The Way I See

Friday night, I was supposed to go salsa dancing with Jess, Javier and some other friends, but my right eye suddenly turned sore and bloodshot. Afraid that smoke and bright lights would make the situation worse and inflicted with a headache, I stayed home alone while everyone else went out. Though I may not always be living like those in poverty here, I definitely feel a kinship with the sick.

Despite plenty of rest, I am still not feeling much better the next day, but I make it out of the house to attend a luncheon for a Bishop held at a small convent. (The nuns are sweet, but they parish is more exciting.) So afterward, we stop next door at the parish. Jessica recounts her night out with the Soledad and Lupita, the mother and daughter we are friends, with who collect money and distribute toilet people as people enter the restrooms. I sit by somewhat grumpily as my eye hurts and I am hungry since I didn't eat any of the carnivorous lunch. Intermittently, chicken feet (the cheapest form of meat) are fed to the dogs the dozen or so dogs that hang around outside the parish. I shoo them away from licking my legs, as well as brushing off the parish worker who keeps greeting me in an attempt to get more hugs.

When Guillito- the church's natural healer who lives in a small cottage in front of the church-greets us, I ask him to examine my eye. He peers into it and tugs at and then determines that I have an infection and need eye drops to have it cured. Miraculously, Soledad pulls the needed drops out of her purse and applies them in my eye, after which Guillito holds my head back, so that the drops will take effect. He gives Jess and I shoulder rubs and then we all go separate ways. Generously, Soledad gives me the drops to keep.

Jess and I need to talk to Father Salvador and we catch him wandering out of the parish house, wearing red and white robes, on his way to say Mass. After discussing financial issues with him, he asks if we had a good time last night. Jessica explains that she did, but that I couldn't go out anywhere because of my eyes, but says Guillito recommended drops.

Father says that I could use the leaves of a plant that is growing in a pot in the courtyard as a cure.

He picks a leaf off the vine and then decides "No, it's probably better to go with Guillito's advice.'' Then, he pops the leaf into his mouth and walks off, and I wonder just how bad of shape my eyes are in.