ayuda

“ayuda?,” a soft voice knocks on the gates of my sanctuary.

a modest plea from the other side of my mental fortress; opposite my walls, locks, moats, and more walls of security after security within my thoughts.

the disembodied adjuration from the darkness beyond the light on the corner across the street. i pay no mind and keep walking. impatient, i tighten my posture inward and ever so slightly duck my head.

‘maybe i should have walked through the grass,’ a begrudgingly silent afterthought to walk away through the muddy park.

there is no such thing or situation possible that can’t be made worse with a bit of shame and indifference to weigh a person down. it hangs like the muddy clumps of grass and rocks i had been avoiding. mud that clings heavier on each step.

i glance up as i reach the corner and turn. i can see Mario’s apartment on the next street. Carter is there.

‘he just called me. what help could i even be,’ my attention is focused downward, eyes fixed on the screen of my phone.

habitually, my autopilot trains to dismiss the transient call and my fingers diligently poke away at the screen, triggering small chirps from the game.

the melodic pitches sound off, as if an audible “Do Not Disturb” sign in my presence, 'help? i can hardly help myself,’ and i think and release an audible huff.

i don’t want to admit that.

not to myself, nor whoever mistook me for someone with something to offer, ‘and Carter is waiting.’

but the soft voice reaches out again, “ayuda?”

from the other side of the street. a lady’s voice. a girl’s? i look up from my phone and the case slaps shut between my thumb and opposing fingers. the crack snaps louder than i expect and jolts me back to the present moment.

to myself.

to here.

now, 'help?'

the man i passed laying under a tarp at the far end of the park was the last sign of anyone i had noticed. i squint into the darkness beyond the light on the corner. surely, this plea isn’t meant for me.

‘help,’ i wonder, when the youthful figure of a girl steps into the hanging light from the lamp illuminating the space between us.

she is speaking in Spanish. her cold, damp figure becomes clear as she steps off the curb and inches toward me.

i immediately notice that she is wearing only a zipping hooded sweatshirt, pajamas, and wet socks on her feet. what is she doing here in the rain? it's past 10:00pm and -

i scan the area quickly for some clue of what i just wandered into, to no gain. nobody. nothing. just me and her as the rain falls heavier. we both find ourselves here, under the autumn rain, almost beyond the glow of the dim yellow streetlight. almost.

the look on her face tells me there is no time to consider the weight or the presence we now are for each other as the chilly September night scatters showers across Albuquerque. we are both looking for someone. i am here for Carter. she needs my help.

were we both waiting? for how long?

an hour for me, waiting for Carter, maybe more.

how long had she been waiting for... someone?

until here we both are, uncomfortably wet with the precipitation from the fickle storm front. until now, and we see that are no longer alone.

illuminated from the streetlamp above us, the dependent fright she wears makes me pause. between the pleading look in her eyes and the sudden onset of this moment, each moment feels more like an emergency.

a small shower of anxiety washes over me with the rain while i consider the unfolding situation. as my unready brain abruptly jumps into uncertain motion, insecure doubt roots itself in my thoughts.

‘shit. i need an adult,’ i think, ‘shit. i am the adult.’

‘i haven’t practiced speaking Spanish in years,’ doubtfully sprouts from the back of my mind with worry as i follow along with my loose grasp on the language to decipher what exactly is happening.

thank you Ms. Zakahi, and Spanish 1-3 that i never thought i would have a need to use when i was her student back in Y2K.

“wha-uhmm..,” the surprise clumsily falls from my mouth in place of words, in either English or Spanish.

“speak Spanish?” she asks in broken English.

“no... uhh, un poquito. uhhmm,” i trail off, my brain suddenly made overly alert by the emergent crisis, firing rapidly to translate what she is telling me while trying to prepare my psyche for what i have to do now.

for what we have to do now‽

i just have to stay calm. i still hate surprises.

'for her,' i say to myself with a small nod to assure myself through my apprehension.

as if she has no time to spare, the girl hurriedly tells me... everything.

"mi mama, y mi papa.. they throw me out," one hand of her nervous fidgety fingers tightens and firms into a small fist as she continues.

with an abrupt gesture throws out her hand as if discarding an unwanted item and rising intensity of her voice, "say, 'i no want you here no more.'"

she punctuates her explanation with decisive, heart wrenching emotion, '"-go.'"

my eyes widen with disbelief and a reflexive, "what‽"

"uhh, tu tienes no otros.. parientes aqui?" i ask, hoping there would be some other family she might know in the area.

"no," she shakes her head, eyes cast down.

i rapidly poke and my fingers slide along the screen of my phone again.

"uno momento," i tell the girl.

but this time i am not playing games or distracting and distancing.

it takes a few attempts and edits before my text makes any sense, "Carter, there is a little girl out here that needs help. she doesn't even have shoes"

as i attempt to draft and send my text to Carter, she continues talking to me, "and mi mama es de Venezuala. y mi papa es de Colombia. they are immigrant," her emotions nearly ran over.

the fear becoming more defined on her face and body as her cadence slows and softens as she says "and me too. i am immigrant."

"Carter, please, i am serious," i impatiently follow up.

i am beginning to feel the pressure of uncertainty rise. i know enough to know that i have no idea what to do right now.

"no voy a llamar la policia," i assure her.

current national politics do not view or treat immigrants with kindness. with what she has already been through.

"no! no policia," she alarms at the word.

'for her, just to land at my feet now,' i consider the confusion and fear she must be feeling, 'if i don't d-, i have t-, i am doing something.'

"okay. it's okay," i pretend i'm telling her and not comforting myself.

"here, come with me. voy a la casa de mi amigo," i point to the fourplex just across the street on the nearest corner of the next block, "es aqui."

she nods, "okay," and we move down the street to the modest apartment complex.

right now, i can at least find her shelter from the rain.