by Su J. Sokol
“What happened to her?”
“She died of breast cancer in the year 2007.”
That makes me think of my own breasts. I notice they’re getting bigger, which I’m not so happy about. I know that even people with small breasts can get breast cancer—even men, which I think is weird—but I still feel like the smaller they are, the less stuff that can turn into cancer. Plus, big breasts get in the way of sports.
“Daddy, do we have to go to the government office now?” Simon asks.
“Yeah, I’m sorry, love. Hopefully it won’t take too long.”
Then again, Michael really likes my boobs. But maybe I shouldn’t have let him do what he did. I wonder if someone at camp saw us, if they told on us. Maybe that’s why Mommy and Daddy are being so strict about using my screen to talk to Michael.
I look up in time to see another holo-flash of a bike fact. The path has a new one every kilometre. The last one was about the United States. It said that each year, more people are killed in car accidents there than all the soldiers who were killed in the Vietnam War of the twentieth century. Pretty intense, since the people in the accidents weren’t even trying to kill each other!
Here comes the next one: Le vélo permet d’apercevoir la beauté.
“What does that one mean, Laek?”asks Mommy.
“Just use your translation glasses, Mommy,” Simon says.
“Daddy took mine away. Thought it would make me learn French. Instead I’ve decided to make Daddy be my translation glasses.”
Simon laughs. “Tell us your translation, Daddy.”
“You have your glasses,” Daddy answers.
“C’mon. Let’s see how good you are,” I say.
“Well, OK, fine. The bicycle permits us to, to see the beauty.”
“The translator says: The bicycle opens us up to the beauty of the world,” I tell him.
“Yeah, that sounds better,” Daddy admits.
We lock up our bikes and Daddy leads us to a building across the street. It’s pretty dingy-looking for a government building. The lobby is tiny, with just enough room for a broken-down elevator and a broken-down looking old man sitting on a metal stool. He’s wearing a uniform. The man says something in French and Daddy tells us to hand him our backpacks.
“Hey,” says Simon. “That’s the same kind of scanner they use in my school!”
“Ah, oui?” the man says, smiling, and all of a sudden he looks a lot less broken down. He seems nice, like someone’s grandpa. “And where would your school be, mon petit bonhomme?”
“Brooklyn,” says Simon.
“That’s in New York City,” I add, in case the man doesn’t know.
“A pleasure to meet citizens of such a famous city.” He turns to Daddy. “You are making an application, Monsieur?”
“Oui, pour l’asile. Mais les enfants ne savent pas.”
“The elevator’s here,” Mommy says.
The elevator rattles as it goes up and then spits us out on our floor. Around the bend are a bunch of screens with instructions in French and English. Past that is a crowded room where people are speaking all different languages. So I guess my parents weren’t the only ones who forgot to get a long enough permission slip for their vacation.
Mommy brings us to some seats towards the back of the room and tells us that she loaded new games and puzzles onto our screens. She joins Daddy at one of the service windows, so I start looking through the new games. After a few minutes I look up to see Daddy standing at a high counter, typing on one of their screens. Mommy’s trying to peer around his shoulder. “Why are you doing this in French?” I hear her ask.
“It’s best this way.”
“But don’t you think you could be more articulate in English?”
“No.”
“Can I have a bit more detail with that ‘no,’ please?”
“The French puts some distance between me and what I’m writing. And I like French.”
I tune out the rest of their argument. I know that tone of voice when my dad’s not planning on giving in. Anyhow, Daddy’s obsession with French will end when we’re back in New York. And I have a lot to think about between now and then. Like about how I promised Michael that we’d go public as a couple in September. I wanted to keep it a secret, but Michael thought that meant I wasn’t serious about him. Maybe that’s why I let us go so far at camp, to show him he was wrong. Was it OK what we did? Will he tell other people? Will he still like me once we’re back at school? Even though this vacation is kind of hyper, I wish I was home already so that I could talk to Michael face to face.
Maybe I can send him a quick text right now. I look to see if Mommy’s watching me. Just then we finally get called into one of the little rooms. The woman asks me and Simon to say our names and ages. Then Mommy asks if the kids could wait outside and the woman agrees.
Simon and I play games for a while but I’m distracted, thinking about Michael. I imagine us doing more of what we did on the last night of camp. I feel weird and wonder if people can tell what I’m thinking about. Daddy and Mommy are still in the room with the woman. Maybe I should talk to Mommy about what happened. When are they gonna finish in there?
I look around the ugly room. The ceiling is all stained and some of the tiles on the floor are broken. Bits of paint are chipping off of the walls. Most of the people who were here when we arrived have already left, but more people have come to take their places. Some people are looking at screens but most are just staring off into space. I make a funny face at a baby whose head is peeking over her mother’s shoulder. The baby has huge, dark eyes that open even wider at me when I make the face. Simon wanders around the room and picks up a palm-sized news screen attached to a table.
“Stop pretending you can read French,” I tell him.
“I can read some of it. Look, there’s a whole bunch of words that are like English.”
“Lemme see.” I look at the article he’s reading and see the word “condom” and then the word “CO2”. I wonder what it could be about. I wonder if Michael has condoms.
