Over a year ago she came–flyer in hand–and she said that her favorite teacher was taking a group of students to Spain and please oh please all my friends are going…can I? We talked it over with all concerned parties and when time came for the meeting, she was all but signed up.
There was preparation: meetings and currency conversions and packing lists checked twice. Thrice for good measure. And then two weeks ago she and I woke well before the sun and we lugged her suitcase to the aeropuerto. There were giggly girls waiting inside, practically bursting at the seams. There were hugs and squeals and talk of touring outfits. And momparazzi.
I app-flight-status-update-stalked her Delta plane all the way. Atlanta and then Amsterdam and then finally Madrid. She texted a video from the first hotel, instigating balcony envy from afar.
Each morning I’d check for new texts, Instagrams and status updates. They came–peppered with words that made my heart smile: lovely and grateful and beautiful.
Madrid and Sevilla and Gibraltar. Costa del Sol. Toledo and Morocco. These places she’s been. She went and she saw and she came home with stories to tell. Like riding camels and visiting the spice market in Morocco. Flamenco dancers in Spain. And my favorite: hissing monkeys in Gibraltar. One went through an open car window, rummaged for a sugar packet, ripped it open and ate like it was nobody’s business.
She came home bearing gifts.
Restless hearts. They will wander.