I will bring my good luck charm though I am not superstitious. I will bring an old picture of you in a safe place. I will cover my eyes and breathe as the plane slowly parts from the Earth. When I go places, I remember how brave you were. When we are scared, we think of our mothers.
Last night I couldn’t sleep. I kept asking myself: would you be proud of me? I know I will wake up exhausted and that is no way to start off. I am afraid of blindness. Today, I lock the house and leave my country. What are these footprints I see in the road? Are they imprints of mistakes or redemption?
I’ll arrive and be a little bit broken. This is the cost of fast motion. We were in that accident at the stoplight. I was in the backseat and heard the crash. This country will shatter my windshield. I feel you holding us in your arms in the traffic. Tomorrow I will go to work.
Distrust is assumed. But, we have time. We have tea. I’ll feel better in the mountains. I’ll relax when I’m with the women. We’ll take our scarves off and try to find a way to smile. There are books in my bags. Documents and paper and electronic signatures. You don’t need these. You’ll sing a lullaby from where you are and I will hear.
No lifetime is long enough. To really help someone else. To learn the important languages. To lose your grasp on your origin. One more day with you. When I return home, I will think of that day you weren’t there. The day I got hurt. I wish I had asked you one more question. No lifetime is long enough. My mother, my heart, my compass.
It’s time to go.
This piece is part of the #52essays2017 challenge where I will share one essay a week in 2017. To learn more about this challenge or to participate, check out writer Vanessa Martir’s website and post about it.