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Tuesday, April 26, 2011

One Sweet Day

They came in through the front door, busily talking amongst themselves in French. I smiled, handed them the forms to fill out, and pointed where to write their names. One man was writing his date of birth down when he realized that the American way was different, so I took a pen and corrected it for him. They didn't know I understood every single word they said, as they discussed whether to stay for the exam or go to town. They didn't know that replies to their questions were on the tip of my tongue as I tried to revive rusty wheels that barely squeaked, but still moved with the language of my childhood. As they sat in the small waiting room, I inhaled the strong scent of their perfume. Mingled with the familiar sounds, it carried me back over twelve years to even stronger memories.  

Maybe you never really say goodbye for good. . .

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