I walked down to the market at 11. I had hand washed all of my clothes, my wrists hurt, and I hoped the sun would stick around long enough so I could have clean sheets and bedding tonight that wasn’t damp. The sound of the market beggar greeted me. He has one complete arm and the other arm ends just below his shoulder joint. A stub. He doesn’t live here because I only see him on market days. He holds the small plastic tub between the stub and his ribs, shaking the coins up and down, asking in a whiny, cloying tone: “Una Ayudiiiiiiiita Seño..” Today I walked past him and heard no sound. He was eating. He saw me and feverishly began to bounce the coins up and down with the accompanying phrase: “Una ayudiiiiiiita Seño.” I passed him, I did not give him money today. On the way back up, groceries in my bag, I said: “Adios!” and he dropped the begging tone and said in a completely sincere voice: “Adios Seño Que le vaya bien.”

After the chaos of market day had calmed down, around 2pm, El Lustrador passed me on the main street. I was walking down to the plaza and he was walking up. He shines shoes for money, but his hands didn’t look stained today. I was going to see a lady about some bread and buckle down on Spanish study (but first: the bread). El Lustrador is maybe 9, maybe 10 years old. Now that I think of it I’ve never asked him his name. He is developmentally delayed but in what ways I am not sure. I think the word that he would be diagnosed by pedestrians is ‘slow.’ But I would say he’s mischievous and perhaps younger on the inside than the out.

He carried a 2- liter bottle of orange drink overwhelming his torso. He tapped the top of the bottle like a gavel plaque and said: “Hey let’s go buy a cup and I’m going to give you some.” I couldn’t understand him for the distance and the noise around us but more than anything I needed two takes to understand. I asked him to repeat. “I lied to you before but this time I am telling you the truth.” he said. “I am going to give you some.” And I have this unshakeable US American tendency to avoid dependence and gifts from people, especially a disheveled, little boy who wants to give me some of his orange drink. I should have said: “Yes.” But instead I said: “No,” laughing, confused. I don’t even think I said: “No gracias.” By the time it had occurred to me what I had done I turned around to say: “Thank you” but I realized that this young boy had not given it a second’s thought. I missed out on some free orange drink, but no skin off his back.

I think he is like the town nuisance, Dennis the Menace. Vendors and vendors get annoyed with his antics, his lingering, asking for change for larger bills or asking for change, period. Sometimes I give it to him and sometimes I don’t. I’m never quite sure when I am doing ‘the right thing.’ Sometimes there isn’t a right thing, there is just a better thing. And I think it’s to give him the money in spite of what Peace Corps trains us to consider: “You Are Not Here To Give Financial Support. You Are A Human Resource.” I was so caught off-guard. Every time I see him he asks me for money. But today he said: “Want some?” Flummoxed. When he sincerely wanted to give me his orange drink today it was confirmed to me: the right thing is to give and receive.

That was my Hi: the offering of orange drink.

I did not go to school today. The power came back on at 2pm (it was out since I got out of bed at 9.. err 9:14). In anticipation of hosting a Volunteer Trainee over the next four days, I opted to stay home and study. I had no charlas planned for school. I called the school principal and let him know. I texted my co-teacher and she said: “I need to speak with you about something, personalmente.” “That’s ominous” my friend texted when I told her the situation. I even told my host family: “I think my co-worker is going to ask me for money, or worse, a visa. Neither of which I can give her.” They gave me suggestions on what to say: “Tell her that you don’t get paid, that Peace Corps takes care of your rent but you don’t manage any sort of payment.” I said I would have to explain that I couldn’t help her. Knowing this teacher as I do, I didn’t think she would ask me for anything. She often gives me gifts, lip gloss on Valentine’s day, a drawing with “TQM- Te Quiero Mucho” and a small keychain with a coffee mug on it: a recuerdo. So I left the house, not sure of what she wanted to talk with me about personalmente, but prepared for anything.

There was a misunderstanding: I went to the bread shop (back to the plaza again) and she went to my house. I called her: “I thought we were meeting at the bread shop!” She laughed and told me to wait for her there and in three minutes I saw her car. She got out of the backseat and kissed me on the cheek “Buenas noches Seño.” “Buenas Noches Amiga” I said. I greeted her precious son in the front seat and her handsome husband in the driver’s. And I braced myself. “Me asusté” I told her and she said “No!” Laughing “Solo quería darle algo. Eso se puede usar mañana con pantalón.” She unfolded a blouse, light blue, chock-full of beading. I was stunned. Stunned at how foolish I had been to think she was going to ask me for anything and equally stunned by how gaudy this blouse was. How could I live with myself for being so guarded, so rotten, and how could I live with myself if I had to wear this blouse? It has sequins, glitter and beads adorning the front and the sleeves. In short, it is a curtain for a child’s bedroom fashioned into an article of clothing.

I hugged her, relieved and worried for totally different reasons than on my walk down.

I walked home, slowly up the hill for the last time today, and showed my host family. I shimmied in the shirt and watched the beads sling from side to side of my body, calling myself a curtain. We all laughed, my host family tried to brainstorm ways I could tell her: “Sorry, but I couldn’t wear that shirt you gave me.” And true, it hardly fits me. It’s tight around my ribs and just comes to my waste so I don’t show my belly. The fabric is uncomfortable (as curtains are when you wear them). But, ni modo, I said no to the orange juice and I wouldn’t say no the curtain shirt. I won’t make the same mistake twice in one day. Doubting my friend’s benevolence and generosity was my Lo (and maybe, the beading I would have to squeeze myself into the next day).

I still have tomorrow to wear my shirt and make good, for El Lustrador and my friend.