Ansley at the wheel
I’m driving, Gisella sits beside me and gives directions. We are accompanied by a young mother and her two children, ages two and five, in the backseat. The mission is to get this family into the city so the five year old girl can have an eye exam at a private practice. Our doctor examined her at our clinic and believes she has glaucoma; if she doesn’t have surgery, she may be blind in a year.
The family could never afford the $12 for the exam, neither could they afford the transportation to get into town.
I didn’t really want to leave clinic to run this errand, but Ryan doesn’t have his international license and Jackson can’t drive our new truck because he doesn’t know how to drive a manual transmission.
So here I am, parallel parking on hills with motos and motocars and people and other big trucks like ours flying around me. Gisella yells directions from the front, young mother yells directions from the back, and the two year old boy has taken to screaming. I am a little stressed.
Gisella is the wife of Beto, who is the younger brother of Doctor Mattews. Beto and Gisella are both 23, they just got married and moved to Tarapoto a month ago, where Beto took his first job as a pastor. They are young and energetic, and we like to hang out with them. Gisella’s round face buttons up in wrinkles when she laughs.
We’ve stopped at three clinics without any luck. How can all the eye doctors be on vacation at the same time? The two year old has collapsed over his mother’s lap in an exhausted and sweaty sleep. I am determined to find a doctor who can help this sweet little girl. I continue driving through the bustling town, and Gisella squints out the windshield, trying to read road signs.
“Aqui, a la derecha,” she tells me.
I turn right. I pass a few buildings.
“Oh,” Gisella breathes, “Contra.” she says. I can barely hear her.
“¿Como?” I ask. I don’t know what ‘contra’ means.
“¡Contra, contra, contra!” she says much louder. She points wildly. A truck is headed right for us. There is no space to pass.
I get it. Contra is kind of like saying wrong, or against. I’m going down a one-way street, the wrong way.
The family could never afford the $12 for the exam, neither could they afford the transportation to get into town.
I didn’t really want to leave clinic to run this errand, but Ryan doesn’t have his international license and Jackson can’t drive our new truck because he doesn’t know how to drive a manual transmission.
So here I am, parallel parking on hills with motos and motocars and people and other big trucks like ours flying around me. Gisella yells directions from the front, young mother yells directions from the back, and the two year old boy has taken to screaming. I am a little stressed.
Gisella is the wife of Beto, who is the younger brother of Doctor Mattews. Beto and Gisella are both 23, they just got married and moved to Tarapoto a month ago, where Beto took his first job as a pastor. They are young and energetic, and we like to hang out with them. Gisella’s round face buttons up in wrinkles when she laughs.
We’ve stopped at three clinics without any luck. How can all the eye doctors be on vacation at the same time? The two year old has collapsed over his mother’s lap in an exhausted and sweaty sleep. I am determined to find a doctor who can help this sweet little girl. I continue driving through the bustling town, and Gisella squints out the windshield, trying to read road signs.
“Aqui, a la derecha,” she tells me.
I turn right. I pass a few buildings.
“Oh,” Gisella breathes, “Contra.” she says. I can barely hear her.
“¿Como?” I ask. I don’t know what ‘contra’ means.
“¡Contra, contra, contra!” she says much louder. She points wildly. A truck is headed right for us. There is no space to pass.
I get it. Contra is kind of like saying wrong, or against. I’m going down a one-way street, the wrong way.
posted by Ansley at 11:07 AM
5 Comments:
Great story, and a rather suspensfull ending.
yes, what happened? did the truck hit you? did you ever get to find an eye doctor?
:)
repeat Barry and Johonn
Love the dialogue.
Que hermoso poder recordar, saludos desde Tarapoto para todos..
Pr. Mathews
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