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by Sabah Kaid Aljahmee
Appeared originally as a New York City Feature Story on www.youthcomm.org.
"Fear and insecurity are the biggest challenges that I have to face because of my immigrant status," said Ibrahim (not his real name).
Ibrahim, 18, came from Yemen at age 12. Ibrahim overstayed his visa, and doesn't have a green card to live in America legally. Yet he has managed to hold down a job at a grocery store to help support his family.
Ibrahim isn't sure how long he'll be able to stay here because of a U.S. government policy that requires immigrants from certain countries to register with immigration offices.
Certain Countries Singled Out
Starting in November 2002, people from 25 countries thought to be the highest terrorism risks have been required to go to immigration offices to be fingerprinted and photographed. Most countries on the list have a majority Muslim population, like Pakistan, Bangladesh, Indonesia, Algeria, and Saudi Arabia.
Male immigrants with U.S. visas (including international students) or whose permanent resident status is pending are required to register. So are undocumented immigrants. Women, green card holders, naturalized citizens, children under 16, and those who were granted political asylum are not required to register.
Once immigrants have registered with authorities, they must wait to see if the government will allow them to stay or send them back to their countries. According to an April New York Times article, more than 2,300 illegal immigrants have been held by authorities.
Having to Wait
Ibrahim went to immigration offices at the beginning of January. Once there, he felt weird and scared because he didn't know what was going to happen to him.
"They asked me personal questions, like how long I have been in this country. With who? Why?" he said. Then they took his passport and told him that they'd send him papers which would tell the date that he should return to their offices.
Ibrahim knows other members of the Muslim community who are waiting to hear what the government's decision will be. "They are scared about what's going to happen next and how they are going to support their families," he said. "This program is violating our human rights."
Ibrahim feels that law-abiding Muslims are being singled out and that the real terrorists are not going to voluntarily show up at immigration offices. "I wonder if I stay any longer, if I'll have to wear a sign on me that says, ÔI am a Muslim and Arab,'" he said.
Considers Himself an American
Still, Ibrahim wants to remain here because he's lived in New York for almost seven years, and considers himself an American. He has many friends here and wants to take his GED. He has dreams of being a mechanic. "I want to be able to fix cars and air conditioners," said Ibrahim.
Ibrahim's faith has helped him deal with the uncertainty of his status. "I fear no one except God," he said, and is proud to be a Muslim.
Even immigrants with proper documentation have experienced fear about living in the U.S.
"Sometimes, I feel insecure because I am Arab and Muslim," said Nasser Almasri, 18, who came here from Yemen when he was 16. "But I feel more comfortable to ask for help [from police] than Arabs with no papers."
Legal Immigrants Worried Also
Although none of Nasser's family had to go to immigration offices because they either have green cards or are citizens, he thinks that the registration law is unjust.
"The new registration law makes many difficulties for the immigrants who came here to have a better life, to support their families, and gain more education," said Nasser. He fears that government action could soon be taken against immigrants who are here legally.
"I am afraid that Arabs and Muslims with papers could be kicked out from this country any minute," said Nasser. "Since September 11, Arabs and Muslims with papers and with no papers are the same in Americans' eyes."
As a result, Nasser feels that his life in the U.S. has changed. Before 9/11, he considered America his second country. But after 9/11 and since the registration appeared, Nasser, who teaches 5th graders in an after-school program, feels like he can't think about his future career and dreams, which I can understand.
I'm originally from Yemen as well. Although I am here legally, I fear that I won't be able to fulfill my dream of becoming a pharmacist because there's no telling what new policies may arise that could single out Muslims even more.
"I know some people who have papers, but they left this country since the registration law appeared," Nasser said. Rather than getting kicked out by the government, "they said they wanted to leave this country by themselves, with their dignity."
by Sabah Kaid Aljahmee
I don't know what to write
because I'm trying to resist the reality
Hard to live in the same domicile
that all the walls remind me of our nightly talks
It's just like the sensation of missing one eye
and leaving the other to live futility
ÔCause the words are railroad in my tongue
and it doesn't work daily
Oh, maybe once a fortnightly
And keeping a journal as friend
is not what I want actually
But what I have to do if each part in the body dies
except the hand when it holds the pen confusedly
looking for the words that may express the feelings...
hopefully
Here shall be the end!
Don't worry it's a message with no responsibility.
