Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 129944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
I placed the phone on the kitchen table and grabbed my wallet. Anyone could spot the Chanel bag from twenty paces, and there were enough pickpockets in this neighborhood to make the bag an appealing target. After locking the apartment door, I walked past the kids playing in the corridor and made my way down the stairs.
The symmetry was not lost on me. The sight, the smells––everything was the same…except for me.
A dirty soccer ball rolled in front of my feet. I picked it up and held it out for the two seven-year-old boys it belonged to. “Falemenderit,” they shouted in Albanian, as they ran back to their game.
“You’re welcome,” I replied and kept walking. Walking away, but never leaving this place behind.
* * *
As I entered the grocery store, I was instantly overcome by a strange déjà-vu. Had the last few months been a dream? In desperate need of a diversion, I picked up a cantaloupe and pressed my thumbs into the soft navel at the bottom. The sweet perfume of the ripened fruit drifted up. The laugh of a small child tugged at my attention, caused me to glance up.
He sat in a shopping cart gnawing on a slice of tangerine while his young mother wiped the tiny, sticky fingers with a wet nap. A little boy: dark hair, light brown eyes, long, thick lashes. I stared in morbid fascination. The child’s father appeared from around the corner and the little boy shrieked in joy upon seeing him. My stomach twisted in agony as the melody of the child’s giggles hung in the air. I turned away quickly and marched to the other end of the store, needing to get as far away from them as possible.
Saving money on food wasn’t an option anymore. I needed nutrition. I picked out a nice chicken to roast that would last me a couple of days, fresh fruits and vegetables, and a freshly baked French baguette. I couldn’t manage more than two bottles of water.
The lethargy was back with a vengeance. I would have had no trouble whatsoever sleeping like the dead on a bed of nails. I could have slept standing if I had to. It was a dangerous new habit.
The little boy and his parents were two spots ahead of me in line to pay for the groceries. The little boy’s large, amber eyes found me. He stared as if he were stealing my thoughts. I smiled and turned my attention away, on the brink of tears again. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, something bad was about to happen, and prayed to God that it was simply the result of stress mixed with the surplus of hormones running in my blood.
I took my time walking back to the apartment, engrossed in the sights and sounds in spite of the circumstances. Tiny birds, chirping madly at each other, competed for a few scraps of bread on the sidewalk. Men on bicycles raced past me in a blur of color. Teenage lovers crossed the street, their fingers laced together. The warm sunshine on my clammy skin dissolved the lingering aftertaste of concern.
I closed my eyes for a moment and heard the sound of sirens approaching. When I opened them, police cars zipped by me, lights flashing, sirens blaring. They turned down my street. By the time I reached my corner, the whole block was congested with dark SUV’s and regularly marked police vehicles. It looked like a motorcade of an important political figure.
Two small boys, no older than twelve, stood next to me watching the scene unfold.
“Is it a raid?” I asked them in Albanian.
They looked up at me with a cautious expression. “No. They’re looking for someone,” the taller one replied.
“A drug dealer?” The kids in this neighborhood were wise beyond their years, and often the eyes and ears of the community. Sadly, they knew everything that went on.
“No. Those men are Americans.”
My head swiveled in the direction the child was pointing. That’s when I saw him emerge from my building, Ben and Gideon following closely behind. My few possessions were in his one hand. The other gripped the roots of his hair while his wild eyes scanned the crowd assembled on the sidewalk.
I could have sworn that my heart stopped beating.
As long as I lived, I would never forget the desperation on his face, the anguish. I could feel his pain intensely in every cell of my body, and it shocked my system. The blood drained out of my head and pooled at my feet. My trembling knees could no longer hold me up. I knelt down immediately, the grocery bags falling onto the cement sidewalk, and willed myself not to pass out. The cantaloupe rolled away. One of the boys fetched it for me and handed it back.