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An unexpected homecoming |
I. I knew your eyes were caramelized sugar, oozing comfort I mistrusted; I knew your skin, like mine, was not a true café au lait; I knew your lips were full, plump with the words you held back, and your best feature. I knew your cheekbones spoke of native ancestry which likely explained the scar ravaging the left side of your face; I knew you were of an average height, our eyes perfectly aligned; and yet you had to work hard at being unintimidating. I knew you were insightful from the worry you radiated when our hands touched and I flinched. I knew you were compassionate, having driven the twenty-odd miles on the strength of someone else’s love. And I knew that you were strong, lifting me out of the diner and into the truck without breaking your stride when my feet refused the forward step. In the dim lighting you cupped my face buckled my seatbelt murmured reassurances to calm my tremors. I knew enough to say nothing until we were away and you less likely to leave me on the side of the road. The late night DJ played country tunes which required no translation, the plaintive singing and subdued guitars marking them as songs of heartbreak. I knew she trusted you. I knew not to feel safe trapped in the dark with a strange man who spoke my language harshly though those hands had gentled when they touched me. II. “Tell me, love, what happened.” The words gained traction and heft as they moved from your side of the cab to mine. I knew they were a plea but in a man’s mouth they underwent a hideous transformation, the force of them a command. Stiffening joints and muscles betrayed my fears. Taking your cues from mine you fell silent. It could be you knew that there was terror in my eyes that I was a wounded thing apt to lash out at the nearest body that I would not could not let you touch me twice; it could be you knew to leave well enough alone. If I could have wept I would have, tears of myself, for what was lost. III. A daughter of surf and sky invading the land of earth I stared at the trees keeping ominous watch. I knew without asking which one was yours. Your house an oasis the string lights blinking the warm welcome the darkening woods had not. I knew despair then the crunch of the tires on gravel one of the many sounds I had trained myself to hear; I would never fit myself seamlessly into a place where the forest brooded so loudly. IV. She left little room for gloomy thoughts. Fairly flying down the path, she grabbed me in a running bear hug that felt like my missing tears. I did not know when I got out of the truck to greet her. “Soraya,” she said – an incantation. I knew that in it was an abundance of love grief and remorse for leaving me behind. “My baby.” This glamorous creature that lived in the mountains but came from the sea this apparition that had once scrabbled and scraped alongside me in a river shantytown at the world’s end wept the tears that I could not. Meaningless words spilled from her mouth onto my scalp furiously fast in that horrible guttural tongue oppressive and devouring. V. “Patricia, slow down, she doesn’t understand.” I jumped in her arms. I had forgotten your presence. Your voice cut through my euphoria, an inescapable reminder of monsters not quite left behind other uglier things no matter that you made it soft. No longer reassured I remembered instead the sly glances when you thought I was asleep. Fingering the pocket where the knife that bought my freedom was sheathed, I knew that already blooded it would protect me, us both, if I asked it again. Afraid though I was, I was angry more, now that the immediate burden of securing safety was gone. VI. I made to move. She held on tighter as though fearing that her touch was the only thing keeping me grounded. Over her shoulder you watched us carefully caramel eyes filled with an emotion too soft for a man’s face; on you it seemed natural even sincere. I disentangled myself from her suffocating embrace. She asked me again what had happened, her syllables tentative awkward in our native tongue; one question, and yet another. In this land of evil forests, she was out of practice speaking it rarely except maybe at home at night with you where only the love words were necessary. My hopes, dim, faded further. I knew she had lost herself her words and gone native. Her frustration with my stubborn muteness lent an edge of hysteria to her tone. My refusal to answer was not meanness; but what was the advantage in rehashing a familiar story to one who knew better. Was that not why she had run? VII. “But how did you get here?” The shock had faded. I could see the conflict that raged within her: Here was something she had once loved and lost turning up again. I had ruined her reinvention imposed myself on her version of history. “Let’s get her inside, Patricia, it’s cold out here,” you said, having once again noticed the fine tremors rocking my body. Charity in how you deliberately misattributed them to the weather as to not irritate her further. You rose a notch in my estimation the recognition of my mother’s frailty softening me towards you. If I were another I might unburden myself taking a chance on the compassion and ignoring the sly glances as products of my youth and your gender. I knew I did not have the luxury to indulge in such foolishness. She gave me one last look, eyes overflowing with pointless tears ones that begged for a forgiveness I could not grant and then turned away guilt and resentment making it impossible for her to sustain my gaze. I was not the daughter she wanted me to be; the disappointment was mutual. VIII. You extended out a hand a chivalrous gesture designed to negate her rudeness a kindness I pointedly ignore. You followed her down the driveway. I stayed where I was reaching into the other pocket for a piece of paper which represented another, riskier option. I did not crawl into the sunlight carve myself out of a cage to be pushed into another one. I knew these new words, even if I never spoke them. I knew I could leave, if I had to. |