Given New Worlds

by Rachael Sircar

  Abby dipped her fork into the food and rolled it on her tongue, enjoying the spicy ingredients that woke up taste buds and reminded her of the little blessings in the world. She closed her eyes and thought only of the food. Its position along her tongue, the way it caught along her throat as she swallowed, as if asking permission before drifting past her permanently damaged larynx. Sean wouldn’t know about this part of her that was injured. It wasn’t a visible sign, like his hand, like the word carved into her back. It was silent and invisible, like the many scars on her heart. She wondered about Sean’s scars. How deep were they? He was so bitter now. Only severe damage to the soul could have caused such a change.

  “I prayed for you,” she told him. It was true. As much as she’d tried to put thoughts of Sean out of her head, just as many times she’d offered silent words of prayer. Asking for him to be safe, asking for him to be healthy, and asking for him to be happy. But it hadn’t worked. God had had his own plan.

  Sean rolled his eyes and hunkered down over his plate. She could see that he was still getting used to eating with his left hand. It wasn’t a fluid muscle memory, it was more of a concentrated effort. Pick up the food, lift it, place it in the mouth, repeat.

  She didn’t know why she expected him to respond with a verse or a message like he’d done when they were dating. This Sean was different, vengeful almost. She wondered if he was at war with God as well.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  THROUGHOUT the rest of the meal, they only participated in light banter, both too mentally exhausted to delve into the deeper realms of their psyches. Sean insisted on paying for dinner, and Abby didn’t complain. She could use the rest of the money Frank had sent to buy Oyana a birthday gift, and Nathan some shoes. He was currently running around in bare feet or flip flops, like most of the children, but his feet had been damaged in the fire, and they were sensitive. A pair of protective shoes would make his steps so much more comfortable.

  “I’m going to take you home,” Sean said.

  “No. I’m fine. I’m perfectly content riding the matatu buses.”

  She watched his shoulders tense as they walked into the foyer of the hotel. “Please, allow me to do this one thing,” he said. “I’ve failed you in so many ways. Just, please, Jamie. Let me take you back home.”

  Abby feel hot liquid flow through her system. Home? Did he mean her apartment with Oyana, or her original home? America, the home she feared, hated, and hoped never to set foot in again.

  “The matatu will be several hours, and expensive. It will only take forty-five minutes if I drive.”

  Drive?

  “You have a car?”

  “Yes,” he growled. A shower of red splotches began to fill his face. “I’m not completely incapacitated.” His voice was tight and strong, as if it were taking a punch at the damage that had been done, the indecency of whatever had happened, driving him to anger at the slightest hint of weakness.

  “I meant…” Abby wasn’t sure how to explain herself. “I wasn’t talking about your hand. I was just surprised that you rented a car for such a short time.”

  “Not rented, I bought a car.”

  Abby paused at the revolving doors. Sean followed suit, the red splotches still staining his cheeks.

  “You bought a car?” Abby echoed, trying to clarify his statement.

  “Yes.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Twenty-eight days.”

  “Twenty-eight days?” Abby’s legs began to shake. “Seriously, Sean? You’ve been here for twenty-eight days and you didn’t contact me? You left me cold for so long, wondering where you were, wondering if you were dead. And then you show up here and decide to stay for twenty-eight days without even making contact?” She could feel her voice shaking. The volume wasn’t loud enough to alert passersby. Her voice would never be loud, not with the damage that had been done, but inside she was screaming. “How could you leave me alone like that?” Then the tears began.

  Sean reached for her hand, but she snatched it away, too angry to feel his skin upon hers.

  “Jamie. You’re going to cause a scene. Come on. Let’s go up to my room. You can wash your face.”

  “A scene? Do you really care if I make a scene? Who are you, my mother?” Abby was sobbing at this point, and onlookers were beginning to gather with curious stares.

  Her eyes were shut, but she felt Sean close in and lean to her ear. “You do not want be noticed. There are people with cell phones here. People that could take pictures.”

  Abby immediately felt the shock of reality hit her. No, she didn’t want to be seen, but she didn’t want to go to his room either. It was too personal, too full of thoughts about what she would do if she were alone with him. She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. Plastering one of her mother’s trained smiles on her face, Abby turned to Sean. “Fine, we’ll take your car.”

  He led her to the parking garage and she saw a gray Honda Accord beep its tail lights when Sean pressed a button on the key fob. After allowing him to assist her into the passenger seat, she watched as he opened the driver’s side door and slowly settled into the seat. It was almost an excruciating process, and she could see pain streak over his face as he adjusted his position and placed the seatbelt over his shoulder awkwardly with his left hand.

  “What happened to you, Sean?”

  His face became stone as he started the car, reversed out of the spot and drove out of the garage, joining the hectic traffic of a Friday evening on Mombasa Road.

  “My love was stolen from me,” he said. It was a mumble. Almost undecipherable.

  Abby didn’t glance his way. The comment was too unnerving. She couldn’t have this conversation right now. Any minute, she would drift into endless convulsive sobs. She didn’t want Sean to see that again.

  His love had been stolen from him.

