Without Borders

by Amanda Heger

  Carlos stood outside the wide, stilted home, splitting wood while his daughter collected eggs beneath a chicken roost nearby. “¡Felipe!” the girl called out, giggling.

  Felipe lifted the five year old off the ground and tickled her sides. She held tightly to the egg in her hands but squirmed enough to scare the chickens out of their tree. The girl folded over, protecting herself from his attack, but she straightened with a start when she noticed Annie. Felipe lowered her until her bare feet touched the ground.

  “Eka, this is Annie. She is working with me. She is going to be a doctor one day,” he told her in quiet Spanish.

  The girl’s eyes took up half her face as she looked at Annie.

  “Hola.” Annie squatted and offered a wave. “What’s her name?”

  “Eka. Like Erica.”

  “Hola, Eka.” She waved again. “¿Cuántos años tienes?”

  “¡Cinco!” Eka held up a handful of fingers.

  “¿Cinco? Dios mío.”

  Eka fell into giggles again. She handed Annie the egg cradled between her palms and pulled the American into the thick cover of trees along the back of the property.

  “What is this?” His cousin’s eyebrow arched so high it nearly touched his hairline.

  Felipe shook his head, unsure how to explain. “Nada.”

  “Looks like something, ’Lipe.” He laughed at Felipe’s glare. “Relax, muchacho. I will not embarrass you too much.”

  Felipe ducked away from the house, the mix of rainforest decay and heady flowers surrounding him as he searched for the girls. Under a thick cover of branches, Annie sat crossed-legged on the ground, eyes closed and hands folded around the half dozen or so eggs in her lap, while Eka combed and patted Annie’s curls. The girl used a hair band to put it in one fluffy ponytail. She squinted, shook her head, and took it down. Then she put half of Annie’s hair in a cockeyed pigtail. She stomped her foot and started again.

  “I did not mention that Eka is a world-renowned hairstylist, did I?”

  Annie’s smile hit her face before her eyes opened. “You didn’t.”

  “Muy bien, Eka.” He took the black elastic from the girl’s fingers and handed it to Annie. “It is time for breakfast.”

  • • •

  “Do you want to visit longer? I don’t mind. I like Eka.” Annie followed Felipe into the midmorning sun. Three women sat on the crooked front porch across the street, staring and pointing at Annie and Felipe. She assumed it was her hair. Eka’s styling pursuits had turned it from frizzy mess to rat’s nest of catastrophic proportions.

  Felipe waved to the women. “No, I think you have heard enough of my embarrassing stories for today.”

  “I don’t know. I still have some questions about that time you set all the worms free.” She made air quotes around the last word. “Did you think they could swim?”

  “I was four. I do not know what I was thinking.” He shook his head, but a smile still played across his face. “I did not want to stab them with the hook.”

  The worm story was one of many Carlos told over their breakfast of plantains, eggs, and tortillas. Each tale made Felipe squirm further down in his seat at the oblong table. There had been the story about a seven-year-old Felipe trying to make tortillas and nearly burning down the entire house. And the time Carlos caught him in a tree playing doctor with a neighbor girl. And how, on Felipe’s first visit to the town as a doctor, they tricked him into believing one of the elderly women in the village was eight months pregnant.

  Annie laced her fingers between his. She expected the hysterical voice in her head to sound off, warning her that this was a horrible idea, but since the night before, it had been surprisingly silent. “Where now?”

  “Shopping.” He waved at a man carrying a basket of corn, husks brushing his beard as he walked.

  “Are we going to buy a live chicken? Because I don’t know—” She remembered the cages she saw the night before with Marisol, stacked one on top of the other behind the store’s front counter.

  “No. I have to buy something for Juan.”

  “What?”

  “Underwear.”

  Annie’s face went slack. “Underwear?” A laugh simmered inside her. “Why?”

  Felipe grinned and tugged her along. “It is a long story.”

  “I have time.”

