A New Beginning After Divorce

Derek Lee was sent to the countryside as part of a government program for urban youth.

At sixteen, I found myself in the fields, working the land with a hoe. The sun blazed overhead, and as I straightened up to wipe the sweat from my brow, I first noticed Derek Lee, arriving with the low hum of a tractor. His hair was slightly long, and he wore a faded cotton shirt that seemed out of place in the countryside's earthy surroundings. Just one glance, and I remembered him.

Having never done farm work before, his thin shoulders could hardly carry a bucket of water without spilling half of it. The crush of a young girl is both bashful and intense. Eagerly, I took it upon myself to carry water for the group of city youths, making seven or eight trips a day, even though the farm work was already exhausting me.

Our family had only two daughters. My sister, Julieta, loved studying. She performed with the county arts troupe, and I had to save half of our food rations for her. Our father, Gabriel, was bedridden, so I worked tirelessly, doing the labor of a grown man, yet earning only half the wages. But I didn’t mind the exhaustion. Whenever I passed Derek as he read a Robert Frost translation, if he looked up from his book to softly say, "thank you," I felt content.

We were merely acquaintances, acknowledging each other with a nod, until he met Julieta.

Julieta’s thick, black braid was tied with a red ribbon, and when she ran through the fields chasing butterflies, every young man around couldn’t help but take a second look. She ran over and hugged me, "Sis, do you still have that fabric you got last time? I’d like to make another pair of pants."

Derek stood at the edge of the field, watching us with an open gaze. I blushed with embarrassment, and in my fluster, I stepped on the seedlings beneath me.

After that, he often started conversations with me:

"That girl last time, is she your sister? Your eyes are quite similar."

"Could you ask your sister to get me a bar of soap from the city?"

"Here, you can borrow this poetry collection. Both you and your sister might enjoy it."

To my eighteen-year-old self, these inquiries about Julieta seemed like the sparks of young love. How naïve I was. Now, at the end of life’s journey, I understand that on that day in the fields, the person he was truly looking at wasn’t me. This truth was hidden not for five years, but for fifty-five.