A poem: ‘Learning Spanish’

His voice was smiling.

‘Hello!’

A young woman approached him from the airport’s main lounge, now a wasteland awaiting the next influx. Her fingers were coaxing open a fresh large thick black bin liner. She smiled too, but didn’t speak, her gait sauntering. Savouring. The gait of a nerve-addled body attempting to appear casual.

‘How are you?’

She answered in Spanish. A beginner, eager to learn. Quick to switch to English, though. She reveals an accent, too. Soft. Canadian, perhaps?

‘It’s so scary.’ Conscious of language errors.

‘No, it’s okay! Keep going.’

But she is sticking to English.

Brief yet superfluous work-related words are exchanged, completely unnecessarily, merely serving to extend the floundering encounter. Then, an idea.

‘Could you come back and help me move the coffee machine? About 10 to 4? I’ve been putting off cleaning properly under there. Boss is coming in the morning.’

‘Yeah, of course!’

‘Great, thanks! See you soon.’

She strides away, spine of hope.