By Nancy King

Filled with dread, knowing I could no longer put it off, I dialed the number of the tech company and asked for a woman with whom I’d worked before. The man who answered the phone said “She’s off today, but I’m a genius and I can definitely help you.” Stunned at his response, I explained that the cover image of my new memoir didn’t fit the audiobook cover’s specifications. “Send me the image your publisher sent you so I can see what I have to do. I told you, I’m a genius. I can make it work.”

It was a little hard to understand most of what he said about fixing the image—it sounded like rap, but I laughed and said, “Genius is good.”

I sent him the file. While he was looking at it, Mr. Genius talked about the technical problems, none of which I understood. I waited. After a lot of gibberish-sounding words, he said, “I’m a genius. I’ll figure it out.” All the while he was doing whatever he was doing he was explaining his process to me in what sounded like a foreign language. I listened, suspended between despair and hope. Every now and again he reassured me he could do it. The tone of his voice went up when he thought he’d fixed it, down when he didn’t, continuing to assure me he could do it.

I waited. He thanked me for my patience. I waited some more, mesmerized by his one-way conversation. Then, a whoop of joy. “I did it,” he said. “It’s done! I told you, I’m a genius.” He emailed me the file to show me the new image. “You are a genius,” I said, so relieved I could hardly believe my eyes. With his help I uploaded the new image on to the site. Success! I wanted to do something for him. He’d done what four other tech people said couldn’t be done. “If you have time,” I said, “I’d like to tell you a story to thank you. 

“You sound like you’re from Brooklyn.” 

I laughed. “Originally, but now I live in Santa Fe.” 

“I’m from New Jersey,” he said. “I have a daughter who’s 12 and we both love stories.”

 “Okay,” I said, “this is a story for you and your daughter, about a little girl I met in Peru.”

“I was hiking with a group, but between hikes I decided to walk down a cobblestone street in a small village in Peru. All of a sudden, a little girl ran out of a doorway toward me. I crouched down and she snuggled against me like a ship in port in a storm. I don’t speak very good Spanish but I tried. ‘¿Cómo te llamas?’  (What is your name?”) No answer. ‘¿Cuantos años tienes?’  (How old are you?) No answer. She continued to cuddle against my body. I rested my face against her head, smelling the sweetness of her. My thighs began to ache. She kept snuggling me.

“After what felt like a very long time, but was probably only a few minutes, a woman walked over to us, stopped, and with a big smile on her face, looked at the two of us. ‘¿Ella es tu hija?’

(Is she your daughter?) I asked. She nodded, still smiling, watching her daughter snuggle a total stranger. ‘¿Cuantos años tiene tu hija?’ (How old is your daughter?)  

“Ella tiene dos años y media. (2 ½)

“¿Cómo se llama?’  (What is her name??

“Numha.”

“Numha continued to cuddle my body while her mother stood next to us, watching. Smiling. “Then she said, ‘Numha, nos tenemos que ir.’  (Numha, we have to go.) Numha kept cuddling me, paying no attention to her mother. Bending down, her mother gently put her hand on her daughter’s wrist and said, ‘Numha, amor, temenos que irnos. Tu abuela nos espera.’ (Numha love, we have to go. Your grandmother is waiting for us.) Numha continued to snuggle me while her mother waited. Then, Numha gave me an enormous hug, stood up and left with her mother.

“I watched the two of them walk down the street, in awe of the little girl’s capacity to love someone she didn’t know and had never met. Unbeknownst to me, a guide for our group had been watching and came up to me. “You have magic in you.” I told him I thought the magic was in the little girl.

“So, Mr. Genius, that’s how my memoir, Breaking the Silence ends. Despite all the trauma and abuse I experienced, as a child and adult, the book ends with a story about a Peruvian child who filled my heart with love.” 

“The guide was right, “You have magic in you.”

“Her love was magical,” I said, remembering how her hugging dissolved the loneliness I was feeling.

“Thank you so much for the story. When I go home, first thing I’m gonna do is tell my daughter your story. It didn’t even happen to me and I feel filled with love.”

“I’m filled with awe. You did what four tech people said couldn’t be done. You’re great.”

He laughed. “I told you, “I’m a genius. I knew I could do it.”

“Bless you,” I said. “Bless you.”  

We hung up.  

I couldn’t stop smiling.

Santa Fe-based Nancy King’s new memoir, Breaking the Silence, (Terra Nova Press) is available as a paperback, ebook, and audiobook online at bookshop.org and amazon.com  Please visit www.nancykingstories.com where you can read excerpts of memoir and novels, learn about her nonfiction dealing with the power of stories, imagination, and creativity, as well as information about Nancy’s workshops. You can also order a copy from Nancy by contacting her at  nanking1224@earthlink.net