Escape

August 24, 2019

Explosions rocked the small house where the young mother sat reading to her babies. She quickly moved her children away from the window, devastated that the brief few hours of peace were over. She turned back to the story, her son’s favorite, about the turtle and the iguana, just as the gunfire began to rattle the windows. She stiffened enough for her son to notice, and he put his hand on her arm as if to comfort her fears. But the sweet gesture was not enough to keep her mind from spinning on what she knew to be an inevitable decision. Her neighborhood would not be protected much longer. They would have to go.

She stroked her son’s head as a means to calm her own nerves and began to think through what she needed to do. And where to go? Her sister had left months ago, her parents were dead, her husband’s family all gone too. Tears stung the corners of her eyes as she stared, unfocused, at the robin’s egg blue walls. She remembered how embarrassed her husband was when he first brought her to this house just after they were married. He thought the color was undignified. But she laughed at his chagrin and delighted in the calm, gentle color. She envisioned sitting in the big chair over the years, nursing each of her three children and staring as the light danced on the wall, whether daylight or moonlight. She loved the shadows that played through the boughs of the tree outside the door, loved imagining the lives of the many creatures she concocted with the changing light. A tear made its way slowly to her chin as she realized she would never see this place again. Her son patted her arm again and she tried to smile.

She got up and sat her son down in the chair as she searched for a paper and pencil to begin making a list of what was to be done. Explosions rocked the house and adrenaline pulsed through her chest as the urgency pressed on her temples. How much can I get in 2 suitcases? Clothes. Diapers. Is there gas in the car? There had been so little money since her husband had died that she didn’t know how far she could get in the car. But she knew how fortunate she was to have one, and was grateful to get as far as she could in it. Bottles for the baby. Food. Oh how would they have enough food? She had no idea where or when they would reach someplace where she could buy anything. Water. She began to cry and sat down on a stool in the kitchen. Her head rested on her arm as she silently cried out to the heavens, wanting so much to be back in the safe, happy life she had built such a short time before. Before her third pregnancy was difficult and she had to spend precious, expensive weeks in the hospital. Before her husband had been fired for too much time off while he had to take care of the babies. Before he died, overcome by exhaustion and failure and despair. She saw his gentle face in her mind and wanted so badly for him to be there, with her, so together they could escape the chaos around them. She choked back the sobs, wiped her eyes and returned to the now-tear stained list and added to it.

The baby got fussy and her attention returned to her children. The fear surged through her as she tried to imagine how they would get to where ever it was they needed to go. How do you plan a journey when you don’t know the destination? She picked up the baby and made a silent promise that she would keep them all safe. Her son stroked his baby sister’s head and told her that she shouldn’t cry, mama loves you. She kissed his head and told him that yes, she loves all of her babies and that they were going to be leaving soon on an adventure. His face lit up as he ran through a recitation of all the places they had ever visited, wanting to know which they were going to this time. She held his chin in her hand, kissed his forehead and told him.

We’re going to America. We’ll be safe there.