  So had hers.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  THEY arrived at Abby’s apartment forty-five minutes later, as promised. She wondered how many times he’d taken the route. It was clear through his practiced turns and lane changes that he was familiar with the streets. She felt shivers run through her spine as she considered how many times he must have been looking at her, listening to her, thinking about her, and she hadn’t even known it.

  “I’ll walk you in,” Sean said, parking on the road about fifty meters from the apartment.

  “It’s a women’s apartment. They don’t let men in.”

  “That’s a lie,” Sean said, then began the painful process of hauling himself out of the driver’s seat.

  Abby knew that men came in and out of her apartment building frequently. The No Men rule was implied, but not adhered to. Somehow, Sean knew this too.

  Abby waited in her seat, understanding that he would want to open the door for her. She wanted to relieve some of his pain, some of his anguish, and if that meant allowing him to do the manly duty of opening her car door and helping her out, she could at least do that.

  When they approached the building, Abby saw that two of her roommates were sitting in the chairs of the porch, waving reed fans and talking about their week. Oyana nodded when Abby and Sean approached. “Good evening.”

  “Good evening, Miss Oyana,” Sean said politely.

  “Did she eat?” Oyana asked in halting English.

  Abby watched Sean’s lips lift into something resembling a smile of amusement. “She ate enough,” he said in Swahili. Then lifted the bag of leftovers and handed it to Oyana with a nod. “Enjoy.”

  They entered the foyer of the apartment building and Abby began to walk up the stairs, followed by Sean. By the second flight, he had fallen behind, and she turned to see if he was allowing her distance, or maybe just staring at her butt. Instead, he was leaning on the banister, pain evident on his face. She raced back down and tried to figure out what was wrong.

  “Are you hurt? What happened?”

  Sean waved her away. “I’m fine. Just give me a minute.”


  Again, his anger flared. Impatience and frustration with his body clearly etched in his expression. She gave him several minutes, and when he began to take steps again she walked slowly beside him. “It’s on the third floor. We’re almost there.”

  “I know,” he said, his voice rushing through heavy breaths.

  They arrived at the apartment and Abby opened the door.

  “You don’t lock the door?” he asked.

  “There’s not much to steal. If someone wants to get in, it wouldn’t take a SWAT team to knock the door down. She wiggled the thin wood of the door, showing its flimsy protection from the outside world. Once again, anger polluted Sean’s face and she wished she could erase that last comment.

  The sound of her roommate’s animated voice stopped when they walked into the apartment. She gave the person on the other end of the phone line a quick goodbye and turned her attention to Sean. “Hello. You did not leave with the other men?”

  “No,” he said guiltily.

  “How long will you stay?” she asked, clearly amused at his awkwardness.

  Sean shifted on his feet, his voice revealing the fact that he was choosing his words carefully. “I will stay until I leave,” he said in Swahili.

  Abby’s roommate laughed, probably thinking that he couldn’t gain a firm grasp of the language. But Abby knew what he meant. The stay was indefinite.

  She led him to the bedroom and sat on her lower bunk while Sean positioned himself on the rickety wooden chair beside the nightstand. The room was small. No bigger than her closet at Veena’s condo, but it was perfect. For months, she’d had the lullaby of Oyana’s breathing right above her. A comfortable song that lulled her to sleep at night, the sound of Africa’s dusty winds, the sound of freedom.

  “Will you tell me what happened to you?”

  Sean only shook his head. “So many things happened, Jamie. I just can’t.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “God has his own timing.”

  With a scoff, Sean once again did that thing where he rolled his eyes, just like back at the restaurant, when she’d mentioned that she had been praying for him.

  “Don’t tell me that you’ve lost faith.”

  “I’ve lost many things.”

  “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds,” Abby whispered.

  “That’s what I’ve heard.”

  Abby didn’t prod further. It was evident that Sean was in a bitter place. Not only with Abby and the world, but with God himself.

  “So, you’re staying for a while,” she said, striving clumsily to change the subject.

  “Until you kick me out, I suppose.”

  Abby laughed, “I meant in Kenya.”

  Sean paused. He was leaning low in the chair, his elbows resting on his knees, staring at Abby with intense eyes. “Do that again,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

  What did he mean? Was it some sort of threat, daring her to ask about his stay in Kenya? She couldn’t figure him out, this new Sean. This angry Sean.

  “I want to hear you laugh again,” he explained.

  Abby watched his fiery expression. Even in the dark of the evening, through the dim light of the bedside lamp, she could see something. Something hidden and weak, but with the potential to move mountains, and part waters. It was hope. All wasn’t lost. His faith may have been broken, but Abby knew - with faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to a mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible.

  “Give me something to laugh about,” she said.

  Sean sat for a moment, then he pulled a cell phone out of his jacket pocket and tapped through the screens. It was odd watching his movements. He held the phone in his left hand and weakly slid his right forefinger over the glass. It was clear that he couldn’t bend the finger much, but he was able to maneuver it over the screen enough to pull up an image.