“Simon, this news screen is too old for you. You should put it back.”
“Is not.”
“Oh yeah? Then tell me what the article’s about.”
“It’s about condoms and carbon dioxide.”
“So what’s a condom?”
“It’s, it’s a thingy. That you use for having sex. I’m not a baby, you know.”
“Uh, huh. Use it how? And what’s that got to do with CO2?”
“I don’t know exactly. But I think the article’s about global warming. See, it has the word ‘planète’ and ‘climat’? What do you think condoms have to do with climate change, Siri?”
“Well … maybe when people are having sex they pant a lot and make carbon dioxide.” I smile to myself. This is exactly the kind of thing that Simon doesn’t want to know about.
“No, that can’t be it. They wouldn’t write that in a news story!” He moves the screen away, like it’s gonna contaminate him or something, but then he says, “I know! Maybe the condoms let off carbon dioxide when they’re in the landfill. I bet that’s it. That’s a lot less gross.”
“You think a million gooey condoms sitting in the landfill is less gross than people panting because they’re enjoying sex?”
“Shut up! Stop acting like you know about sex.” Simon shouts.
“More than you!” I shout back.
“Why, ’cause you made out with Michael at baseball camp? What base did you get to?”
“Shut your face! You’re so stupid!” I jump up, thinking about tackling my bratty little know-it-all brother and putting my hand over his mouth.
Mommy comes out of the room. “Quiet down! Where the hell do you think you are?”
“It’s his fault …” I try to explain.
“I don’t want to hear it! Not another word. If I can’t count on you to behave in a government office … You see how people are staring at us?”
I’m
about to point out that she’s the reason they’re looking at us, yelling even louder than me and Simon were, but I snap my mouth shut. Mommy looks furious, like if I say anything, she’ll totally lose it. She gives a final warning look, then goes back into the room.
I take out my screen and ignore Simon, but after a while, I’m bored again. I look up at the door where Mommy and Daddy are and decide that maybe it would be alright if I sent a quick text to Michael. No one has specifically said I can’t. I turn my back on Simon and start typing: How r u? I am BORED. Almost cant w8 4 skool. Who do u have 4 HR? Miss u. -S
Mommy walks out of the room with Daddy. I push “send” and hide my screen.
“Give me that, Siri,” Mommy demands.
Did she see me send the message? She doesn’t seem mad, though. She’s smiling at Simon reading the news screen like it’s the cutest thing. She uses my screen to take a photo. Suddenly one of the women who works here walks over to Mommy quickly and grabs the screen from her.
“Madame! C’est interdit de prendre des photos!”
“She’s saying that taking photos is forbidden,” Daddy tells Mommy.
“Yeah, I kind of got that, Laek, when she took my screen and deleted the picture.”
“That’s my screen,” I remind them. The woman hands it to Mommy and Mommy hands it back to me. Close call. I’ll delete the evidence of my text later.
We leave to eat some “pressed” cheese sandwiches and then come back for another interview. We’re wasting so much time here, it’s hardly even worth the few extra days of vacation we’ll get. And I, for one, would rather just go home anyway, even though it’s been pretty fun. I can’t wait to tell Michael all about it! While Daddy’s checking at the front desk to see if it’s our turn, I take the opportunity to turn away from my parents to check my screen. Why hasn’t Michael texted me back yet?
Daddy comes back to wait with us. Simon suggests that we play geography.
“OK,” Daddy says, “But let’s limit it to places in Montréal.”
“That’s not enough places, Daddy,” I complain.
“How about I do just Montréal and the rest of you can also use other places in Canada?”
“I hate playing different rules for different people,” Mommy says.
“Alright, we’ll expand it to all of Canada for everyone.”
“I’ll start. Canada,” says Simon.
“Youngest to oldest,” I say, “Alberta.”
“Ahuntsic,” Daddy says.
“You go Mommy.”
“Côte-des-neiges.”
“What letter does that end in, Mommy?” Simon asks.
“An s,’” Mommy says.
After a while, I realize Daddy’s just saying places in Montréal anyway. It’s like he’s cheating in reverse. Now Simon has a t.
“Trois-Rivières,” he says, glancing up from his screen.
“You looked that up!” I tell him.
“It’s OK,” Daddy says. “This way he learns about new places.”
“Saskatchewan.” I stick my tongue out at Simon. Daddy’s looking at the door of one of the little rooms where a man has just come out. “Daddy, it’s your turn.”
He looks back at me like he’s confused. “Yeah,” he says.
“You have n, Daddy,” Simon tells him.
“Right … n… New Metropolis.” Daddy stands up, still watching the door, as the man motions to him with a very serious expression on his face.
“Where’s New Métropolis, Daddy?” I ask.
“Nowhere. It’s a made-up place. I lose.”
Then Daddy gets up and slowly walks over to the room.
THIRTY-TWO
Janie
Laek emerges from the interview room looking shaky. I rush over. “What happened?”
“We’ll have our hearing,” he answers.
His eyes seem strange, a little too bright. “But?”
“It … it wasn’t easy. It almost went the other way.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“Not out here.”