  As they walked along the winding road, dodging potholes and small children and a whole flock of chickens, Felipe told her the story of how they’d begun pranking each other years ago, when Felipe was a teenager and Juan was his mother’s friend. How at fifteen, Felipe brought home his first girlfriend, and Juan had showed up dressed in suspenders and a red clown wig. He’d lurked around the house, as if there was nothing amiss about a middle-aged clown showing up everywhere they went. And how Felipe had repaid him by sneaking into his house and replacing every photo on the walls with drawings of penises. One exceptionally detailed drawing still hung in a frame in Juan’s living room.

  “Ever since then, it has been a thing. But I will need your help for this one.” He squeezed her fingers.

  In front of them, a tattered blue length of rope hung across the road. It drooped in the middle, hitting Annie below the knees. A hut the size of an outhouse stood to their right, and a uniformed police officer sat inside, watching. Felipe waved to the man before stepping over the string. Dust kicked up in the small space between them, grit and dirt clinging to the sweat on Annie’s feet and legs.

  “Are we supposed to—” She gestured toward the guard. She could feel his eyes on her.

  “Todo bien. You can step over.”

  “Are you sure?” She chanced a look at the man. He watched them over his newspaper. A startling, sleek black rifle sat at his side.

  “Sí.” He tugged her hand, and Annie stepped over.

  “What is that?” she asked, nodding over her shoulder at the string.

  “They search trucks coming through. Make sure they are not bringing drugs from the coast into Nicaragua.”

  “And they think a piece of yarn is going to do it?” A drug dealer with a lead foot could take out the entire setup. Or a pair of scissors. “Must not take much to become a crime lord here.”

  Felipe’s cheeks puffed out as he exhaled and let go of her hand.

  Her stomach sank at his expression. “What?”

  “The police are doing the best they can with the things they have.”

  “I didn’t mean—” She stopped walking, realizing how dismissive and judgmental her comment must have sounded to him. “Sorry. I was trying to make a joke. It was stupid.”

  He held up a hand, shading his eyes as he squinted at Annie. “Okay.”

  “Okay as in you’ve already forgotten my stupid remark? Or okay as in you’re going to toss me out of the boat on the way to the next village?”

  The tension in her stomach uncoiled as he broke into a grin. “We will see.” He pulled her along toward a rambling two-story building. The ground level was wide open, and two small, shirtless boys stood on the balcony above. People filtered in and out, arms loaded with baskets and plastic bags. It wasn’t the same store she’d visited the night before with Marisol. This store was larger, and as far as she could tell, there were no caged chickens inside awaiting their certain doom.

  “How many stores are there here?” she asked.

  “In Sahsa? Three, I think. Unless someone has opened something new.” He shuffled inside.

  Annie followed. The inside of the store was dim and musty, but the smell of smoky chili peppers hung thick in the air. Racks and racks of goods crowded the space, erratic and disorganized without any type of aisles or reason. Three steps in, Annie knocked into a shelf full of lotions and rubber bands. But next to it, a display of snack-sized tortilla chips caught her attention. She rubbed her elbow while her mouth watered at the Doritos logo.

  “Are you okay?” Felipe asked.

  She nodded, biting her bottom lip. “I think I need these. I have some money.” She picked up the
bag and turned it. No price tag.

  “Nacho?” He shook his head.

  “I know we just ate, but junk food is kind of my thing. I mean—”

  “Cool Ranch.” He plucked the red bag from her fingers and replaced it with a blue one.

  “Don’t mess with a girl’s Doritos.” With a fake scowl, she put the blue bag down. She picked up the red one, then the blue bag too. “Because I’m a nice person.”

  Felipe rolled his eyes, but his dimple was showing. “Come. We need to find the largest pairs of underwear in all of Sahsa, and you need a Rojita.” His lips brushed her forehead. The kiss was so easy. Too easy.

  “Rojita?”

  “Rojita is a soda. The best in Nicaragua.”

  “Will Rojita go with Doritos? Because…” She nodded at her haul.

  “I think so.” He picked up a wad of fabric. The fire hydrant red briefs had a thick white band at the top, and the leg holes were large enough to fit both of her legs. And maybe an arm.

