Cycling to Asylum

by Su J. Sokol

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “It feels like the end of a chapter, which is sad in a way. But I also feel like I’ve been freed. That I have the freedom to do what I want. For me and Kyla both.”

  I nod. “How long do we have here, Philip?” Siri crosses the border again, then loops back to the U.S. side.

  “We have some time. I want to get as much footage as possible so I’m sure to have all the angles I need to fix the recording. After that, it’ll be easy, no different than editing a music clip.”

  “How did it go with Al? Did you end up meeting him in the flesh?”

  “We met face to face once. It’s not an experience I’d care to repeat. He looked me over pretty carefully. He’s a very scary person.”

  “But did you feel you could trust him?” My eyes go to Siri, then search the sky for camera drones. Philip checks his device again.

  “I trusted that he’d do what he promised, and he has. Everything at the border has gone exactly as he said it would. Al came through for you, Laek. For whatever that’s worth.”

  Quite a lot, I’m thinking. He’s given me back my life, my child. Whatever happened in our past, I feel it’s finally been put to rest. All debts paid or cancelled.

  “What will they see, if someone were to look at the clip?”

  “No one’s going to, that’s the beauty of what Al’s arranged. But if someone were to randomly review the recording of this time period, they’d see exactly what we’re seeing. A girl, not recognizable because of her helmet and sunglasses, biking back and forth across the border. Only the clip will show that she started on the Québec side rather than in New York.”

  “But the border guards … What story did we end up using?”

  “They think we’re shooting an art film about illegal migrants. One of those post-wave things, with repetitive images interspersed with slash scenes. That it’s filmed at a real border crossing is supposedly giving it some kind of edgy cachet. And as long as the cameraman is the required distance behind the distortion field, it’s all perfectly legal. With the permits and bribes all paid, of course.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “No, I’m serious. We have a real cameraman using a long-distance micro recorder. I think you’ll remember her, actually.”

  “Who?”

  “Nina—she was in your class, couple of years ago. She’s studying film at NYU now. One or two of our former students are there. I asked for a volunteer. Didn’t say what it was for, just that it was to help you out, and that it could be dangerous. Nina nearly begged me to take her.”

  I crane my neck, trying to see her, even though I know it’s impossible with her so far away and well behind the distortion field. Could Philip know about what happened at Battery Park the day of the demonstration with her and Fari? After a minute I give up. Watch Siri instead. She looks confident on the new bike that Janie’s brother bought for her birthday and personally delivered to Philip’s apartment in Queens. So many people had a hand in this plan. And everyone has done exactly what was needed of them. A huge wave of gratitude engulfs me.

  “A film, huh? Philip, what do you think would happen if I put my hand up like this, right at the borderline, and then you put your hand up against mine from your side.”

  “I suppose it’d be like in one of those old sci-fi flicks where matter and anti-matter come into contact. There’d be this zzzzp sound and then, well, the world would come to an end.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I figured too. Wanna try it?”

  He hesitates for only a moment. “Sure. Why not?”

  I put my hand up about shoulder height in the air. Like it’s resting against an invisible force field. Philip puts his hand flat against mine. His hand and my hand are just about the same length. Philip’s is only a little bigger, wider palm, fingers less slender. I press my hand firmly against his. Then tilt my head like I’m listening. “So do you sense anything, Phil?”

  “Yeah, I feel an electrical charge or something.”

  “I think we’ve been flung into an alternative universe.”

  “New space-time continuum.”

  “Phil, maybe reality has shifted and all the rules have changed.”

  I lace my fingers between his and squeeze hard.

  “I don’t know, Laek.”

  “Yeah.”

  I tug his hand towards my side of the border. He resists at first. Then gives in. I pull his arm all the way across to me. Swing it around like a trophy.

  “Look, Phil, I’ve got your arm on my side. I think it’s turned into anti-matter.”

  He smiles at me. But it’s a little forced. He pulls his hand out of my grasp. Places it gently on my face. With the side of his thumb, he slowly caresses my cheek. I want to make another joke, but I can’t get it past the lump in my throat.

