Page 14 of The Risks of Reuniting

My hand hovers over my phone and I hesitate. I'd promised my Grandma Sue, parents, and brother that I'd email regularly, and I'm happy to do it, but I'm wondering if I tell them that Holt is here. Even the name Holt is loaded. They all loved him, and were devastated when it fell apart. They'd all know and understand how I'm feeling about his reappearance, but they'd also have so many questions, and my mom would worry about how I was handling it. It's not like anything will change because he's around.

I'll skip it.

Grandma Sue – some of the local women wear the prettiest jewelry, and I'm determined to see if I can sneak away to shop for some while I'm here. If I can, I'll bring you something. The food is delicious too. Lots of chicken and vegetables, potatoes and fries with almost every meal, and it's killing me not to eat the fresh fruit. The locals tell me to only eat things that have been cooked, that my American digestive system can't handle it, but it's a crime because the fruit looks amazing. I'll have to see if we can find some locally when I come home. On the plus side, I basically have to drink bottled water or soda, so I'm enjoying a love affair with diet cola and make no apologies!

I love you all. I don't have good cell coverage, but I'll make sure to email you again soon.

Love,

Chloe

I hit send on my phone and stretch my fingers. It's not easy to compose an entire email on a little screen. I'm sitting on a table in the shade outside the main office, where they have a small WiFi hotspot inside, and where I know I can get email in and out. I sent my family a proof of life text when I arrived, but I'm sure they're anxious to hear more from me, and I'm happy to get that off my back.

My simple lunch of fries and chicken, with cooked onions and carrots, is sitting on the table next to me. I watch some kids in the courtyard playing soccer and lean back against the building as I pick up my diet soda and take a sip. It's nice to be alone in the shade today. The dental clinic is always hopping, and Dr. J and Rachelle are great to work with, but my shoulders were tense and my brain needed some quiet.

It's not like the work here is harder, or more busy, but the newness of it all, compounded by the fact that I don't speak the language, can make it feel a little overwhelming at moments. I finish off my meal and am standing to take my plate back into the canteen to be washed when Rachelle comes jogging out the door, followed by Dr. J. They spot me and wave me along, and I hold my plate tight as I jog after them.

When we get to the dental clinic there's a crowd of seven or eight kids standing around the doorway looking inside, and the crying I can hear has my nerves on edge. Something went down if it brought all the kids here too.

Dr. J is the first one in, with me bringing up the rear, and then the kids who were outside all crowd in, filling up the small space. They're eerily quiet, and I know that whatever happened wasn't something that would have been approved of by parents. Kids are only quiet when trouble is brewing.

A small boy stands at the foot of one of the exam chairs, his hands cupped over his mouth, blood oozing frombetween his fingers. I go straight for the cupboards that hold masks and gloves, letting my lunch plate drop on the countertop as I get suited up.

"Rachelle, Dr. J," I call, walking to them with gloves and masks for both of them as quickly as I can. None of us want to leave the poor guy hanging, but we can't afford to abandon safety procedures. "Here."

"Queenie," Dr. J says as he tugs on gloves and watches the kid closely, "get a towel to put under him on the chair and another for over him when he's lying down." He tugs on his mask. "Chloe, get an exam tray out of the sanitizer."

We jump to follow his orders, and once Rachelle has the towel in place, she gently lifts the little guy onto the chair and then tucks the second towel in under his chin before gently prying his hand away from his mouth. A gasp from the other kids has them backing up as it's revealed that our little friend is missing most of his front teeth, and they didn't fall out naturally.

Dr. J starts asking questions in Spanish, but when our small patient can't answer through the tears, he turns his kind eyes on the group of kids and they slowly warm up, telling what appears to be a story of great adventure. Dr. J keeps his expression neutral and I'm dying to know what they're saying, because they're very animated about it. This story will be one they tell for a long time.

By the time the entire story is out, and Dr. J looks back down at the boy in the chair, his tears have been reduced to sniffles. Dr. J asks him a question and he nods, and then surprises me by managing a toothless smile.

"Queenie, let's start by getting him cleaned up a bit, Chloe can help if you need it. I'm going to see if I can find a parent." He stands and gestures to the children to follow him outside.

Dr. J is gone long enough that Rachelle and I have the little guy cleaned up as much as possible, and we've spread some numbing gel along his gums to help ease some of the discomfort. We replace the soiled towel on his chest with a paper shield, and get to work cleaning the instruments while we wait.

Eventually Dr. J reappears, without kids, and without an adult. He shrugs and makes his way to the cupboards to get a fresh mask and gloves.

"No parent available," he says. "Bring me up to speed on this guy."

Rachelle tells him about what we've done and my heart sinks, thinking about this kid who can't be older than seven, busting out five of his front teeth, and having no parent around. I can't imagine that, but the kid doesn't seem perturbed. He watches Dr. J and Rachelle with big, brown eyes, and when he looks to me I pull down my mask and offer him a smile. His eyes scrunch together as his lips tug up, and this kid has my heart. His t-shirt is blood stained, his shorts are torn and I notice for the first time that his knees are bleeding too.

"Oh," I say, standing up. "His little legs. I'll get them cleaned up." I hustle to gather supplies to do just that.

"What did the kids say happened?" Rachelle asks.

Dr. J's voice is filled with a mixture of humor and sadness as he tells us that the kids had found an abandoned shopping cart at the bottom of the hill, dragged it up the steep incline of houses, and then all piled in to ride it down. At one point it hit an uneven patch of ground and this guy was in the front as the whole thing pitched forward and landed on top of his face. He took the brunt of the weight of the cart and the other kids.

The area around the humanitarian center is all hills. People have gathered anything they can use, and built homes climbing up the mountainside. There are no roads, no reason to the building, just poor peoplesquatting where they can. I can picture a grocery cart filled with kids hurtling down the hill and my stomach clenches again at the thought of this kid taking such a blow.

"Shouldn't they be in school?" I ask as I pull up a stool next to the chair.

"What school?" Dr. J asks.

My heart falls again. I wave the antiseptic wipe in the air to get the boys' attention before I begin gently cleaning his knees. "Does the center have any type ofeducational program?" I ask softly.

Dr. J's head shakes. "No. It's all they can do to provide medical and dental help, and bring people in to try to bolster the poorly built housing structures."

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