I tried to text a friend to invite her on a family trip.
I got someone who really only wrote in Spanish.
I can read and write in English and French.
I do not read Spanish. I do not write Spanish.
This was an absolutely terrifying experience, because I had to look up what to say and hope it was actually right. In one instance, when I explained that I spoke very little Spanish and was asked how I had managed to understand the texts, I resorted to mixing what very, very little Spanish I know into an English sentence. I felt awful doing it, but I don’t know verbs and tenses. I managed to convey that I was sorry, but that I had gotten the wrong number; that no, I was not from Puerto Rico, but in United States, that I spoke very little Spanish, and that I looked up words in a dictionary and thought the number I had was my friend’s.
It was completely terrifying.
Almost as terrifying as what happened a few minutes later. An inch-long spider crawled across the newspaper next to my bed. I screamed, and it jumped to the side of the loveseat. When my mom came down with a glass, it appeared to scurry under said loveseat.
But it wasn’t.
It wasn’t under the loveseat.
It wasn’t on the floor.
It wasn’t on the bed.
IT WAS ON ME.
My yelling probably woke the whole house. But I probably won’t be able to sleep out of fear that another spider’s going to come along. Because maybe there were two spiders. Maybe one crawled under the loveseat and the other jumped on me. It’s going to keep me awake all night.