I laugh for the first time in a while, as I walk on the cobblestone street. My heels keep catching in them, making me stumble but never fall. I laugh at myself, and the wonderfully different place that I am in. Alyce laughs too, for she has never been here with a friend. The cool breeze hits our bare legs and our skirts billow around us. It’s hot, yet its not. We have to run now, because we are late, extremely late. We push ourselves through the crowds of people in the market place and ignore the howling of drunken men on the side of the road. Some frown and some grin while talking a language so foreign to me but so familiar to Alyce. When we finally reach the thigh tile roofed house, we push against its worn wooden door where the smell of a Mexican breakfast hits us. Alyce’s family is already eating. All twelve of them leaving barely any food left on the table. They were ready to leave.
Alyce and I piled into the back of a rusted red pickup truck with her six or o cousins. As we drive through the town, we are not alone. For there are other trucks just like ours, filled with people. Everyone seems to be smiling, like there is no other place like this. When the town is far behind and the road stretches ahead, we lay back and let the sun hit our faces. We sing the songs we barely know, just to pass the time, and we tell the jokes that will last forever. And when we start going uphill, our truck coughs in rejection and Alyce’s father cusses at the wheel and shifting gears, and the rest of the ride is bouncing. The dirt road is reckless and the trees loom over us. Even though half of us don’t speak the same language, we all smile the same. I laugh, because for the first time in a while, I’m happy.