Cold Steel Bars

Miguel pressed his face up against the cold black bars of the gate. Although his head was too big to slip between the steel, his thoughts and presence slipped through easily and sailed down the hill seeking the laughter of the children playing in the streets. His spirit was with the joy that tumbled along the dirty causeway and streaked between the occasional honking truck and screeching car. He didn't think about the hunger that bubbled in their stomachs or the dirt that stained their only clothing. He didn't see the tears that sometimes poured down their faces as they fell asleep afraid of the rustling wind that blew through the gaping holes in the makeshift walls that they counted as home.

He only saw the laughter. He only felt the joy. The dancing of their spirits as they chased a balled up dirty newspaper. Barefoot and free. Sharing in life. A contrast to the quiet existence that he lived. Tight new shoes on his feet. Three full meals a day and lessons. A scheduled and detailed life. Yes Ma'am and No sir conversations. Miguel pressed his face against the cold black bars feeling them imprison his spirit. Feeling trapped inside...

Rosa chased after her brother Felipe. He was three years older but she was almost as fast. As she reached in to kick and steal the tattered paper football she suddenly felt the rough hand of Cisco push on her shoulder. She couldn't help but fall hard on the dusty road. Blood seeped from her scrapped knee but she held back her tears. There was no crying in football. Even at seven she understood that much. Still, she could not help pulling her knees to her chest and resting a bit where she had fallen.

She could feel the sun washing over her and as she squinted to see that it had traveled to mark almost midday, her eyes wandered across the huge house on the hill overlooking the ramble that was part of the city pressed up near the muddy river. If the wind was caressing the hill just right the smell of fresh baked bread would taunt them. She imagined that it was heaven compared to the stale crusts that adorned her table even during Sunday's dinner.

Her thoughts wandered over the magic that sometimes was whispered about places like that. School. They went to school in houses like that. Sometimes they would sneak and peer through the cold steel bars and watch as the family all dressed in fancy clothes, and even shoes, would climb into a shiny new car. Once she saw a boy carrying a real football...

Rosa was trapped outside those bars.



(Note: This was written somewhere in the past. Hoping to share it with some new friends. Some edits, hopefully for the better)