Estoy aquí

 In my classroom, there is a little boy from Honduras. 

His name is Hilcias.

He speaks Spanish.

That is his first language, the language of his heart.

He is learning English.

He tries with all his heart to learn new words and phrases that will allow him to live in his new world here. 

I know how this is.

I speak English.

That is my first language, the language of my heart.

I was learning Malinke.

I tried with all my heart to learn new words and phrases that allowed me to live in that world there.

A tung xa xole.

It was difficult.

I know it’s difficult for Hilcias, too.

I know 

He is 9 years old.

He has dark hair cut straight across his forehead in a wonderfully crooked line. 

He has deep brown eyes the color of the earth, eyes that sparkle like starlight off a pool of calm water on a moonless night.

He has big dimples.

They catch teardrops when he laughs or when he cries.

He has a beautiful smile.

Sometimes it’s mischievous.

Most times it’s full of joy.

I wonder.

What is he thinking when he closes his eyes at the end of the day?

Maybe he’s hoping that his new world will embrace him.

Maybe he’s thinking he doesn’t want to be called an illegal alien.

I wouldn’t.

I’m a human being.

So is he.

Maybe he’s thinking he doesn’t want to be torn apart from his family.

I wouldn’t.

I love my family.

So does he.

Maybe he’s thinking he doesn’t want to be put in the shadows.

I wouldn’t.

I want to be seen.

So does he.

Sometimes when I close my eyes at the end of the day, I hear his voice.

I imagine what he might be saying.

Is this what he is saying?

“Mamí, can you hear me? 

Are my words reaching you over the land, through the valley, between the mountains, to La Esperanza in Honduras? 

Help me, mamí. 

Please. 

I don't want to be in the shadows.

In Honduras with you, I was a human being. 

I walked beside you, mamí.

My hand was in yours.

We walked over the alfombras, the colored sawdust carpets on the streets.

We saw color and beauty on Viernes Santo, Good Friday.

It was good because I was with you.

I was with people who love me. 

I sat beside you, mamí.

Your arm was around me.

We sat under the midnight fireworks, after the late-night dinner, on Nochebuena, Christmas Eve.

The colors sparkled in your eyes.

In that colorful light, I loved you, and you loved me, and I was a human being.

Here in Estados Unidos, I am in the shadows, mamí. 

Where is Good Friday on people's feet?

Where is Christmas Eve in people's eyes? 

Mamí, why are people blocking the light with angry faces and hateful words and violent hands?

I am afraid, mamí. 

Help me. 

I am afraid of the dark. 

I don't want to be in the shadows.”

My feet will be your Good Friday.

My eyes will your be Christmas Eve.

I am salt.

I am light.

I am made from the dirt.

For you.

My little buddy.

Estoy aquí.

I’m here.