Baggage, page 4
They scare me.
I smile at Kevin
show too many teeth
slide into the desk beside his,
sit straight
on the edge of my chair.
His skin is golden brown,
his thick black hair
flops over his forehead.
“How’s the new brother?”
His dark eyes distract me,
and I cough before I reply.
“Quiet. Hungry. Confused.”
I tell Kevin about his wordlessness
his language
our charades
and laughter,
my go-to phrase, “Ho lokile.”
“Hey,” he says, “like The Lion King.
Hakuna matata, no worries.”
But that’s not true for Thabo.
I explain about the nightmares
the haunted eyes.
“He seems…damaged.”
Kevin listens, nods,
seems to understand.
“Dad says he has demons,
but he’s okay with it.
Dad’s home all day anyway
writing.
Mom just launches herself
into the cause,
like Brittany.”
Kevin’s face softens.
“Yeah. Like Brittany.”
I can’t believe
I’ve talked so much
cover my lips
with my fingers.
Brittany’s crazy
not to see Kevin not only likes her
but really likes her.
It’s wasted on Brittany.
She dabbles in boyfriends
never keeps them long.
I would appreciate
a reaction
like that
to my name
especially from Kevin.
Madame Robert clears her throat.
“Bonjour, tout le monde. Ca va bien?”
We both face front.
Now I have to concentrate
with Kevin beside me.
KEVIN
French homework
done fast
in my spare.
Leah’s explanation
made the l’imperatif exercise easy.
I turn to my laptop.
An online report
on abandoned minors
leaves more questions.
Is Thabo legally a separated
or abandoned child?
Is the old woman
a “person of concern”?
How old is he
and can he prove it?
Where does he go from here?
Back to the place
that gave him nightmares?
Thabo
I went to school
in my village
for some few years.
In my home
school was serious.
The teachers frowned
yelled
punished me for laughing.
I wanted to go past Form 2
to make a better life
but school fees
and uniforms
cost more
than my mother made.
Then she died
and I had to learn
to care
for myself.
My older sister
went her own way.
In Canada
the teacher talks
in a friendly voice,
smiles kindly.
This building is beautiful.
Light shines through windows in the roof,
desks and chairs,
computers for everyone,
and someone else
who cleans up.
Students sigh
and roll their eyes
when we have work to do.
How do they learn
when it is all
so easy?
Brittany
We send Thabo home
with Leah
stay late at the Leadership meeting.
They love my Thabo memes and posters
especially now
they’ve seen him
for real.
“This is like the best campaign ever!”
Courtenay gushes.
I can always count on her.
We need cash for a lawyer,
more than bake sales
and carwashes
can give us.
I start a publicity committee
plan a GoFundMe page;
they all want to help.
Kevin will find the media contacts
We’ll all blitz our networks
maybe start an online petition.
We’ll get the city lit.
The money will start to flow.
I’m good at this.
KEVIN
We leave school in the rainy dark
walk fast to my car
close the doors
against the wind-whipped wet leaves
settle into the leather seats.
“Remember those designer clothing ads?”
Brittany says,
“Black and white people together?
We need some just like that
of Thabo and me.”
I wonder where this is going.
“Okay.”
“And you too
cause you’re Chinese.”
“Yes, I am.”
She relaxes as the seat heater kicks in.
“We can get an angle on this
a media campaign
of the modern
inclusive
multicultural
socially responsible
high school.
And we’re all good looking.”
“Thanks,” I say,
but I know
it’s not a compliment.
It’s a strategy.
The engine purrs
as we ease out of the parking lot.
I shake off the weird,
bounce questions off Brittany.
“I need to know
how Thabo got into Canada.
Did the old woman claim refugee status?
Who is she?
Where is she?
Is she part
of some child trafficking scheme?”
Brit turns to me, her eyes wide.
“Wouldn’t that be great?”
I look at her.
“No, really.
I mean, like,
social media
would be all over that.”
Brittany talks
the rest of the way to her house.
I drive.
She doesn’t notice
I don’t answer.
Leah
He gets what I say
mostly.
When he talks
he swears.
Obscenities
pepper his sentences.
When we puzzle them out
my mother’s head pulls back
eyebrows pinch.
Brittany laughs out loud.
“Now Rebecca, it’s what he knows,”
my dad soothes.
She holds her hand
to her forehead.
Thabo’s eyes flit
from one to another
then to me
worry on his forehead.
“Ho lokile,” I assure him.
“You’ll get more words soon,
better words.
These ones are ugly.”
His face smooths.
He nods
as if he understands.
Brittany
Thabo makes a good
poster boy.
Facebook icons, retweets
Instagram shares
spread his picture
and my slogans
through the networks.
Even the newspaper
puts a photo of me
and Thabo
on the front of the local news section.
The article is long
gives a bunch of legal stuff,
boring
but our picture
looks awesome.
We have collection boxes at school and Kevin’s church
to pay for the paperwork
or the lawyer
or something.
Homerooms are competing
for who can raise the most cash.
Winners get a class pizza party.
I’ve set them all
on fire.
Leah
In computer drafting class
I watch Kevin at the computer
fingers flying
eyes focused on the screen.
