Why Are We So Quick To Stone Someone’s Life?
I was 25 when my husband first moved us to Mexico. For me it was a new language and a new culture to learn. I did not realize that because of many of our movies and TV shows, the upper class had some preconceived ideas of we from North of the border. Over the years, I learned to dearly love the Mexican people as I saw their persevering hearts, courage, and their grateful attitudes. But, let’s go back to the beginning. As a young, blonde American girl with a limited Spanish vocabulary; I found I was accepted well among those in the market, the corner store and the taco stand. However, the socially elite women shunned me. They would grab their husband’s arms if anyone tried to introduce me to them. Which leads me to our story.
One night, my husband wanted me to join him with his friends. We left his mother to watch the baby and with some hesitance of heart I went. As the evening went on, my husband had consumed a little too much alcohol. I understood very little of the conversations surrounding me as we had ended up on the balcony of a small restaurant. The balcony was narrow with only one set of stairs to leave by and we were near the back, farthest from the exit. Two tables from us were a group of men who were smoking. Since there was no ashtray on their table they were flicking their cigarettes onto the carpet. I watched as the embers would fall and even slightly flame before dying out. Disgusted and a little concerned we might be trapped behind a wall of blaze; I picked up an ashtray and sat it on their table. Then I turned around to return to my seat when suddenly my husband seemed enraged. He ordered me angrily to leave immediately. Confused, in high heels I found myself walking all alone down the dark streets of Pachuca at midnight.
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