“Madame, monsieur, le bureau ferme. We need to ask you to leave.”
“Can we at least use the bathroom?” I ask. “Les toilettes?”
They show us where the bathrooms are and I ask the kids if they have to go. They shake their heads, but Siri looks like she wants to ask me something. I avoid her gaze and tell them to wait outside for us. Then I push Laek into the men’s room, look around, and slip in behind him.
After confirming that we’re alone I ask him again to tell me what happened.
“He asked a lot of difficult questions. Like about my group. Whether we broke the law. And if it would be considered a terrorist organization by the U.S. government.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I tried to explain, but he just kept repeating that the U.S. is a ‘safe country’. At least as far as the Canadian government is concerned.”
“Did you tell him about the torture?”
“He kept talking about credibility and proof, and, and … scars and … I wanted to explain. About the scars. Where they were and how some torture doesn’t leave scars. But when I tried, I couldn’t think because I was in the room, I mean all of a sudden I was in The Room and …” Laek grabs hold of the sink, breathing hard.
“Easy, Laek, easy does it. Take a deep breath.” I rub his back like I do with the kids when one of them has had a particularly terrifying nightmare. I wait until I feel him fill and empty his lungs a few times before letting him continue.
“I guess I panicked. I mean, I blanked for a few minutes. And when I came back, I was standing on a chair with my clothes off. I guess so he could see my scars for himself.”
“God! What happened next?”
“He was very flustered. Kept asking me to please put my clothes back on. In both French and English. Much more politely than he’d been speaking to me before. I tried to get dressed. But my hands were shaking. So I just sort of covered myself with my clothes. Until I was more in control. I put them on while I faced the wall. After he turned around the other way.”
“And then?”
“He said he’d schedule me for a hearing. Suggested I find a lawyer … and a therapist.”
“Yes, a good idea. Ideas.”
“I need to pee,” Laek says abruptly, pulling away from me. He disappears into one of the stalls. After some long minutes, he comes out and washes his hands slowly.
“Are you OK?” I ask. When he doesn’t answer, I try again. “Tell me how you feel, Laek.”
He looks at himself in the mirror, then down at his hands again. “I feel like damaged goods. That’s how I feel. And that’s what I am.”
“No, that’s not true.”
“Yes. And it’s time we faced it.”
“Look, you’ve been damaged, OK. But you’re not ‘goods.’ You’re a human being who’s been hurt, that’s all. You need to be patient with yourself. And less stubborn. You should’ve let me go in there with you. We need to stick together.”
“To watch that little spectacle I put on.”
“To be with you. And I’ve seen your naked body before. Even in public. Have you thought about the fact that this is the second time in a week you’ve taken your clothes off in a public place in this city?” This gets a small smile out of him. “I’ll admit the first time was more fun. But things will start looking up again.”
But then I remember that now it’s time to tell the kids.
“Listen, I have an idea. I’ll take Siri out to supper and tell her, and you go with Simon.”
“What happened to the idea of sticking together?”
I don’t answer, don’t want to say that I think telling Siri is going to take more strength than he has to spare right now.
We walk out of the bathroom and down the hall. Simon’s looking at another news screen, swiping from page to page with a dreamy expression on his face. Siri’s all focus, looking at me expectantly. She looks like she’s just on the threshold of an unp
leasant adolescent moment. Laek looks from Simon to Siri and then back to me, relaxing his shoulders in defeat.
“Yeah, OK. Simon and I will meet the two of you back at the hotel later.”
“What’s up?” Siri asks.
“You and I are going to have a mother-daughter evening. What do you want to eat?”
THIRTY-THREE
Siri
Mommy orders avocado sushi and I get fruit sushi. It’s very good, the apples juicy and the kiwis not too sweet. It goes great with the spicy wasabi. I’m waiting for Mommy to tell me why she brought me here. At first I thought that it had to do with Michael and me, that someone told her about us and that this is what she and Daddy keep whispering about. Now I’m not so sure. They both seemed more nervous than angry. Plus, all that time in the government office … I know travelling is tricky with hyper security and rules and everything, but when Daddy came out of the room before, he looked whacked out. Why would just getting a new permission slip be such a big deal?
“So I think you know I have something to tell you,” Mommy begins.
“Did you and Daddy do something wrong?” I blurt out. “Are we in trouble?” It’s hard to imagine this. Daddy and Mommy are hyper-honest about everything, like that time we were at a restaurant and we realized they forgot to charge us for something. Daddy went all the way back to pay the extra amount, even though we were almost home.
“We didn’t do anything wrong. It’s …”
“What? Is it about our permission slip?”
“Permission slip? What are you talking about?”
“You know. To visit Québec. I thought you said that we needed to get permission.”
“Oh! No, it’s not about our visitor’s passes. It has to do with us staying here, though.”
I wait, but Mommy still doesn’t say anything. “Just tell me already.”
“This isn’t easy, Siri.”
“Drawing it all out like this isn’t helping, Mommy.”
“I know. OK. Daddy and I … We’ve decided to really stay here. In Montréal.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean we want to live here. And we’re asking the government for permission to stay. That’s what today was all about, those forms, the interview …”