Goodnight to My Thoughts of You

by Chelsea Rotunno

  Chapter Three

  Siesta

  We woke up early. Our group loaded into the van and headed for the park. I spent the morning with Susana, Laura, and Olga. I complimented Susana on her necklace. It was a heart-shaped bead, painted red, yellow, and black, on a black string. A tiny gold star hung from the bottom of the heart.

  “Me gusta tu collar,” Your necklace pleases me, I said, and she took it off and tied it around my neck. “No, no, no!” I said.

  “Sí, sí. Es tuyo,” Yes, yes, it’s yours, she said. I really didn’t want it, but I kept it so I wouldn’t insult her.

  “Gracias, Susana! Que simpática.” Thanks Susana! How kind.

  Then we swung lazily on the park swings, and they told me about their families.

  Olga, who was about 9 years old, was starving for attention. She was a bit chubby, and she had a short bob haircut, a big smile with lots of missing teeth, and a few gold teeth. I enjoyed her company because her quirkiness made me laugh.

  Laura, Olga’s big sister, was mature for a 10 year old. She was quiet and reserved, but also curious about my life in the States.

  Susana always wanted to hold my hand. She begged me to sing. I knew a song called “Amor” by Cristian Castro that I had learned in my AP Spanish class, and they loved singing it with me.

  Soon it was time for VBS. I’d written out Bible verses on large pieces of poster board so the kids could hold up their part of the verse and then hide some of the words in order to gradually memorize it. Another girl on our team was in charge of the singing time. She had a beautiful, rich voice. She led the kids in all the traditional Sunday school songs: “Yo Tengo Gozo,” “Jesús Me Amo,” and “Padre Te Adoro.” We had a large crowd of kids singing. Everyone was participating.

  That was why I had come to Mexico. To love people. The children and parents who joined us were so appreciative of our efforts.

  After singing time, our group performed a skit about Daniel in the lion’s den. I had to crawl around on the ground pretending to be a lion. We concluded the morning lesson with a simple art project for the kids, gluing cotton balls onto wooden circles to make lions. Then it was time for lunch.

  We left the park, the kids running after us, hanging onto the doors of the van until we got to the corner, where they jumped off, kicking up dust. We drove to the park with the spigots and relaxed for the afternoon siesta. While I was braiding my long brown hair, Paul noticed my new necklace.

  “Who gave you that?” he asked.

  “Susana,” I said, wrapping my hair tie on my braid.

  “That thing is creepy. What is it, a goat stomach?” he asked.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Yeah,” Jeff chimed in. “Isn’t that a prayer necklace, where you pray to the goat stomach?”

  I tore the necklace off. “Eew! What are you talking about? I have never heard of that before!”

  “It’s a religion here,” they said.

  I was starting to catch on. “A religion? You guys are such liars!” I yelled. “Stop it! It is not a goat stomach!”

  “What is it then?”

  “It’s just a bead!”

  “I don’t know. I’m pretty sure that’s some kind of animal organ.”

  I was furious. They wouldn’t stop teasing me. They were creeping me out about a nice gift from Susana. I put the necklace back on, but I had a weird feeling about it, as if it would curse me somehow. I moved my stuff to a blanket far away from Jeff and Paul.

  Paul picked up his guitar and played some worship songs in the shade of a tree. People from our group gathered around him and sang, enjoying the shade and the cool breeze. But I couldn’t relax. I didn’t want to join in. I was truly irritated, and I didn’t like it; a dumb conversation had such a negative impact on my mood. I sat by myself, my arms wrapped around my knees, and tried to pray.

  I was increasingly distracted. I was falling hard and fast. I cared too much about what he thought. I cared too much for his attention. I hated feeling powerless over my emotions. At the same time that I resented the way he singled me out, I had a strong sensual desire to have him in my life for the rest of my life. Why? I tried to push the feelings away. No. This is crazy. This is all in my head!

  He continued to give me just less than enough to hang on.

  The next day he could tell that I was avoiding him.