  “I miss you so,” he says, his voice low and rough. Like sandpaper over an open wound.

  “But, Phil, I’m right here. I’m right here in front of you! Please …” I start bending towards him. He lets his hand fall from my cheek to my shoulder. Holds me still.

  Please. I only want … I just wish … What? That reality had actually been transformed? Yeah. Maybe into a world where watching the news didn’t make me cry. Or where love didn’t sometimes hurt as much as hate. But no, I won’t give in to despair. Not when I’ve been so lucky. Not when my heart is so full. But it’s my heart that makes me need to do something. Something for Philip. My whole body is aching with that need.

  “What did you promise Janie? Tell me,” I demand.

  “That I wouldn’t let you cross the border. Even if things went wrong. And … and me too. That I wouldn’t put myself into unnecessary danger.”

  “What else?”

  “Nothing else. Only that I’d keep you and Siri safe.”

  I look for Siri again as she makes her turn. “Well you have,” I whisper, looking down.

  “Maybe … maybe I could just lean over,” Philip says.

  He reaches across the border and wraps his arms around me. I pull his head down onto my shoulder and stroke his hair. Put my mouth close to his ear so I can talk softly.

  “See. That wasn’t so hard. Just hold onto me. Let me keep you safe for a little bit.”

  “Oh, Laek, that’s not what’s hard. It’s letting go. How am I ever gonna let go of you?”

  He leans farther over, holding me tighter. Farther and farther, until his whole weight is on me. Until he’s leaning so far, he’d topple over if I wasn’t holding him up. All I’d need to do is give a small tug and I’d have his whole body in Québec with me.

  “Hey, Phil, do you know that ninety percent of your body is already in Québec? You’ve practically immigrated. Look, even your knees are in Québec.”

  “It’s OK,” he says into my shoulder. “My feet are still behind the line.”

  “Your feet. Your fucking feet behind the line. Is that how you think it works?”

  “That’s how it works in basketball. When you’re at the free throw line.”

  “You think this is like fucking basketball. You and my daughter and your sports.”

  I feel him turn his head. Glance at the micro-screen strapped to his wrist. Lever himself up. This tells me our time is running out. I watch Siri start a new loop when I hear something high above. I lift my head. See the drone. I try to push Philip away, to the safety of the border house, so I can run to Siri. Philip holds me tightly, wrapping his arms around my head.

  “Don’t move,” he says calmly. “Just keep still and don’t look up.”

  “Siri,” I say, my face pressed to his neck, his arms protecting and hiding me.

  “She’s fine.” He checks his device. “It’s leaving. Just another minute.”

  My body is trembling with the effort of not running, but Phil’s arms around me help. Then he lets go. My eyes search for my daughter. I see her rounding the path. Phil and I stand silently, one on either side of the border, watching her progress. The sky is clear. I he
ar birdsong. The only evidence of the drone is my sweat-soaked body and rapid heartbeat.

  “Phil, listen. Janie asked me to tell you … She sends her love.”

  “Tell her thanks. Give her a hug and kiss from me.”

  “And … and I love you too. I never got to tell you. Before we left.”

  There’s a look of pleased surprise on Phil’s face, which changes to mock outrage.

  “You never got to tell me? Is that the revisionist history you’ve created? Because if I recall correctly what happened—and I think I do— it was me who was prevented from saying those words. Forcibly prevented.”

  “Forcibly prevented?”

  “Yeah, forcibly. By the force of … of your lips. If I remember correctly—and again, I think I do—I was unable to speak or, or even breath, for a good long while afterwards!”

  I smile. “Yeah, well. I just took you by surprise is all. If something like that were to happen again and if you were, say, prepared this time, it wouldn’t have the same effect.”

  “Is that what you think? Well I beg to differ. In fact, I’m sure you’re wrong.”

  “How sure are you?”

  “It sounds like you’re proposing another bet. OK, Laek. Another bet it is. And this time, it’s me who’s going to win.”

