We are talking.
About the past
The present
About his favorite color
And my dad’s long beard.
He tells me his testimony in English
Which is a struggle, but it works.
I fill in the words that he doesn’t know
After we play a quick game of charades to figure it out.
Some are just cognates
Words like
Pistol.
Revolver.
Words that a 17-year-old shouldn’t have to know
In another language.
Words that a 17-year old shouldn’t have to use
To describe his 15-year-old life.
He tells me about the gang
And the tattoo he almost got
About the drugs
And the home that he never had.
A father that died
And an absent mother.
I can’t imagine how someone so full of joy
So full of happiness
So promising
So enthusiastic
Could have gone through so much
At such a young age.
I can’t imagine not being able to visit my mom
Because going to her neighborhood would mean I might get
shot.
I can’t imagine a life so desperate
That I would try to cross borders to a better life
And then end up in jail.
But through it all I hear the most promising words-
“I never want to go back.
I love my life now.
I thank God for where I am.�
And all I do is listen.
And smile.
And hug.
And accept the kisses on my cheek
That I can never avoid
But I never want to anyway.
He tells me,
“I love you very much.
You are very special to me.
You are very nice.
I will miss you.�
I know that his words are true
There is no reason for him to lie.
And I realize that he doesn’t see
What I wear
How I talk
What I own
My college degree
My nationality
Or anything else.
He just sees me.
I can only give him what comes naturally
What has been given to me by God
Because I don’t have anything else to give.
So I know that anything he sees in me
Is truly me.
And I realize
That in a funny way
This 17-year-old boy
My adopted little brother
Has used his pure love
To make me feel more beautiful
Than any other boy ever has.
Me and Herman.