  Annie laughed harder each second Felipe held them to the window, inspecting the underwear as if they were a precious gem instead of the world’s ugliest pair of men’s granny panties. “What, exactly, do you intend to do with these?”

  “Hide them in his things. He will reach into his backpack for his water bottle and find giant red underwear glued to it.” He reached for another pair. These were blue and not quite as large as the others.

  “Or,” an idea took root in Annie’s chest, “when he pulls out his dental instruments, ready to torture some poor unsuspecting soul, the world’s largest pair falls out.” She held out a green striped men’s bikini brief. “And we write his name on all the bands, so when they fall out—”

  “No one will believe they are not his.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You are a genius. I will buy your junk foods in exchange for your evil ideas.” He took the chips and green briefs from her hands. “Ready?”

  Annie nodded, but hung back. The lean, leggy girl at the counter was all wide eyes and flushed cheeks as Felipe pointed at the case behind her. She retrieved two bottles and tucked them inside a plastic bag, smiling and yammering in Spanish as she moved. Felipe’s voice matched hers, moving at the speed of sound and leaving Annie unable to comprehend much of anything that passed between them.

  On the way to the maternity home, she tried to ignore the prickle of jealousy hanging in the back of her throat. She’d never speak well enough to fall between English and Spanish mid-conversation the way Felipe did. And she’d never have the shared history that he had with all these people. Two more weeks was never going to give her that.

  “Is that girl at the store your family too?” She knew the answer from the way the girl had looked at him.

  “Nisha? No. Old friend.” Felipe took her hand and pulled her along. “I am going to take your stitches out when we get back. Before you start eating chips.” His laugh was deep, and the bags in his hand crinkled as he leaned in close to her ear. “And then we will set to work on our other project.”

  Flames raced through her as his breath eased across her cheek. “Other project?”

  “Yes, this.” He plucked the red underwear from the bag and waved them overhead like a pirate flag.

  Once they arrived at the casa materna, Felipe tossed the bags on the ground and dug a pair of scissors from his supply pack. “Sit.” He knelt on the ground beside her and flipped her hand palm up onto her knee. “Ready?”

  She nodded, her face tired and sore from so much smiling. “Sure.”

  Felipe frowned as he worked, snipping and plucking the black thread from her finger. He lifted his head, and the crinkles near his eyes deepened as he grinned. “You are medically cleared to eat Doritos.”

  “You’re done?”

  “Sí.” He stepped back and grabbed one of the scuffed glass bottles out of the sack, popping the cap with his scissors. “In Nicaragua, you learn this in medical school.”

  Annie laughed and took the bottle from his hands. The warm, red soda sloshed and fizzed, and a drawing of a girl in a feathered headband smiled back at her. “Rojita. Little red?” She scrunched her brow, and he nodded. “Well, that’s not politically correct.” She took a swig anyway, and the liquid was so sweet it burned her throat.

  “Good?” Felipe sat next to her and the mattress shifted, forcing Annie’s knee against his.

  “Good.” She ran her now stitch-free finger along his jawline, giving in to the need to feel his five o’clock shadow on her skin. She leaned in to him, keeping her lips a fingertip from his. “Really good.”

  He closed the distance, pulling Annie’s face toward his with warm hands. He tasted like salt and the sugary red soda, and she pressed her mouth harder against his.

  “Annie—” he started, but she leaned back, pulling him on top of her and easing her tongue between his parted lips.

  Her hips strained into his as she intertwined their ankles. “Yeah?” she asked, gasping for breath.

  Felipe pressed his forehead to hers. “I forgot.” He kissed her again, driving her mad with the softness of his lips. She slipped her hands under his shirt, running her fingers along the smooth skin of his back and enjoying the way the muscles in his chest caught at her touch.

  “Hola. Hello?” Juan’s voice broke through their tangle of roaming hands and lips, and Felipe rolled off of her. “Do not mind me,” Juan said. One hand covered his eyes, but he kept peeking out from behind parted fingers. “I only need a few things.”

