Three Scenes From Dorothy's Life

1. Eating rice off the lid of a piece of Tupperware, I gaze out a large window trying to take in the unfamiliar smells and sights that are becoming less foreign to me. The mangy dogs scrambling over the smallest scraps, cockroaches climbing the walls around me, and flies that insist on never leaving me alone. The morning is already hot and I have pulled my hair off my neck so that I will not be so annoyed with the climate. I tighten the straps on my Chaco sandals and wonder about what lies beyond the pile of dirt that surrounds the apartment.

2. A lei of chrysanthemums is placed around my neck. The pollen dust clings to my unwashed and uncombed hair. Tiny fingers intertwine with mine and lead me through tall iron gates. It is impossible for me not to notice the litter and garbage that pepper the streets, and how so many others do not think twice about it. The smell of curry and fire is also overpowering, but it is something that I have gotten used to. Curry reminds me of my grumbling stomach and I reach into my pocket to find a half eaten granola bar that was originally intended to last the entire day, but now won't last through mid morning.

3. The house still smelled the same. The same people that were usually gathered every Sunday were once again gathered, but this time on a Tuesday. My dad's eyes puffy and red, something that was a first and possibly last sight for anyone to see such an overflow of emotion coming from my dad. The kitchen counter has been cleared of the usual snacks and plastic cups and in its place there are flowers and homemade casseroles.