are confused by us, "Are you sisters, cousins, lesbians?" We shake our heads and laugh and refuse to care how people define us. Maybe the most accurate description so far, though not the prettiest, was offered to us by a couple Australian guys who share it as well, "heterosexual life partners." No use translating it to Spanish, here we can be sisters. We push each other's buttons, more often on purpose than not and then drink a beer and laugh about a moment that only we know and understand. It's a lovely thing, but, alas, my dear Abigail will board a plane soon and I'll go home to Mexico and we'll be forced to rely on lengthy emails and gmail chats.Night. When we arrived to Jinotepe, this is something that I forgot, we were starving. Absolutely starving and tired. We called our host and waited in the town park, comprised of concrete and basketball courts, and wondered what to do about food. We didn't want to show up to our new host's house with such an obvious and fierce amount of hunger, but the streets were small and dark and certainly there are no quesadilla stands anywhere around. "Oh, mexican food," we groan, thinking more of availability than of taste, and we wander around the park, only seeing junk food snacks. We return to where we were standing in front of two older women who sit and only chat with eachother, but they have a cooler. "Do you have food?" I ask. They do, and imagine our surprise when one of the woman hands each of us a warm, soft tortilla wrapped around a thin, salty piece of cheese bursting with vinagery onions and crema. Sour and warm and soft and absolutely what we need.
Even though I can write about moments like these, only Abigail and I truly understand what it means to actually be in the moment and only able to look at each other and laugh and laugh.
