The Bolivian Woman and a Baby

It happens to me sometimes. I can't help myself, but observe people walking down the street. I park my car on the busiest street downtown. I am in a small town, somewhere. I am heading to a store, but I tell myself I can walk and kill some time. I should visit the other stores first. A couple of stores that I like are closed. So I watch from the window a seahorse and a shawl that are so pretty.

Then, I cross the street. A hot breeze touches my face. I drink some warm water. My green dress moves back and forth, I feel eyes staring at me. The dress is a simple dress that makes me feel like some sort of bohemian chic. I am neither.  I go into a store that sells Indian products that are probably dirty cheap over there. I look at the bracelets and necklaces, but I cannot make up my mind. They're also very expensive. It kind of bothers me that someone would go to India, buy things at a very cheap price and return here and make a huge profit. I guess that's capitalism, but I didn't think I should engage in that. I leave the store. My hands empty.

As I walk to the store I need to visit to exchange something, a man makes comments about giving up a chair for me to sit down. I ignore him, but inside of my head I am calling him names. I go into this rage about men. My thoughts spin. Then I visit a store with more reasonable prices and nice things. The problem here is that their things "look" cheap. For some reason I don't understand, when I go out to buy jewelry, fake ones of course, I get annoyed with the things that look cheap. The thing is, I don't even buy things that expensive anymore. But if something looks cheap or tacky, I just get discouraged and don't buy anything at all. Throw a fake rhinestone in there that looks like plastic and I am of out there in a few seconds.

I leave again, empty handed.

So, I head to the store I need to visit. They're closed until noon. I have time to spare. I grab a novel I am reading from the car. I find a bench in the shadow where I can relax for some good forty or so minutes. Then I see the Bolivian woman with her toddler on her back. She's wearing one of those baby slings that are very common in Bolivia. She looks at me and assumes I speak Spanish. She mumbles something with a smile that makes me want to cry. She asks if the empty cup sitting across from me is mine. It's the second time her life crosses mine.

She walked by me that very same morning when I was leaving the antique shop. I saw her daughter on her back and I felt the same urge to cry. There she was, a woman from Bolivia, that's my guess, alone in a foreign country with a baby, walking down the street. Not for fun. She was working. Her daughter's big brown eyes staring at me. I smile at her daughter. I smile again. I hope that she's going to smile at me. I think of my own baby. I want to hold her. The daughter doesn't smile at me. Maybe she already knows her fate. Maybe she knows things are going to be tough for her. Maybe she doesn't like the hot and humid weather.

Both of them leave, I go back to my book. I think of them. Are they as alone as I am? No, they have each other, at least for now. What will the girl be when she grows up? Will she be knocked up by some evil man and end up working like her mom collecting garbage on the streets? Will she learn English and go to school?

I grab my stuff, the store will open soon. I walk fast. I wonder how much in common I have with that Bolivian woman and her baby girl. I walk. It's my day off. What was decisive in my life for me to have the comfortable life that I have?  Was it geography the decisive factor? Was it looks? Was it drive?

I will  be soon entering the store where, like that woman, I will be collecting some things. Not to resell. I will be spending some dollars on things I don't need, but that for a few days will make me feel somewhat good. I will adorn myself with a new purse made in Bali. I will smell the scent of incense. I will wear a new ring or bracelet and that woman and her baby will still be wandering the streets together, dependent on each other, fighting the odds of life.

I will go back to my apartment, display the things I bought on my metal ballerina and think of how unfair life is.