In a small area of northern Honduras aptly named Villa Soleada, Sunny Village, in house #34, there lives a little boy. Hundreds of volunteers had come before me, and hundreds had come after me. But out of all of those people, all the shoveling and cementing and brick-laying and baleada-making, he remembered the Monster.
I first visited Honduras over Winter Break of my freshman year. I remember wandering around my house looking for things I had forgotten to pack, feeling the tears well up in my eyes as I tried to prepare myself for a trip to a foreign country, alone, that would ultimately end in my having to return to school, which I dreaded more than the trip itself. However, I should have known I had nothing to worry about. The minute I arrived at Hotel La Cascada, I was greeted by my cabin mate, who took me to meet the other volunteers I would be working with.
Our first day at the school in El Progreso, we were told to pair up with a student, and do an activity that involved drawing our homes and families in an attempt to get to know each other better. I knew the choice of student I made would be a critical one. I tend to get along better with little boys than girls (not weird, I swear), so I chose the one right in front of me, dressed in an oversized red Hawaiian print shirt. He was very quiet, and I had no idea what his name was until he wrote it on our sheet. David.
While the other groups worked on drawing their siblings, their pets and other momentos from home, David and I worked on Bovi. Bovi was a monster with three eyes, five legs and green skin. And, most unfortunately, he was in the process of consuming his mother (I can only wonder the argument that must have gone down in the Cruz household before school that day to lead to such a projection).
Throughout the entire week, David and I were inseparable. When we picked up the kids from the village to take them to school every day, he would walk down the aisles, passing by everyone until he found my seat, and would make himself comfortable by my side. When he got cold, he had no problem demanding my sweatshirt. During the work day, I often found myself being shown up by a skinny little 8-year old as David would pick up a pala and start shoveling next to me. The travel bear my cousin had sent with me set up camp in David's arms for the week, and he would proudly show it off as he sat upon my shoulders. My heart would melt every time he looked up at me and blinked those amazingly long pestañas at me. He taught me the word hormiga, and laughed when they bit me and not him.
At the end of the week, I dreaded having to say goodbye. On our last day, as the bus was getting ready to leave, I searched all around the homes trying to find my little friend. Mi hermanito. I found him hiding under the eves of one of the houses, and knelt down to be on his level. David, I told him, I have something for you. He put out his hand, and I opened mine. It was empty. He looked at me confused. Es una pieza de mi corazón, I told him. It's a piece of my heart. And I want you to keep it until I return. He looked at me, smiled, and nodded. I gave him one last hug, told him te quiero y te extrañaré; I love you and I'll miss you. I walked away, with tears in my eyes.
When I got home, I knew I had to return to Honduras. Not only because the trip had been life-changing, or because I had met such amazing people, or because I felt like I had been a part of something that was actually doing something to make the world a better place, but because I had made a promise to a little boy. And whether or not he remembered it, I would not let him down.
15 months later, I prepared myself for my second trip. For months, I had been telling my friends of my excitement to return, and to see David again. As the departure date grew nearer, I started getting very anxious that David would not remember me. I didn't know what I would do if he didn't, but I knew it would be devastating. I tried rationalizing it in my mind, that so many people had come after me and if I had been that child, I probably wouldn't remember just another volunteer either. All of these thoughts were going through my mind when I saw him for the first time, biking across the soccer field. I took a deep breath and started towards him.
I felt a little ridiculous, like I was going to confront an ex. I had imagined this moment for so long, a heartfelt reunion between two friends. Or my heart dropping if he looked at me with a blank stare, clearly having forgotten the week we had spent together over a year ago. It was now or never. David! I yelled. Me recuerdas? Do you remember me? He stopped his bike, and asif he had known this moment was coming, yelled "El Monstruo!" The monster! He remembered. I dropped to my knees and scooped him into my arm. This was the moment I had been waiting for for so long, and I could not have imagined it proceeding any more perfectly. He came over to sit with the group of us, and everything he did, he told me to watch. He slipped his hand in mine wherever we went, just as if it had never left.
Like the year before, the week went by too fast. On the night of our final goodbye, I am sitting on the bus, waiting for everyone to finishing bidding adieu, when I hear my name being called. I look around, but see nothing. I go to the other side of the bus and look out, and there is David, running up and down the side of the bus, looking for me. I get his attention and his face lights up. "Kelly!" he cries. "Te extraño mucho!" I miss you so much! "Te extraño también, hermanito! Te quiero!"
Once again, I was left with tears in my eyes as the bus pulled away, but one thing was different. This time I didn't worry that I would be the only one to remember my week in paradise. I knew I had mi hermanito for life.
David and Bovi, December 2009
A happy reunion, March 2011