  Annie stared at the ceiling, motionless, as all the blood moved from her more exciting parts into her face. Felipe groaned. “At least he’s not dressed as a clown,” he whispered in her ear.

  On the other side of the room, Juan dug through his bag at fatally injured tortoise speed, glancing over his shoulder at them every few seconds.

  “Dios mío, get out of here, old man.” Felipe threw a pillow at Juan.

  He caught it without ever turning around, tossed it back, and scurried out the door.

  “How does he do that?” Annie asked.

  “What?” Felipe leaned over her, tracing her cheekbone with one finger.

  A shiver ran through her. “Never mind.” She tugged him closer, her body anxious to pick up where they’d left off. “We’ll get him back later.”

  Day Fourteen

  Felipe led them down the four steps of the maternity home into the bright morning sun. Annie looked at the plywood shacks with their rusty metal roofs and tried to picture a miniature Marisol running around outside, bossing everyone in sight. In her imagination, a tiny Felipe released a bucket of worms into the wild.

  They reached a blue, two-story house. Sharp spears at the top of the iron fence glinted at eye-level. Inside the gate, Felipe’s aunt waited for them in a frayed plastic lawn chair.

  “Buenas, buenas.” She eased out of her chair and opened the gate, pulling Marisol into an embrace and kissing her cheek. She shook Phillip’s hand, then Annie’s, and as she did, her cedar scent hit Annie’s nose.

  She looked at Felipe before she turned to Annie. “Carlos dijo—”

  “Sí.” Felipe took Annie’s elbow and steered her to the backyard.

  “What did she say? I wasn’t—” Her face crinkled as she tried to remember his aunt’s words.

  “She wanted to know your name.” He smiled. “Here is the laundry sink.”

  “But she already knows my name, right? What was the thing about Carlos? I’m understanding more things now, but—”

  He ducked his chin and kissed her, cutting off her words and her air supply. His mouth was soft and teasing against her lips, and when he pulled away she was left gasping for more of him. He handed her a crusty jar of white powder and planted a feathered kiss on her lips. “Here is the soap. I have to go be interrogated by my tía now.”

  Annie dumped her clothes into the boxy laundry sink and tossed a scoop of detergent inside. She filled the basin with tepid water to her elbows, and a thin film skimmed the surface. She dunk
ed her things again and again, swishing and swirling them through the water in her best impression of a washing machine. Within seconds, the water turned a vile shade of gray.

  As she worked, a group of children gathered in clumps of two or three at the iron fence until they made up a single knot of at least ten kids, the oldest as tall as Annie and the youngest riding on the hip of another. She recognized a few of the faces from the last clinic and waved at them. Dirty water dripped from her fingertips.

  “You have a fan club.” Felipe’s voice floated over her shoulder.

  “Annie-watch. Like the zoo,” she said. “Now with more gingers.”

  He cocked his head.

  “Never mind.”

  “Have you ever washed your clothes this way?”

  “By hand?” she asked, self-consciousness creeping up her spine.

  “Sí.” Felipe stepped in beside her, watching her amateur, improvised technique. “You must scrub. Here.” He nudged her over with his hip and a smile. His body echoed against hers as she stood next to him, fingers wrinkled and dripping, sharing the square sink. He dunked his hands into the water and came up with the old, gray sorority tee Annie had worn the day before. He rubbed the sides of the shirt together, hard and brisk. His face crinkled with the effort, but he sang under his breath in time with the movement. It wasn’t a tune Annie recognized, but soon Felipe raised his voice and swayed his hips in an excellent lounge singer impression. The kids on the other side of the fence giggled and some joined in, singing at the top of their lungs and mimicking his horrible dance moves.

  Annie’s laughter bubbled over. Her hips moved in time with the song as she took the clean shirt from him and hung it on the line. But they shuttered and halted when she realized what Felipe held in his hand. With the fervor of a hockey player, she hip-checked him and seized a bra from his hands. “I think I can take it from here.”