Our Own Private Universe

The door swung open. Christa lowered her camera. Inside, the building looked just as old as it had outside, but it was far from deserted. In fact, all I could see no matter which way I looked were people, waiting. There must’ve been at least thirty of them, mostly women and kids, swatting at the mosquitoes that buzzed around them.

There were only a few chairs, so most people were sitting on the floor or standing. At first I couldn’t see what they were waiting for, but then I spotted a desk strewn with papers in the far corner of the room. Behind it was a door that must’ve opened into another room. A young woman in a button-down shirt sat behind the desk, talking to a woman with a baby on her lap. The baby was crying. The woman behind the desk was trying to explain something, but the woman with the baby was arguing with her. I wished I could understand them.

An older woman came up to Christa and me, speaking rapid Spanish. She was wearing a stained gray sweatshirt and holding a jar of bandages, and she didn’t look particularly happy to see us. I dipped my head in an apology and murmured “Lo siento” before backing out the door with Christa.

“Did you see any medical equipment in there?” I asked when we got outside.

“Some bandages, I think?” Christa glanced back over her shoulder. “Most of the equipment was probably in the other room. That must be where all the doctors and nurses are.”

I had a feeling that wasn’t the case.

The clinic where I’d volunteered back home wasn’t anything fancy, but it was neat and mosquito-free. And it had rooms full of equipment. Machines that the orderlies wheeled around. Drawers and drawers full of medicine and syringes.

I didn’t know what to think of any of it. Maybe I should ask Dad. He probably understood it all better than I did.

“I think we lost them.” Christa pointed up the street. We could still see the rest of our group, but they were so far ahead of us now, we couldn’t tell who was who.

I didn’t actually mind, though. There was only one person I’d been looking forward to spending time with today, and she was standing right in front of me.

“Well.” I turned to meet Christa’s eyes. “If they’re that far off, I guess there’s no point trying to catch up.”

Christa smiled.

“I’m quite confident,” she said, “that we can have a lot more fun on our own.”

CHAPTER 7 (#ue673357d-9ab4-5a23-bea8-7079eaad7871)

We spent the rest of the morning exploring the town by ourselves, stopping so Christa could take photos whenever we saw something interesting. And now that I was actually paying attention, there was a lot of interesting stuff. Mudanza was beautiful, with the hills in the distance and wide, open streets. Everyone we saw smiled and waved at us. One man even tipped his hat. When Christa asked a few women standing in front of a shop if she could take their photo, they beamed and twisted into so many different poses Christa finally had to tell them she was running out of storage space on her camera.

I asked her questions about the photos she was taking, and it turned out that was really interesting, too. She had a whole method she’d learned from classes and from reading tons of articles online.

“This camera shoots on film,” she told me, holding up the old black-and-white camera. “I only have so much film, so I have to be really choosy about what I shoot. I’m using it for artsier shots, where there are cool shadows and stuff. Those are the ones I want to print out and play around with in the darkroom once we get back home.”

“Darkrooms are still a thing?”

“Yeah! I mean, not many are still around, but my school has a tiny one in the art department. They have a way fancier one at the school I wanted to go to, but my parents wouldn’t let me apply. Hey, did you ever think about going there? Your parents would probably be cool with it. It’s called MHSA, the Maryland High School for the Arts. It’s a public school, so it’s free, but you have to apply, and they only take the very best. They have lots of different programs. Visual art, theater, music.”

Sweat broke out along the back of my neck. I should’ve known this might come up. “I, uh...”

I could tell her the truth. This would be the perfect time to tell her the truth.

But I didn’t want her to know I was so bad at writing music that I hadn’t even gotten in. Besides, I’d have to admit I’d lied to her, and right when things were going so well between us.