Across the street

The tiny house across the street had been vacant for a while. The owners - he’s from this area and she’s from Peru - were getting anxious to rent it. Since they own several local businesses and know almost everybody, it wasn’t long before they heard about a group of Mexican guys who were looking for a rental. There are about seven of them, most of them recent immigrants who work for a local builder who also hails from Mexico. I watched them move in from my front porch, which didn’t take long since they didn’t have much in the way of possessions. I didn’t see any beds go in so I guess they’re sleeping on the floor. They’re so young; a couple of them looked like they couldn’t be more than 17 or 18. They don’t own a vehicle so they walk everywhere (well, one of them has a bicycle). Lately they’re home a lot since the builder doesn’t have anything for them right now. They want to work; they’ve asked my husband - also a contractor - if he needs help, but he already has enough. So in the meantime they play a lot of soccer or just hang out in the yard. One or two of them is almost always outside, sitting on the little front stoop, watching the world go by. They’re nice guys, always cheerfully saying “¡Hola!”, when they see me outside or getting in my car to go somewhere. I like them and I’m curious about them. I want to know their stories: how did they get here, do they fear being deported, how hard is it to be living here while their family and friends are back home? Do they like America and are they planning to stay? I don’t have many answers to these questions, since I don’t trust my Spanish enough to say much more than the basics (my Colombian tutor says I’m better than I think I am and just need to speak more).  I hear a lot of Americans say that los immigrantes should be the ones learning English - and they may be for all I know - I don’t think about that much. I’m too busy thinking how great it would be for us to reach out to them.