We embarked on our second journey to Honduras with decidedly less trepidation than at first. We were to fly all night, then make another journey from San Pedro Sula to Tegucigalpa….home. There were fewer tears at the airport this time, though our stretch away from family would be twice as long.
At the 11:55 pm take-off time, Elijah was already tired. We sat in the middle of the plane, alone among strangers. The airline had made some mistake in Rey’s ticketing so they moved only him to first class and wouldn’t allow him to switch seats with us. As Elijah squirmed in my cramped lamp, I wondered how to nurse him with the teenage boy gawking next to me. Then a stewardess called me from the front: “Excuse me, miss?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. You have been upgraded to first class. Please come with me.” Envy was smudged on the faces around me. Who is she? Who does she work for?
I work for God.
Elijah and I snuggled up in the spacious leather seats, next to Rey. The next flight was similar. The flight attendant upgraded us before we could even ask.
We arrived in San Pedro Sula and waited in the thick humidity for the familiar teal truck, unique in Teguc, easily spotted, and always with several smiling faces inside.
When Jeony and Brian arrived it felt good to see our Honduran family again.
We spent the rest of the day in the long voyage back home. I changed clothes three times on the trip as we passed through different climates. Soon we were in deep rain, wiping the fog off the windows with a discarded La Tribuna. We stopped for crazy corn…some hot cinnamon drink that I have since been dreaming of…and a delicious lunch of freshly caught fish over Honduras’ only large, natural lake.
When we finally pulled into our callejon Rey, Elijah and I took tentative steps into our house, not knowing what to expect from a month of vacancy. Had the bugs taken over? Would there be electricity and water? My small garden had become a tropical jungle in my short absence. Rey followed me around with a broom and dustpan as I pointed out cockroach carcasses in the dark. Then we all fell into bed, content to be home in Honduras.
At the 11:55 pm take-off time, Elijah was already tired. We sat in the middle of the plane, alone among strangers. The airline had made some mistake in Rey’s ticketing so they moved only him to first class and wouldn’t allow him to switch seats with us. As Elijah squirmed in my cramped lamp, I wondered how to nurse him with the teenage boy gawking next to me. Then a stewardess called me from the front: “Excuse me, miss?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. You have been upgraded to first class. Please come with me.” Envy was smudged on the faces around me. Who is she? Who does she work for?
I work for God.
Elijah and I snuggled up in the spacious leather seats, next to Rey. The next flight was similar. The flight attendant upgraded us before we could even ask.
We arrived in San Pedro Sula and waited in the thick humidity for the familiar teal truck, unique in Teguc, easily spotted, and always with several smiling faces inside.
When Jeony and Brian arrived it felt good to see our Honduran family again.
We spent the rest of the day in the long voyage back home. I changed clothes three times on the trip as we passed through different climates. Soon we were in deep rain, wiping the fog off the windows with a discarded La Tribuna. We stopped for crazy corn…some hot cinnamon drink that I have since been dreaming of…and a delicious lunch of freshly caught fish over Honduras’ only large, natural lake.
When we finally pulled into our callejon Rey, Elijah and I took tentative steps into our house, not knowing what to expect from a month of vacancy. Had the bugs taken over? Would there be electricity and water? My small garden had become a tropical jungle in my short absence. Rey followed me around with a broom and dustpan as I pointed out cockroach carcasses in the dark. Then we all fell into bed, content to be home in Honduras.
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