The Dragons, the Giant, the Women, стр. 55
I was afraid to go outside because I did not want to miss a call and barely left my living room. Yasuka had gone away for the summer, as had many of my classmates. I spoke to Rose and Masnoh frequently, though quickly, afraid I would miss a call from Liberia if I remained on the phone for too long. Eventually I moved my dresser into the living room so that I could stay close to the phone at all times. I laid my sheets and blankets on the living room couch, and on the days that were not so miserable I read the books spread across the floor, because I had to remind myself that I was still in school, and that when I saw my daughters again, I wanted to tell them that I had fought.
I wondered what they were doing—what they had been eating. I paced my living room floor, as my stomach finally grew in front of me. On those lonely June nights while I was wrapped in the laughter of children playing outside, the fire hydrants loud as they burst, the only way to deal with my worry was to dream of them.
It was in July and I was in the bathroom. I was looking into a mirror at a face that was more and more plump each day when the phone rang. I ran as quickly as I could into the living room, nearly stumbling over my feet.
“Hello? Hello, hello?” I asked, trembling.
“Mam! Mam!” said a familiar voice. “It’s me, Facia.”
I fell to the living room floor at the sound of my sister’s voice.
“Facia! You are safe! Where are you?”
“I am at the airport. I made it to New York. I’m at LaGuardia. There was no way to call until now—”
“You here?” I asked, searching my immediate surrounding for my shoes.
“I here. I here with Bom.”
“American Airlines?”
“American!”
“I coming, Facia!” I grabbed my purse and hurried out the door, hailing the first taxi that drove past.
“LaGuardia,” I yelled. “American Airlines!”
It was a warm day and the taxi windows were rolled down. I laughed into the sun, then cried at the memory of Facia’s voice, so recent, so familiar. I saw myself in the driver’s rearview mirror, the darkened circles around my eyes. I used my fingers to comb my hair, then held my stomach until we reached the airport. I rushed out of the taxi. The terminal was crowded and I searched each face that passed for Facia’s. None was hers. I ran through the terminal until I finally arrived at the room with bags. Through a crowd I saw my sister sitting on a bench, looking toward a glass overlooking the road, as beautiful as I had last seen her in December.
“Facia!” I shouted, nearly choking on my tears. We crashed into each other. In that moment, we were all we knew we had.
“You are pregnant,” Facia said, looking down at my stomach. Facia, thirty-one years old at the time, wiped my face as if she were Ol’ Ma. “Don’t cry, Mam,” Facia said, unable to heed her own words. “I am here now.”
We stood for a long time, hugging, crying, some travelers looking on at the spectacle as they passed.
It was morning when the rebels reached Logan Town, where Ol’ Pa and my sisters Alice and Facia were staying with others, including Alice’s young son, Bom. There was shooting on the road and Ol’ Pa made them go and pack their things.
“We will go to Lai,” he said.
“And what about Ol’ Ma?” Alice had asked, shaken by the guns in the distance.
“We will go to Caldwell first to get them?”
“We will go to Lai. She with Gus. He will make sure they get to Lai safely.”
Facia and Alice had packed a few of their things.
On the front porch in Logan Town, they said Ol’ Pa spoke to a neighbor, an older man who did not live far from their home. His jeep was parked outside as he spoke, and young children peered out of the window. Ol’ Pa hurried inside and the man remained outside on the porch.
“Alice!” he called. “Come go with him.”
Alice ran to Ol’ Pa. Bom went to her and stood beside her. He was a thin boy, orange-brown and tall for twelve years old.
“The man says he’s going to the airport. They are airlifting American citizens. They will take Bom,” he said, looking down at his grandson. “He needs a guardian. You can go too.”
“But what about Ma?” Alice asked, wiping her face, yelling.
“What about you? It is not safe here, Alice,” Ol’ Pa said, and looked at the man waiting on the porch.
“And what about you, Ol’ Pa?” Alice asked, still shaking.
“Do not worry about me. Me, I’m going to Lai,” he said. He towered over them—tall and majestic in his stature.
“No, no. You and Ol’ Ma,” Alice said, shaking her head. “You are old. Facia!”
Facia rushed to where they were standing.
“The man says they will airlift Americans, and Bom needs a guardian,” she began and was unable to finish. Her tears filled her palms and Facia hugged her, letting Alice lean into her. Facia said they kissed each other more times than she could count, as only my sisters would.
“Hurry, he will leave soon,” Ol’ Pa said in a panic. The shooting sounded closer by the minute. He returned to the foyer, where he hugged and kissed Bom. Facia