  “Miriam,” he called when we got to the park.

  I was busy unpacking the Bible verses and crafts. Plus I didn’t like being summoned. I waited for him to approach me.

  He strolled over and talked without facing me.

  “Miriam, I want to show you something later,” he said.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I want to play a song for you.”

  “You want to play a song for me?”

  “Let’s talk later.”

  For the rest of the day I waited with huge suppressed anticipation to be summoned. He didn’t say anything more about it.

  I’d convinced myself that this was the moment I was waiting for: Paul was going to tell me how he felt about me. The awkwardness had gone too far, and he must have felt it too. The song had to be a clue about what was going on between us. It had to be.

  Before our evening meeting I decided to bring it up again.

  “So, Paul …” I said, after I semi-cornered him at the edge of a crowd of people. “When are you going to play your song for me?” I asked the question pretty much under my breath because I knew that if he and I were going to be alone together, no one else could know about it.

  “What?” he asked with a forlorn expression, his head tilted to one side. Either he couldn’t hear me, he couldn’t remember what he’d said earlier, or he was playing dumb to drive me crazy.

  “You wanted to play a song for me. Do you want to do it now?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

  Now it was my turn to play dumb, as if I didn’t care that he’d changed his mind. But I couldn’t do it. I had to know what the song was about.

  “I want to hear it. Now is a good time, you know, before the meeting.” His blank look confused the heck out of me. Somehow the situation had changed from him wanting to play me a song to me practically begging him to. What was going on? Once again I felt dizzy. My insides felt like I was 3 again, about to have a temper tantrum.

  “Or, whatever,” I mumbled.

  Forget it. I had to get away from him. I turned away and walked toward my tent, hoping to run into Ansley. When I found her, I pulled her into the tent with me and started crying. I told her what happened.

  “So, what, you want him to go off with you and play a song for you on his guitar?”

  “No, no, he told me he wanted to play a song for me!” I insisted. Ansley didn’t look convinced. She gave me that friend look that says, “What the heck is going on with you?”

  My mind was a blur during the evening meeting. By the end, the sky was pitch black, except for lanterns and flashlights. As Ansley and I were heading back to our tent, Paul and Jeff, donning soccer jackets, approached us.

  “Paul said you want him to play a song for you,” Jeff announced. “It’s not really OK for you to go off somewhere together, you know. It could look bad. So how about the four of us go to the van and he can play it there?”

  I was so humiliated.

  “Uh, sure,” I said.

  That’s how badly I wanted to hear the song. So much was racing through my head on the way to the van. If he was going to reveal his feelings in front of our friends, that was awkward—but better than nothing.

  When we climbed into the van, I got in the back seat and Paul got in the front seat. This is all wrong, I thought. I was sitting next to Ansley in the back, and Paul was sitting next to Jeff in front. Why didn’t he get in the back with me?

  “I wrote this song about a girl who is very special to me,” Paul began. “Her name is Caroline. We met at college, and we dated for a couple year
s. I was sure that God had made us for each other. But she broke up with me. She’s married now,” he gulped, “to some—a-hole.”

  I had to laugh.

  “As I was writing the song, I stopped halfway through and prayed. I suddenly realized that this song was not from me to Caroline, but from me to God. Here it goes.

  Your love is enough for me.

  Your love is all I need.

  If I could give you my everything

  I would. I would.

  Your touch is amazing.

  You make me a better me.

  If I could spend every day in your arms

  I would. I would.”

  It was a beautiful, peaceful song, the kind a lover strums quietly next to his bride’s resting head. I knew the song was not for me. It was simple, but Paul seemed to think it was very profound. Why had he wanted to share it with me? Was there something more that he couldn’t tell me?

  That was all I got: a timid performance, nostalgia for Caroline, a romantic praise song. After affirming his talent as a songwriter, we exited the van. I wanted to be happy and thankful for what he shared with me. But I was growing bitter.