  “OK, then. Fine. Another bet.”

  No stakes are mentioned. We both know the stakes anyway.

  I think about our other bet, that last night together in Brooklyn, and everything that’s happened between then and now. It’s like a path leading to this moment. To a place where Simon is happy, thriving. To where Janie is excited and hopeful about the future. And Siri, too. I can almost see it. Just around the bend. But beyond that, it’s harder to see. Then why this shift in me? This certitude that a different world, a better world, is not as far away as I thought?

  I watch his lips enter Québec. Feel his tongue cross the border into my mouth. I pull him in close, imagining myself, imagining everyone, closing the gap that separates us. I feel the heaviness in my heart. I feel my despair. I feel it all melt, as I watch my child cycle back and forth between two nations. Like an insane parody of border control. Crossing over that invisible line separating people and peoples. I imagine each crossover like a stitch. Stitching the world together. Stitching the tear in my heart. I imagine a raw wound closing up, healing. The flesh pressing itself together like two lips. My lips are soft against his. But the muscles in my arms are hard and stretched with yearning. If only I could translate the feeling in my heart into something tangible. Something I can hang onto, something transformative. At least until the next crossing.

  Philip releases me. I open my mouth to speak, to ask how much more time we have, but he puts his two fingers on my lips. Shakes his head. Then places the same fingers on his own lips. Shakes his head again. As though to say he can’t speak. Then he takes a long, shuddery breath. As though breathing is also difficult. You win, Philip, I say silently, smiling.

  He looks over at Siri. Checks his micro-screen again, this time with a certain finality. He puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me around. Pulls me back snug against him, holding me tight with his right arm while he counts down the seconds with his left. At one, his lips brush me on the neck. I shudder in the late morning sun. Then he pushes me gently but firmly forward. Towards my bike and home.

  I mount and start to ride. My eyes fill with tears. But then I hear his voice, even and firm: “Au revoir,” and I understand that he doesn’t mean good-bye, but the more literal meaning of the words: “To the next time we see each other again.” For now, this is enough.

  I feel a warmth against my back. A trace of Philip. The springtime sunshine. And Siri, biking right behind me.

  FIFTY-TWO

  Siri

  Daddy still hasn’t spoken to me. If it were Mommy, this would mean she was mad, but with Daddy, it could just mean he doesn’t feel like talking. But I do. The whole car ride from Grandma and Grandpa’s house, I kept on imagining what I would say to Daddy when I finally saw him. I had it all planned out. But now, I keep thinking about what I saw at the border—how Daddy and Philip were kissing. Did they mean for me to see them? I feel totally freaked out. I want to ask, why were you kissing? But I don’t want to sound like I’m three years old.

  There’s hardly any traffic. The road has dusty little pebbles all over it and doesn’t even look like a place where a car would want to ride. It’s wide enough for a car though, and more than wide enough for two people to bike side by side. I speed up to be next to Daddy.

  “Daddy?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you … do you still love Mommy?”

  Daddy slows down and turns to me. “There’s no one in the world I love more than Mommy. I love Mommy …” He smiles. “I love her infinity.”

  I smile back. We’re both remembering when I was jealous of my baby brother. I would ask how much they loved each of us and they would both answer ‘infinity.’ I didn’t want them to tell me that they loved me the best, I just wanted to know that they didn’t love Simon more.

  “And how much do you love Simon?” I laugh.

  Daddy smiles. “I love him infinity.”

  “And … and Philip?”

  Daddy doesn’t stop smiling, but his smile looks different. Like the smile has a shadow on top of it or something.

  “Yeah. Him too. Infinity.”

  I don’t know what to think about this.

  “Does Mommy mind?” I ask. “I mean, that you love so many people?”

  “No. Mommy loves a lot of people too. Mostly the same ones. Listen Siri, there are a lot of things you must be worrying about right now. This should absolutely not be one of them.”

