On my first trip to Playa del Carmen in early 2002, sitting in a tourist bar on the then-unpaved 5th avenue, I remember seeing a darling little boy of about 3 years old selling gum to earn a few pesos. Only the hardest of characters could resist the pathos and everyone in the bar–including me–gave him a fistful of coins.
Several years later, after I’d moved to Playa, I continued to see this boy working the bar circuit, now a bit older and with his skinny ankles and feet sticking out of pants he’d outgrown. One night, in a seeming effort to appear ‘cool’ or like an old-timer, an ex-pat man with whom I’d become acquainted coldly said (in English the boy could not understand) “Go away, kid. You’re just not as cute as you used to be, sorry.”
I’ve now lived in Playa del Carmen for over 7 years. I don’t much visit the tourist zone anymore, but I still from time to time see that boy, who now must be about 12 or 13 years old. Well past the cute and viable money-making stage, he is now a wisened boss working the streets, managing a core group of little ones who I can only assume are his brothers and sisters or other family members.
Tonight, my memories of this boy put me in mind of a short story I’ve loved for many years, called “Salvador, Late or Early,” by Sandra Cisneros. Please allow me to share it with you.
Salvador, Late or Early
Salvador with eyes the color of caterpillar, Salvador of the crooked hair and crooked teeth, Salvador whose name the teacher cannot remember, is a boy who is no one’s friend, runs along somewhere in that vague direction where homes are the color of bad weather, lives behind a raw wood doorway, shakes the sleepy brothers awake, ties their shoes, combs their hair with water, feeds them milk and cornflakes from a tin cup in the dim dark of the morning.
Salvador, late or early, sooner or later arrives with the string of younger brothers ready. Helps his mama, who is busy with the business of the baby. Tugs the arms of Cecilio, Arturito, makes them hurry, because today, like yesterday, Arturito has dropped the cigar box of crayons, has let go the hundred little fingers of red, green, yellow, blue, and nub of black sticks that tumble and spill over and beyond the asphalt puddles until the crossing-guard lady holds back the blur of traffic for Salvador to collect them again.
Salvador inside that wrinkled shirt, inside the throat that must clear itself and apologize each time it speaks, inside that forty-pound body of boy with its geography of scars, its history of hurt, limbs stuffed with feathers and rags, in what part of the eyes, in what part of the heart, in that cage of the chest where something throbs with both fists and knows only what Salvador knows, inside that body too small to contain the hundred balloons of happiness, the single guitar of grief, is a boy like any other disappearing out the door, beside the schoolyard gate, where he has told his brothers they must wait. Collects the hands of Cecilio and Arturito, scuttles off dodging the many schoolyard colors, the elbows and wrists crisscrossing, the several shoes running. Grows small and smaller to the eye, dissolves into the bright horizon, flutters in the air before disappearing like a memory of kites.
As many of you know, each Christmas I volunteer my time in the interests of helping local children of lesser means to get their wishes to Santa answered by finding generous and compassionate donors to purchase toys. For many, if not most of these children, it will be the only gift they will receive all year.
Christmas Dreams Playa, the organization founded by Playa del Carmen locals, is still seeking about 60 gifts for low-income, Special Needs kids. If you are planning to visit the area and would consider donating a toy or two, please contact the group on Facebook or leave me a comment on this blog.
I dedicate this blog and my efforts this holiday season to that gum-selling boy and the thousands of others just like him all over the world, who have never gotten to enjoy just being a child, and whose names I will never know.
Photo from the files of Roger Schulz, Playa's 'Santa'