  The next day was Thursday, the last day of VBS in the park. It was a very emotional day for our new friends and us. The morning was spent with lots of piggyback rides and vueltas (spinning in circles holding hands). The kids swarmed our van when we left for siesta.

  After lunch, the teams lounged at the siesta site, trying to catch a nap. I felt dissatisfied. Clawing at a chance to feel connected to Paul in some way, I asked him and Jeff if they would pray with me for Nico.

  “Hey guys, I’m really upset, and it’s because I’m so worried about Nico. We have been friends since forever, and it is so hard to watch him make bad choices in his life. I just want him to turn to Jesus.” It was true, but it was not the main reason why I was upset.

  “Sure, Miriam,” Paul said resting his hand on my shoulder. “Let’s gather the group together and pray for Nico right now.”

  Ansley and a few others joined us, and we sat in a circle on the grass, held hands, and prayed.

  I held Paul’s cool hand lightly, my palms sweating. As Paul prayed for Nico, my heart prayed for—what was it? A chance to be with Paul? Freedom from agony and confusion?

  I broke into heaving sobs, the prayer for Nico a mask to cover the shame of how I had lost control. I was bawling and shaking. Foreign spirits taunted me. All I saw underneath my eyelids was salty darkness. While a few others prayed, I continued in full-blown breakdown. Then Paul prayed for me. As he held my hand tighter, he prayed for the Father’s hand of love to be upon me.

  At the end of the prayer, I was in a deep funk. The only good thing that echoed in my spirit was the phrase “hand of love.” My soul clung to that image. I walked across the park to hide behind a tree and Ansley followed. I hung my arms helplessly on her shoulders and continued to cry. She cried with me.

  “It’s not about Nico,” I confessed.

  “I know,” she said.

  The rest of our team had started loading the van, and Ansley and I knew we had to somehow get over to where the van was parked. It felt like a mile away. Alli, another girl in our group, came over to help us drag our feet to the street. It seemed like it took 30 minutes to get there. Once we were finally driving away in the van, I sat with my face drooping.

  Alli leaned her forehead on my shoulder and sat in silent prayer for 15 minutes straight, the whole ride back to the park. I welcomed her touch and her prayers. She knew that I was struggling against something evil. Once at summer camp, our whole bus had to wait for her because she was curled up in a ball on the floor of her cabin, screaming and crying, shouting and fighting against something dark that tormented her.

  I stared at my reflection in the rearview mirror, hating myself, hating my ugliness, my weakness. But I could also see Alli’s head bowed in humble prayer. Finally, as if the clouds were blown away by a strong wind, the gloom lifted from me and I felt like an entirely different person. It was amazing. When I touched her and indicated that I felt better, she ignored me and kept on praying. I looked at myself in the mirror again. My face looked as if it had been washed clean.

  That night we stayed late at the park, well after sunset. I think our goal was to stay so late that the kids would have to go home instead of hang on to our van as we drove away. We took lots of pictures with our niños and exchanged small gifts, cards, and home addresses. Olga wanted to sit on my lap, and I let her. Laura wanted to sing “Amor” one more time, and Susana gave me a bracelet she had made for me. Finally we prayed together, said our goodbyes, and left the park with a sense of closure and of having gained more from them than they had from us.

  At the evening meeting I sang to Jesus wholeheartedly because he had broken my heart for the poor and needy, in spite of my own shallow desires. With my empty hands in the air I asked for redemption, wholeness, shalom. Come rescue me, Oh Lord!

  At the end of singing time, there was a candle-lighting ceremony, symbolic of the light we can spread through a dark world. Each of us held a single unlit candle. First, one leader stood on stage and lit a candle, then passed the light to the next person. Soon the light was spread through the whole throng of campers. It was a beautiful and encouraging sight to see. It is amazing how much light each individual candle provides.

  The air was cool and still. God was with us. I could sense him all around me. Just as I was thanking Jesus for giving me peace, it was my turn to have my candle lit. I opened my eyes and saw that Paul had walked over to me. When he lit my candle, my heart ignited again with the hope that he liked me.