The Girl in the Flowered Dress
By Sue Andrews, Inland Empire Branch
Across the room I saw a young girl sitting at a card table. Her hands were covered with latex gloves, and on her face she wore a white gauze mask. At her table covered with tools, she worked alone in silence. The whirring of her electronic instrument sounded like something you’d hear in a dentist’s chair.
The tour guide had explained to us what we would see inside the shop. In large jewelry cases, we perused hundreds of cameos with different designs, colors and shapes. I had never seen so many in one location before — rings, pendants, brooches, and bracelets. The guide said that the Caribbean and Italy boasted the best artisans of shell-carved cameos in the world.
The young girl, an artist, wore a printed flowered dress made from cotton. The lightweight fabric was abundant in this Central American country as people lived in summer-like conditions year round. Her small hands and fingers appeared as delicate as the shell she was carving. She made curves and lines beginning with an undefinable shape. The way she handled her tools and the shell, she seemed to demonstrate her reverence to her skill.
My friend, Melody, found the young girl first and tried to strike up a conversation. The artist never looked up and pointed to a piece of paper.
“My name is Theresa,” it said. She continued working, as Melody kept talking trying to make eye contact. When the girl looked up and saw Melody speaking to her, she pulled down her mask, pointed to her ear, and shook her head “no.”
Melody and I had been friends for twenty-five years. We worked for the same school district as teachers of the deaf. When Melody saw Theresa point to her ear and shake her head, that was all Melody needed. She started signing to her in American Sign Language hoping it was the same signing system that was used in the Honduras as every country has their own distinct sign language. To both of their amazement, Melody and Theresa understood each other.
“Sue!” yelled Melody from across the room. “This girl knows ASL! Quick, come here!”
I hurried across the room. Theresa’s eyes brightened when I started signing to her. I was positive that didn’t happen often even with hundreds of tourists visiting her shop on a daily basis. She appeared happy to able to communicate with somebody.
People in the store started to stare. They weren’t gazing at the beautiful work of the young girl. They were looking at us all signing. Soon the boss came over and scolded us in a semi-polite way that we needed to leave Theresa alone. Her demonstrations needed to continue.
Melody and I walked away happy because Theresa had told us how she and her family learned their craft and became employees for the company. That day became the highlight of our vacation. I’m betting it was the highlight of Theresa’s day, also.
Sue Andrews is the author of To Live and Love Again,
her harrowing true story of survival, inspiration, and hope.
Although edited, this memoir piece was originally printed in
the Inland Empire’s Fresh Ink newsletter of May 2015.