Lisha

I am in Burlingame, CA. I would nor­mally want to just say San Fran­cisco, but it isn’t. I am in Burlingame for four days. I went for a walk along the bay. I was tak­ing pic­tures of an unusual man against a wall of win­dows that reflected the other side of the bay. I turned to con­tinue and Lisha said, can I ask you a ques­tion? You can if I can, I said, you first.
She said: Is it the reflec­tion?
Yes, and the man. May I take your picture?

Lisha was walk­ing along the bay because she had decided to skip a visit to her fam­ily on this side of the bay. We talked about how it can be hard to be with fam­ily. She wasn’t the only one talk­ing. Lisha lives in Hay­ward, on the other side of the bay. She pointed. She is study­ing French in col­lege. It’s easy for her because she speaks Span­ish. I later passed her by on the walk­way and she was on the phone speak­ing pas­sion­ately, and her Span­ish was beau­ti­ful with full rolling r’s.

I took French in high school and col­lege. I don’t have many regrets in my life (although maybe I should) but try­ing to learn French instead of Span­ish is one. I spent two sum­mers in the Domini­can Repub­lic, lived in South Texas, and have a fam­ily full of Span­ish speak­ers, so, of course, I had to try to learn French, an unspeak­able lan­guage (ask Bobbi French). I never did learn French, mais non. I only fell in love with the teacher.

Meet­ing Lisha was the high­light of the day. I loved hav­ing the win­dows that reflected her side of the bay. The light was good. She has a really great smile, but this image spoke to me of her strug­gle in being on her family’s side of the bay but call­ing the other side home.