By Salma Ajahmee
Looking at the distance between you and me
Thinking how hard is it going to be
For you and me
People talk about ways of connection
Letters, emails, phone calls and a lot to mention
But when it comes to you and me, they all malfunction
And it seems like we're a separate nation
Maybe that's why patience is one of our qualifications
Every now and then I look at the sky and the situation of the sun and the moon
I think of you and me
But mostly our unknown destiny
You see, the moon is surrounded by the lovely and shining stars
They all wish to be the closest to the moon
But I guess it doesn't seem to care
It only cares about its lovely sun
Unfortunately, they can't meet and that's exactly what I deeply fear
I fear being away from you forever
And meeting you sounds like never
Luckily, I think of it as maybe and however
Maybe my soul failed to meet you
And maybe my eyes failed to see you
However, my heart will not fail to love you.
by Samantha Carlin
Published in The Apprentice Writer, an art and literary magazine generated by Susquehanna University.
Oneandtwo and oneandtwo and Rubber against asphalt, feet moving so fast I almost feel like I'm flying. I live to run. No, I run to live. Oneandtwo and oneandtwo and Never stop, never give up. Keep the beat going. Oneandtwo and oneandtwo and Breathe. Don't forget to breathe. Enjoy the sting of winter air filling my lungs. Oneandtwo and oneandtwo and Let Central Park blur around me so all I see is the tips of my feet and my arms disappearing and reappearing alternatively. Oneandtwo and oneandtwo and Find that comfort zone where running becomes mechanical and no longer physical. That's what Coach always used to say, "When you remove the mind from the body, Hayden, that's when you'll never stop running." Oneandtwo and oneandtwo and Easier said than done. The beat of my heart matches the beat of my feet, but I have to drown out their noise... "remove the mind from the body... you'll never stop running." Oneandtwo and oneandtwo and I wonder what happened to old Coach. If only he could see me now. What a shock he'd be in for, he'd probably choke on his whistle. Breathe. Oneandtwo and oneandtwo and "remove the mind from the body... you'll never stop running." Oneandtwo and oneandtwo and Cross-country was probably the best thing I ever did in high school. Shit, high school. There's a topic I haven't revisited in God knows how long. High school was completely over-rated, anyway. And we all thought it was so important. The only good thing I got out of it was a free ride to Columbia and cross-country. Oneandtwo and oneandtwo and Maybe if I hadn't been so damn weird. That awkward smart kid who happened to be good at running- which wasn't even a real sport anyway according to the rest of the school. My pants were always too short or I said the wrong thing or got too many A's. What an irony. This place that was supposed to breed achievers and condone academic greatness... ruled by dumb jock tyrants. Ah but screw that. Who the hell cares about high school now? No one I know. Oneandtwo and oneandtwo and I'm not awkward or weird or too skinny now. My muscles look better than a damn quarterback's. I'm sexy. I am so sexy that just looking at me turns everyone on. I look in the mirror, and hell, even I turn myself on. Or maybe I better shut myself up now before my ego gets too big. I need a good kick in the balls or something Oneandtwo and oneandtwo and I should just call my father. Yes, that would cut me right down to size. The bastard. I got a free ride to an Ivy League University and he still could barely muster a pat on the back. His silences cut like ice coated knives more than his discouraging words wring every bit of self worth out of me. He resents me; I can feel it in his sidelong stares. He resents Mom for getting pregnant. We got in the way of his smooth ride to greatness. Well, I'm sorry Dad, but you're the one who knocked her up in the first place. All actions have consequences, didn't you always used to tell me that? But you were always one of those do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do type of guys. You taught me that respect, discipline, determination, and hard work were the only things that will get me anywhere in life. "Don't let anyone or anything get in the way of your goals. If you do, it will only lead to an unsatisfying life." You told me with flat lips before glancing at my mother from the corner of your eye. Did you forget how smart your son was? I saw right through you. I could read your subtext like it was printed right there on the page. I wanted to leap across the table, take your neck in my hands and not let go until your eyes glazed over and became still. Blue lips and horror. Maybe I just should have killed you. Saved us all the extra pain. But now I'm just fucking bitter. Because when I did what you said you changed your mind, and when I succeeded it was never good enough. I just want to curl up in a damn ball in the corner of