She comes out of nowhere.
One minute I’m alone; the next, she is speaking to me in Spanish. A beautiful young woman about my age, mid-twenties, with my mother’s chin and dark-honey hair much like my own.
“No habla Espanol,” I tell her.
“You will. My grandfather will teach you. Tomorrow your life will change and mine will become possible.”
“Tomorrow I dine with my friend Roderigo, who has brown eyes full of smiles. Just like yours.”
“Dear Abuela.” She tenderly touches my cheek, then waves good-bye, disappearing through the multi-hued door hovering in mid-air above my garden.