People (2)

L. 

At first, L was just a glimpse of crazy red hair. She left the office, stepping into the breakroom. Her crazy hair and patchwork array of clothes immediately announcing her as being one of my people.

A little different. A little quirky.

And proud of it.

She’s petite. Her voice high. Accent gracefully dripping on her words.

I’d learn that she knew five languages and had studied others. I’d learn that she’d travelled with strangers. I’d learn that she’d fallen in love.

I’d learn that she knew what she wanted to do, but only just needed to find a way to do that.

She worked quietly, tired of hard work, tired of not being able to do what she loved. And audio book playing quietly in her ears.

K.

"Gracias."

He did not speak Spanish with a lisp. His S’s slid serpent-like from between his teeth, sharper than my ears were used to hearing.

When I learned he’d lived in Mexico for three years, I immediately assumed that his Spanish was way beyond mine. When he learned I’d just spent a few months in Spain, he assumed mine was much better as he’d lost most of his in the few years he’d been back home.

Our Spanish accents were too different and the kitchen noise was too loud so we didn’t understand each other very easily. But we talked of Spain, and the food there, and La Sagrada Familia. Both of us had spent many an hour staring upward at that beautiful building…we agreed that it’s hard to explain the building to people who haven’t ever seen it.

G.

G is hard to describe. I’ve got a friend back home like him, too. The only way to can begin to explain a person like they are is to… use anything and everything but normal description words.

When I first met him, he was sitting at the table, at ease in the kitchen, I was just coming down the stairs, still tripping over myself in the new place, dizzy with jet lag. He saw me, and knowing that I was new, he stood up to introduce himself.

In standing, he took up the entire room. With fluid like movement found only in the slow motion born of confidence, he reached over the table and shook my hand. Looked me in the eye.

Welcome.

He’s expansive. He’s warm. He’s sunburned and stocky and sometimes runs around just like a little kid.

I worked with him a lot. Although, my being bent over the sink washing dishes meant that I mostly only heard his voice over the clatter of the kitchen. We worked together through several long, grueling days.

It seems like there isn’t anything better for making friends than preparing food and washing dishes together.

He went on a trip up north for three days. The flat was noticeably empty without him. After work, I was walking to the flat and saw that he had gotten back. Once again he stood up, arms extended. This time with a hug.