Arrival

Blinding lights like an operation room.

I curl myself in the booster seat,

Woven polyester straps pulled to the sides.

Muffled roars of arriving flights make for difficult napping.

If I keep my eyes closed, will they think I’m asleep?

Whispering, hugging, kissing, reuniting.

Maybe I won’t have to walk?

He picks it up,

Back and forth, back and forth.

Rhythmic, entrancing, monotonous.

Click, clack, click, clack.

Strong, safe, sure.

Sliding doors make way for our departure.

A blast of humidity, thick and suffocating.

If I open one eye, surely he won’t notice?

Warm golden glow of street lamps light the path to our vehicle.

We will soon be in our new home,

In a new town,

In a new state.

Mom looks relieved,

Sister looks defeated,

He looks triumphant.

I’m so glad to see him again,

My sister would scold me for it.

She tells me he is not our father.

No one can replace our father.

But maybe, just maybe,

He could try?