His hands curl over the keyboard
like question marks.
He flicks his hair
out of his eyes.
Magic flows from
his flashing fingers.
Huh
he grunts in triumph
as his 3D object spins
on the screen.
KEVIN
My parents
demand progress reports.
Calculus quiz
English essay
Chemistry lab
Computer Science project.
Results.
Only 92? Study harder.
We didn’t move here
sacrifice our lives
leave your grandparents
for you to waste time
on clubs
posters
refugees.
You have bigger goals.
They’ve set their own goals,
told me they’re mine.
This country is too soft.
Refugees
who believes the stories?
We work hard
make sacrifices.
Why can’t they?
I tell them about Thabo
left at the airport
hungry
illiterate
washed up on the shores
of the baggage carousel.
They sniff.
Let in one
they grow like bamboo
spread through the country
don’t work, collect money.
Helping them
makes us weak.
I turn to my computer.
I know they want me to succeed
to make their sacrifices worthwhile
but we have different ideas
about what that means.
I’m not gonna change their minds.
I pick my battles
and this isn’t one of them.
Brittany
When Leah talks to him
Thabo’s eyes light up.
She’s learned words
in his language.
When she leaves the room
he watches for her return.
I’m just another
pretty face.
My sister
always was a smart
ass.
I call Kevin over.
He comes running.
The Reverend
In the front pew
a row of youth group members
alive with mission
Kevin’s beautiful young friend
and the refugee boy
in their ranks.
Beside Kevin, a woman my age
short blonde hair, strong jaw
tailored red jacket over black slacks
professional even on Sundays,
watches through dark eyes.
In the middle
grey-haired ladies
nod approvingly as the words
pour like a baptismal flood
gurgling of despair
exploitation
victims
and doing the right thing.
Husbands
wait out the sermon
until the reward,
tea and cookies.
Ms Nelson
He looks more like
an outdoor guide
than a minister of the Lord,
long arms
red hair turning white
blue eyes in a tanned face.
A scent of cedar
clings to his robe.
Is he wearing hiking boots?
He grips the pulpit
leans forward for momentum.
Sermon over, his call to action settling
over the congregation,
he announces the hymn.
Brittany rises beside me at Kevin’s nudge
The congregation sings
with the choir
Let the flame of love burn higher
This is a church on fire.
During community announcements
Brittany, Kevin and Thabo walk to the front.
Kevin stares at the floor, mumbles an introduction.
Surely I’ve taught him better speaking skills than that.
Brittany bubbles with energy
holds Thabo’s arm possessively,
explains his situation
flashes smiles, tosses her hair,
rolls her eyes disarmingly.
The whole congregation
longs to open their hearts
and their wallets.
Thabo nods
smiles shyly.
“Thank you,” he says.
We are charmed.
Leah
Mom raises her eyebrows
as I lean over my plate.
“Leah, are you working too hard, honey?”
I straighten,
hiding my fatigue after a Sunday afternoon
of Kinect baseball
at Alisha’s empty house
instead of finishing Math homework.
I turn back to black bean chili
and her concern.
“I’m okay, Mom. Just some Math to do.”
Under the table
Yoko leans against my leg,
hoping for scraps.
I ask Mom about her shift last night.
She launches into stories
of a myocardial infarction,
a fatal three-car collision,
a lonely senior
with indigestion.
Brittany and Dad add commentary
then Brittany talks about church
and the flow of donations
after their appearance.
Across the table
Thabo grips his spoon
scoops up chili,
eats hunks of French bread in two bites.
After three weeks
he still doesn’t do
dinner conversation.
Late at night, Math done,
I pass the open door of his room
on my way to bed.
It’s dark and quiet.
Later, as I drift off
I hear from his room
a wire-thin wailing.
Brittany
The coins and bills
flow in
first in a trickle
then
as Thabo’s sweet shy smile wins hearts,
in a flood.
The appeal spreads
as I knew it would
through glossy posters
Facebook photos
Twitter feeds
a couple of YouTube videos
taken with a cell phone
in the school rotunda.
But we can do better.
Leah
Brittany’s wired
when she gets home from school,
her cheeks flushed
with success.
Looks like we’ve got enough
for a lawyer
or maybe someone will do it
pro bono.
As if she knew
what that was
before Kevin told her.
Thabo kicks off his shoes
as soon as he walks in
settles on his haunches
holds out a hand
to the dog’s eager adoring face.
Thabo
A man
in a blue suit
asks me questions.
Ms Nelson says he is a lawyer.
I tell him
the old woman told me to say
she was my grandmother
took my passport
my identification papers
said she would return
very soon
left me at the baggage place.
I tell him
I don’t know
my date of birth.
I lived on the street
slept in doorways
got food
where I could find it
stole
when it was necessary.
I am careful
not to tell him
the bad things.
Ms Nelson
Immigration writes
to me as Designated Representative
tells me their
x-rays
measurements
tests
while inconclusive
suggest Thabo could be
over 18
a legal adult
not subject to protection
as an abandoned child.
They’ve taken into account
the effects of malnutrition
lack of medical care
in determining age.
It creates the illusion
of youth, they say.
As an adult
he is subject
to deportation legislation.
No papers
