing away at a desk for wheelchair assistance. She looked up from her computer annoyed and assured me that she would send someone to help when she could. I went and sat with Esther for about 45 minutes until we were finally met with some assistance. During those 45 minutes, I wondered if it was a job requirement for all airport staff to have nice hair and shitty attitudes. If so, I would have promoted that lady at the desk to airport manager. Anyhow, we were met by the wheelchair assistance guy who seemed to have a better attitude than that lady did. As we made our way to baggage claim, the man wheeling Esther made small talk with us about our travels. I began to tell him how Esther and I had only met four hours ago. How Esther’s son had approached me at our gate back in Arkansas and asked me if I could help take care of his mother. How she was supposed to be met by her other son at baggage claim in California. How she understood little English and was too old and feeble to walk on her own. How I had promised Esther’s son that I would reunite her with her other son in California safe and sound. The wheelchair assistance guy looked at me with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. He began to apologize profusely for not attending to us sooner and praised me for helping a “random woman that I didn’t even know.” And maybe I should have been somewhat flattered by his admiration, but his response annoyed the shit out of me for some reason. He acted as if I had found a stray puppy on the street and spent months nursing it back to health. As if I deserved some sort of reward for my small actions. “Well, wouldn’t you do the same?” I asked the man. He looked at me puzzled. “Well, sure! But most people wouldn’t,” he replied as he shrugged. “Well, most people fucking suck,” I sassily thought to myself. I wasn’t mad at the guy. I guess I was just mad at my own culture. I also might have been hangry.

I could tell Esther had suddenly recognized her son by the huge smile that slowly formed on her face. I wasn’t sure if her eyes were watering out of pure joy or because she was so old. Either way, I like to believe that it was a pure moment of joy and relief for her. Her son met her with such a tight hug I thought he might have accidentally suffocated the poor woman during the process. He unlocked his grip and began to thank me a million times. I told him it was seriously no big deal and that I enjoyed the company of my new friend. I’m not really a mushy gushy type of person, but I have to admit it was a precious moment. As we started to say our goodbye’s, I knelt down and hugged Esther. She whispered in my ear, “Muchas muchas gracias amor. Tienes un alma precioso.” I panicked and accidentally said, “Te amo.”

At the time, I had no clue what she even remotely said to me. However, after continuing Spanish for four more years, I eventually learned the meaning of what Esther said to me. And I have to admit, she was half right. But I also desperately needed to beef up the “community service” portion of my college application resumé.