THROUGH THE DOOR

THROUGH THE DOOR





I walked through the door into the small foyer.  There was that short green carpet that was usually only found in churches.  And then there was the smell.  I won’t say it smelled like old people but it did remind me of a nursing home.  I didn’t see anyone in the hallway extending out in front of the door. 

I was a sight.  I stood there in the foyer on my crutches looking as though I had just come from under the freeway somewhere.  My torn brown t shirt and dark blue sweat pants hung off my body.  My left leg was in a black cast up to my knee.  I had on my good foot my one Dr. Marten shoe.  The smells from the day were also emanating from my clothes.  The church smelled better.

I hobbled down the hall with much labor, passing a closed door on the right to see an open door on the left.  As I walked through the door I noticed a small table set up in the back corner with small cups of ice and a couple of sodas sitting out beside them.  There were also a bag of potato chips and a container of chocolate chip cookies.  The rest of the room was set up like a regular classroom with desks all facing in the same direction. 

I made my way to the first desk I came to.  I put my book bag on the desk and swung around strategically to land in the chair.  I leaned my crutches against the closest wall and opened my bag. 

I looked at the book and thought about how this semester was going to go.  I had not taken a class in over ten years and I hadn’t taken a Spanish class in over 12 years.  I was so nervous.  This was going to either be very interesting or a complete nightmare. 

My present job was making our entire customer service department take Spanish to improve our service to the Latino community. 

Glancing around, I didn’t see anyone I knew.  Oh well, they must be late.  I turned around and faced the front of the classroom. 

At that instant, a beautiful Latino woman walked into the classroom and set her briefcase on the large table in the front.  I sat up a little straighter as she readied her things. 

Then it started.  She started talking in rapid Spanish and looking out over the classroom.  Since I had had Spanish in the past I could understand what she was saying but barely.  And she was talking so fast, it was hard to keep up.

“Y Como se Llama?” the teacher asked as she froze her gaze on me. 

I was startled.  I didn’t know what to do.

So as clearly and in my best accent possible I quickly and without hesitation replied “Me llamo Cynthia.”

The entire class busted out into immediate laughter.  I felt my face go red and warm as I saw them all looking at me.  I could have died.  I thought how rude can these people be?  I know it has been a while but I know she asked me what my name was. 

The Latino teacher smiled showing her beautiful pearly teeth at me.  She then cheerfully explained in English what her students had been laughing about.

It seems I had stumbled into an advanced Spanish political science class. And when she asked for my name she had been referring to what political stance on some pending issue in the Spanish community that I held.  Instead I had given her my real name.

I explained that I was looking for the beginning Spanish class and the woman helped me and my haggard crutches find the right classroom down the hall.  I hobbled in to the class just in time to be asked the question, “Y Como se llama?”  I only looked back at the Latino teacher and grinned.  She grinned back at me as she turned and walked away.