yesterday

Driving in Gone West that last night was like driving on a pitted dirt road. The truck bumped and bounced over the ruts created by too many cars with chained tires on un-snowplowed roads.

I stood waiting on a street corner in the snow between an apartment building and train tracks, orange Ethiopian scarf pulled up over my head and around my shoulders, soaking up big flakes of snow, watching each car and hoping it was the truck. The train had been packed with Christmas Eve revelers, one of whom walked up to me and said, “Do you like tea?” When I nodded the affirmative, he offered me a selection of tea bags from his pocket, Stash brand. I declined as politely as I could. His friend was animatedly telling a man about his experience in Alcoholics Anonymous, so Tea Guy went over and offered that guy some tea.

I fell asleep later on the K.’s couch, warm flax seed sock against my feet, while S. placed decorations on the windowsill at her mom’s direction and N. lolled on the floor looking up at the lights. S. woke me to stumble out to the truck and into her roommate’s empty bed. In the morning, I forgot to roll up the sleeping bag she gave me, and I sent her a text from the airport, apologizing.

…

The airport early on Christmas morning was crowded with people tired but pleasant, until our flight attendant “overslept” and we could not board for an hour and a half after scheduled departure. Then there was muttering. The woman making the announcement had a strong accent and a terrible loudspeaker, so few people over in our corner heard a word she said. “What did she say?” they asked me, the unofficial interpreter, over and over. “What did she say?” Finally a mom with two kids running early morning circles around an empty desk said, “Are you Area 2? I’ll just watch you and when you go, we’ll go.”

…

A. and I went walking in the dark and wind. We lay on our backs in the cold road, staring up at the stars. I told her about Orion, how you can see him when you stand in front of our old house in Liberia, how he is visible in the tropics all year long, but here you can only see him in the southern sky in winter. He makes me feel at home.

…

It is the sixth day of Christmas now, and it still feels like Christmas. I am three books into the Twilight saga, and after everyone is asleep, I sit by the Christmas tree and write. I have barely used the internet in almost a week, and it’s freeing to sit and wave my hand aimlessly when A. frantically announces that the wireless isn’t working. “Oh, well,” I say, sounding exactly like my mom. “Oh, well.”