  “OK. I believe you.” And I do. But I’m thinking about something else, about how hard it was to be separated from Michael and how a lot of how mad I was at Daddy and Mommy had to do with that. I couldn’t think of any reason for moving that would’ve been good enough to take me away from Michael and all of my friends.

  “But Daddy, if you really love Philip so much, how could you have left him behind? He looked so, so sad.”

  Daddy doesn’t answer me. After a minute, I look over at him and see that he’s crying. I didn’t realize right away because he’s not making any sound, but I can see streaks from the tears running down his cheeks. That’s how dusty his face is. He sees me looking and tries to wipe his face with his arm, but this only makes things worse. I have this urge to find a washcloth and wipe the dirt and dust off his face, like he was a little kid or something. Then it occurs to me how fast he must have biked to get all the way to the border from Montréal this early. I think of all I’ve put Daddy and Mommy through.

  “Daddy? Do you still love me?”

  “Oh, Siri, I love you infinity infinities. Forever and ever and ever. And … and I’m gonna answer your question. And other questions you may have about all that happened. But just not right now, OK? We can talk tonight. There’s a campsite I’d like us to get to, but it’ll take some pretty hard cycling to be there before dark. Are you ready to go fast? Because if there’s anyone in the family who can keep up with me, it’s you. What do you say, sunshine?”

  “Yeah, let’s go hyper-fast, Daddy.”

  This is exactly what I want to do right now. I want to bike away from the disaster that going to Brooklyn turned out to be, and from the whole, complicated mess. The fact that Daddy doesn’t seem to be mad at me makes me feel light and free, so I stand on my pedals and pump my way up to the top of the hill, then fly down it after Daddy, the wind and sunshine helping to speed me along. Each time I whiz past a tree or a scratchy patch of grass or a group of cows, I think about being one step closer to Mommy and Simon and home.

  At the campsite, Daddy finishes getting ready for bed before me. When I crawl into the tent, he’s already lying on his sleeping bag with mine all set up next to his. On my side of the tent, Daddy’s left a glowlight on. There’s a screen on top of my pillow.

  “Daddy
, you left your screen on my sleeping bag.”

  Daddy turns his head and looks at the screen and then at me. He doesn’t say anything, just curls up on his side with his back facing me and closes his eyes. I pick up the screen and see it’s open to a story. No, not a story exactly. I read the first line, scan forward and figure out what this must be. It’s Daddy’s application for asylum. Does he mean for me to read it?

  “Daddy, this is in French.”

  Daddy looks over his shoulder at me, but doesn’t answer. I remember something Mommy said recently—that your parents aren’t as dumb as you think they are. I begin to read from Daddy’s screen.

  I don’t have much trouble understanding the French. Here and there are some words I don’t know, but it’s not hard to guess what they mean from the sentence. There is one word I can’t figure out. It’s “waterboarding.” It doesn’t even sound like a French word. It sounds like some kind of sport, maybe using a surfboard. I look it up on the screen. It isn’t a French word. And it’s not a sport. It’s a type of torture. A drowning torture.

  I stop reading, thinking about how Daddy doesn’t like swimming or being near water. I remember that time when we were on a boat and Daddy had to go down below to throw up. I remember teasing him for it. Now I feel sick to my stomach. Do I have to read the rest?

  The screen is on my lap, all backlit. I could easily read it without the glowlight that Daddy left on, but I don’t turn it off. I want there to be another light in this tent, aside from the light behind these awful words. Even though I don’t want to keep reading, I do anyway. I read about other ways that Daddy was tortured. I look away from the screen again. I can see Daddy’s back, including the part lower down near the top of his shorts. By the light of the glow lamp, I can see the little round rings there. I always thought they were birthmarks or something, but now I know they’re cigarette burns.

  I make myself read about how he was raped. I knew that boys could be raped too, but I’d never thought about it much. I wonder about the details, trying to picture it, and Daddy, as a teenager, having that happen to him. I don’t want to picture this. So now I try not to picture it, but my brain won’t listen to me. It’s going ahead and imagining all these details while I try to close eyes that are inside my head.