Fighting For Her Heart

They Speak English!

They Speak English!

14

We get into Mumbai and we go straight to the market. I've never had Indian food and here I am immersed in the culture.

The sun is rising and people are bustling around. I'm tired but I'm so anxious I don't even notice.

"I'm going to walk around. You should probably go back to the hotel. You look like crap." I laugh at Trevor's sleepy face.

"Ok yeah whatever. This is the address." He hands me a piece of paper I slip it in my back pack.

"Will you take my duffel bag?"

"Yeah whatever." He throws my bag over his shoulder and shuffles off.

The market I go to is breathtaking. There is everything. Scarves and hats and wraps and bangles. I buy an outfit because mine stinks. The lady is nice, but I think she just wants my money.

My saree is a aquamarine blue and my shirt is a pink. It looks cool. The lady throws in a handful of bangles and she fixes up my hair. It's the first time in a while I have felt beautiful. I look like a local, except I'm paler than Casper the friendly ghost.

"Thank you." I tell the women. She puts her hands together like she is going to pray and bows a bit. I do the same, common courtesy I guess.

Walking through the market you can smell the food the vendors are making. Then the spices galore. I didn't know how many different spices there were then you travel to an Indian market, but that's all you smell and see. Other then the bangles.

It's about noon and I try and find my way to the place I'm staying at. When I'm walking there I see a woman giving henna tattoo, when in Mumbai! My saree shows my midriff, arms and feet. She does this beautiful flower design on my stomach and a tattoo on my hands.

This guy has the cart attached the the bike. He gives me a ride to the house. I don't know if this place is a hotel, house or hostel. He pulls up the cart and I look over the side of it.

It's a two story house with clothes hanging on lines from the windows. And there are bars covering the window.

"Is this it?" I ask. He shrugs his shoulders and say something in Indian or Hindu. Whatever they speak. I give him a couple coins in there currency, I think I gave him too much because his eyes got really wide and he rode off extremely fast.

I walk up the stairs, and there are a lot of then, and knock on the orange door. A child opens the door. She says a few things which I can't understand then an older gentlemen walks up.

"Yes?" English! Thank God!

"Um my friend Trevor Wilson-" I start.

"Come in." He walks away and I follow him. "He is upstairs to the right. Your room is with the girls across the hall from his." Most of the country lives in poverty but on the inside of this house it's beautiful. Definitely not how it looks on the outside.

I push open the blue door and Trevor is asleep on a mat on the floor.

I see my bag across the other wall and set my back pack next to it. I sit on the window sill and stare out on the city.

Kids are playing soccer in the street, small carts take people across town, and markets are flowing with people. Why didn't I leave Portland sooner?

My dad was all I thought about on the flight. Is he ok? He has he drown him self in alcohol? Or overdosed? I'm 19 so if he went to the police they might have told him I left willingly. He would have saw my phone, so he knew I didn't want to be found. Stop Nova, stop thinking about him. This is a new chapter.