Corpus Civilization

Argentina

She hadn't let herself look out the window. She'd wanted the full view. Hidden glimpses through the window would not suffice. So the view itself would be a surprise, regardless of how long she'd lived there.

What they say is true; you don't realize the value of something until you lose it.

Finally, finally, the taxi had come to a stop, humming gently in front of the house.

"Here we are." the driver calls back towards her, startling her out of her thoughts.

She looks at him, the twinkle in his eyes and the smile so wide a silver tooth can be seen. This man's happy to see her.

"H-how much?" her voice cracks from not having been used. She clears her throat, averting her eyes only to look back up and see that the driver has not even blinked an eye. And his smile hasn't lost it's megawatt quality either. Such looks are not usual where she came from.

"None for you, miss. Your service to this country is payment enough." his smile spreads even wider, if possible.

She nods, a woman of few words. But her gratitude is clear in her eyes. And yet, the driver seems to be even more grateful than her.

Her fingers reach for the door handle and pulling the gimmick towards her, she opens the door and allows the fresh air to hit her face. It's the second time she's felt the Argentinian air ever since she landed. It's warmer, much warmer than the cold of the other place. And it's a blessing she forgot and now revels in. A beautiful thing. Even a greeting, a 'welcome back', perhaps.

One foot out, the other following close behind. Her legs wobble as they did on her first day on the field, but she's learned to keep it hidden. They'll be happy. Of course, they will.

She stands and pulls out her luggage, the two small wheeling bags thudding onto the pavement in response to her commands. Leaning back in, she gives the driver a smile, a real one and, "Thank you, sir. Your kindness is greatly appreciated." ending her gratefulness with a salute, which sends the man into a frenzy of garbled answers of "no, no," and "the pleasure is all mine," and "it was an honour."

This time, she lets out a laugh, her uneasiness sliding away. Giving a light wave to the man and shutting the door, at last, she turns to look at the house.

And the memories, the moments, every last detail of her life spent in the house rushes back. All those times running around the yard, giggles in her ears, leaves rustling in her wake. The times when her mother called her inside and they'd all rush in, eager for lunch. And those nights when she would sit at her father's side as he taught her how to do mathematics, the worst of the subjects.

It was a wonderful time. She'd never imagined herself going so far. And yet there she was.

But now she was back.

The house, a colourful home of traditional Argentinian colours, squeezed tightly in the middle of friendly houses, was a beauty on its own. The memories made it even better.

Taking a deep breath in, she takes the steps that lead to her parent's home, the two bags gently rolling behind her, letting her know of their presence by an occasional thud. And before she knew it, she was standing in front of the brown, wooden door, the only drab coloured thing in or out of the house.

She stood there for a solid minute, thoughts racing, yet not coherent in any case. Why was she so nervous? This was her family. They'd be happy to see her. Right?

Sighing, she decides, that this might be worth it. The worst that could happen was her parents not recognizing her.

Checking her watch, she notes the time, the hands on the timepiece right where she needed them to be. You see, her parents lived their lives around time. And therefore, every minute was important.