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Writing > Users > Elizabeth L > 2010

Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Life as an Interpreter

by Elizabeth L

IMPORTANT NOTE: This is a piece of a longer writing project. You can view the entire project here: Life as an Interpreter

The following is a piece of writing submitted by Elizabeth L on April 5, 2010

Por mi vida

"Excuse me, excuse me!" He kept saying that, the only little bit of English he seemed to know. I stood up and leaned close to him, shutting out the multitude of beeping monitors, shuffling feet, and rumble of pitched discussions floating through the SRU, our trauma unit in the ground floor emergency room. He was looking around wildly, like a trapped animal, and had been since I'd arrived, his dark eyes taking in all the bustle and the many intimidating machines around him. He'd been in a car accident, and as he described it to me I could see how shaken he still was. Over and over he painted it for me: how the two cars hit, and how the car he was in was 'dancing' all over the road before he lost consciousness. His body trembled, reacting to his broken leg, and a few minutes later, he began describing it all over again, the panic written in the paleness of his face and those searching eyes. A nurse was using a piece of tape to gently remove the minuscule glass shards from his face, and as he worked, tears began squeezing themselves out and down the patient's cheeks.

Why are you crying?
Por mi vida. For my life.
Everything's gonna be OK.
Will I get better? Will this bone heal?
You're alive. You're safe. You'll get better, I promise.

Later I found out he'd been equally scared the hospital would find out he was illegal. We finally got his real name after he'd been patched up and was waiting for his ride home. He told it to me when we explained how much we really needed to know his true name for his record, not for the police, and his whole manner changed. It was over - he'd told us. Come what may, he had told us. I overheard him on the phone with his friend coming to get him - Ya les he dado mi nombre verdadero. I've given them my real name. I could hear the resignation in his voice, I couldn't imagine what he was going through - hurt, scared, alone in a country that didn't want illegals, didn't want him.

Why are you crying?
Por mi vida. For my life.

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