  He handed over the phone and saw that it was a paparazzi shot of the two of them standing on a street corner near the bakery where Abby used to get her favorite donuts. Right above them was a large sign stating ‘Warning: High Voltage’, underneath the image were the words ‘POWER COUPLE’.

  Abby had seen it before, in her many hours of perusing the internet. It was a lame meme that had floated around prior to the attack, and Abby had scanned past it on numerous occasions. But this time, with Sean sitting across from her, it was different. They were sitting here, together. The power couple themselves. Abby began to giggle. She put her hand over her mouth to cover up the strange noise that came from her throat. It wasn’t the sweet giggle of a young woman. It was a hoarse chuckle. The only noise that could come from her damaged vocal cords, but she couldn’t stop it. The giggles turned into laughs, and the laughs into sobs. She could feel the water fall over the precipice once again. Usually, she had time to dive into a closet, or escape to a quiet room before the waterworks were shed. But this time there was nowhere to go.

  She felt something placed into her hand as convulsions rocked her body. It was a soft piece of fabric, the handkerchief she’d given him at the cafe, neatly folded and placed into her hand like a precious gift. Abby wiped at her eyes and tried to see his face through the ocean that her vision had become.

  His eyes were red, and Abby could see glistening tears as they lay in rivulets on his cheeks. Their emotions were a confluence. The junction of two rivers. Each river striving to hold onto its own waters, yet inevitably they combine and become something new. Like the Rhone and Arve Rivers in Geneva, and the White and Blue Niles in Sudan.

  They weren’t touching, they weren’t talking, but Abby could feel their thoughts and emotions merging together. She could feel the future.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  ONCE they’d shed all their tears, Abby had agreed to meet with Sean the next Friday. He would pick her up at the apartment - and he would choose the destination.

  During the week, she floated in a surreal haze, accomplishing her work, but not with the intensity that she usually provided. The others didn’t notice, of course. Everyone was busy with their own tasks, and Abby usually managed to stay quiet and hidden anyway, so it wasn’t much different.

  She would often look for Sean when walking home, but the seats outside the cafe were either empty or filled with locals. The only place she could see him was in her imagination… and in the picture that she had taped to the underside of Oyana’s bunk. Abby had secretly printed the Power Couple image on Dr. Otieno’s printer and stared at it every night as she wondered what her future could hold.

  By Friday, Abby was an edgy mess and decided to tidy up the stacks of mail that sat littering her desk and walk to the orphanage for some hugs and cuddles with the children. Nathan had broken into his new shoes quickly and was now racing around with the others. He still had a limp and an awkward gait, but he didn’t let it bother him as he scrambled to catch the now dirty and bedraggled Koosh ball tossed back and forth between kids. She’d had to sew new belt loops into his shorts to keep them up, which left him running around the play yard in tattered underwear for several hours, but he didn’t care. She wondered what would happen when he eventually outgrew the shorts.

  It was seven before Sean arrived at her apartment. An hour later than their original pick-up plan, but Abby was used to the lax schedules in Africa. Very different from the strict adherence to time in the United States and Switzerland.

  Abby and her roommates were sitting on the front porch. Abby was laughing at one of Oyana’s stories when Sean pulled up in a vacant spot directly in front of the building.

  He pulled himself out of the front seat and began to walk around the car as Oyana leaned over to Abby’s ear. “He may be injured, but I will place a bet that he can still produce several healthy boys.” She laughed while Abby only rolled her eyes. Oyana was twenty years old. Many of her friends already had a multitude of babies hanging off their hips. It was just a matter of time before Oyana found a man suitable for fatherhood. Abby prayed that
it would be a good man. A man like… the old Sean, the one that had been happy, and had loved unconditionally. Not this new man, full of anger and spite, but Abby would be happy with either.

  She lifted off the chair and walked down the steps as Oyana waved from the porch. “Have fun tonight. Stay out late. Make boys.” Abby grimaced at the comment but didn’t bother shouting back. Her weak voice couldn’t be heard from any distance.

  Sean opened the door and settled Abby into the car before rounding the hood and shimmying himself back into the driver’s seat.

  “I could have got in myself, you know.”

  Immediately, a swift and angry finger pointed in Abby’s direction. “Don’t…”, then he caught his words and decided against his comment.

  Abby ignored it. She shouldn’t have made the statement anyway. She’d figured out how sensitive he was about his disability… Disability? Sean was disabled? She watched him start the car and drive off towards the city. No. A disability was blindness, loss of hearing, or not being able to talk. A few missing fingers wasn’t a disability. And he wanted to be sure she knew that.

  “Where are we going?” Abby asked, trying to change the tense mood in the car.

  “You hungry?”

  “Never,” she admitted.

  Sean laughed as he pulled out onto the highway. It was a heavenly sound and Abby wondered if she could bottle it for future reference.

  “Do that again,” she said, echoing Sean’s request from the previous week.

  “Give me something to laugh about,” he replied.

  Abby debated relishing him with Oyana’s story that had her laughing on the porch but figured that it wouldn’t be nearly as funny in English. Then she thought of something he surely would find hilarious, though it would result in her own humiliation.