He came in with his adult son and his grandchildren. He was very quiet and although very immersed within the US culture, I assumed that because his son did not speak English, he did not speak English either. He was in his late 50's, attractive, dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin, and stood very erect. He did little but glower down on me as I interacted with his family.
The grandchildren translated for their father. They were precocious and actually got me to speak a few words of Spanish, which sent them into giggly fits. After a few back and forth translations, their father sat down to fill out some necessary forms. Using both languages, the children engaged me with stories of their day. Although it was difficult to keep up, I really enjoyed our conversation. I suspect though, that they were getting me to learn and repeat some very silly things. Their grandfather stood to the side, looking stoic as ever.
After a while I whispered to them, "Your grandfather does not like me very much!" That sent them into another fit of giggles.
Their father finished his business with me and as they were leaving, the grandfather said to me in perfect English, "If you work on your Spanish a little more, it might become passable."
"Puse mi pie en mi boca!" (I put my foot in my mouth). He actually smiled. Only I'm still not sure if I got that right.
Two days went by. It was the end of the second day and I was looking forward to meeting a friend for a happy hour drink. It's a short walk from the office to downtown. As I left out the front door, he was standing there. My stomach knotted up and even now, I find my reaction to him strange and startling. He asked where I was going and then said he'd walk with me there.
As we walked, he pulled me to the inside of the sidewalk, so that traffic was on his side. He talked a little in Spanish and I could understand some, but was mostly lost. When I confessed my ignorance, he turned as said that he would teach me. Thinking about my limited budget, I told him I had little money to pay for lessons. "No mind, we'll figure it out as we go.", he replied.
He told me that he liked that I was nervous with him. And although I imagined myself also somewhat stoic, clearly he could read through this. Nervous was an understatement anyway. I could feel his arm brushing against mine as we walked. His energy pressed into me and made me feel very small. Vulnerable, even. From the moment he walked in the door two days ago and in this moment, I felt a need to both keep an eye on him and to avoid his gaze. There was just no comfortable moment in his presence.
We were walking past the cemetery between my workplace and downtown, when he gently grabbed my arm and led me in. I could easily have wrenched my arm away, but there seemed to be more than his physicality holding me bound.