my apartment because with every paycheck I push more people away. Thanks, Dad. I appreciate the push towards material success. But emotionally and spiritually I might as well be dead. Oneandtwo and oneandtwo and I just want to scream; I want to let out a yawp so barbaric that I lose my voice afterwards. Running is the only thing that reminds me I'm still alive as frigid wind rips through my jacket and T-shirt, piercing my back like a thousand sharp needles being pushed further and further beneath the surface of my skin. Oneandtwo and oneandtwo and Damn it. Forget the wind. Ignore the needles. Feel nothing but the rhythm of my own thoughts in my head. Breathe. Remove the mind from the body... you'll never stop running. Weather does not exist. Breathe. Remove the mind. Never stop. Run. Breathe. Mechanical. Remove the mind from the body. Breathe. Forget the wind. Ignore the needles. Run. Run. Mechanical. Remove the mind. Run. From the body. Run. Breathe. Remove the mind Oneandtwo and oneandtwo and Angela. She's so beautiful. When we were together it always shocked me, her beauty, no matter how familiar she had become. God was she gorgeous. I can still see her wavy milk chocolate brown hair cascading far beneath her shoulders. It falls in front of my face every time she leans in to kiss me. She laughs in that cute little way that she does, scrunching up her nose and peering at me through her jet black eyes like she knows some secret that I don't. She twists her hair at the nape of her neck to get it out of my way. But then she kisses me, and her hair just falls at the sides of my face anyway. Because her fingers always seem to slip between mine. Daydreams. And I almost had her. That cup-of-coffee-with-milk-and-two-sugars colored skin was almost all mine. I used to run faster, when I was with her. "Corre hacia tu futuro, Aydeen." She would whisper every morning into my neck as she crawled from beneath white sheets, while I was leaned over, tying my shoelaces. "Pero, no corras desde tu pasado." And then her mocha lips would graze my neck; her hands would meet my back and nudge me onto my feet. Oneandtwo and oneandtwo and I miss her. But I blame myself. I betray her daily, as I run from my past and make no progress towards my future. My future as a human, that is. My future as a robotic workaholic, well I make progress towards that every day. I should have listened to her. "You don't know how it feels to be with you yet always know that as much as you love me you love your job more." She let out a chuckle and wiped mascara filled tears from her face, which only served to smudge the black liquid further. That chuckle still mystifies me. Was she laughing at me, or at herself? "Un dia... un dia you are going to wake up with nothing... con nada." "I'll have my apartment, my car, I'll always know that I'm secure, that I achieved what I set out to." "Ai that's bullshit. They are just... just things. They are nothing in themselves." She breathed out. "Do you even realize what I am trying to say to you?" I didn't. I stared at her blankly. "I can't be with you anymore, not when I was once your everything and now I'm just second place to your paycheck. So... I must... must... " I took a step towards her. "Please, don't. I need you." My bottom lip quivered and I could feel my stomach at my feet. "I can change. I can change." She met her black eyes with mine one last time and half- smiled. "You never listen to me." She said it sweetly though and pressed her lips against my forehead. A stray tear fell from her eye onto my nose. "Farewell, Aydeen." I tried to pull her back. But she was too quick. She fled across the golden wooden floors of my apartment, and didn't look back. And I... I can't stop thinking about her. Two years and I've only become everything she said I would. Someone with nothing. Oneandtwo and oneandtwo and I can't stand myself anymore. I have to change. Oneandtwo and oneandtwo and I can't go on at these fake dinner parties and charity benefits that I don't even believe in. I can't dance with the CEO's daughter just because it will put an extra grand on my Christmas Bonus. Oneandtwo and oneandtwo and I don't even know who I am. I'm just this... this empty version of a human being. I go through the motions. Oneandtwo and oneandtwo and I run for the motions. For knowing that it will always be the same. Oneandtwo and oneandtwo and I will always have control over my pace, my speed, my breath. I live to run. No, I run to live. Oneandtwo and oneandtwo and
by Samantha Carlin
Written during the Memoir Workshop.
They used to give out free cookies at the Shop Rite bakery. And every Sunday—or whatever day we happened to be in the supermarket—my twin sister and I would get the half-chocolate covered ones with pink or white or blue or green sprinkles embedded into the candy, with a gooey layer of red strawberry jam sandwiched between the crumbly butter cookies. We used to nibble at them slowly, methodically scraping the coat of sprinkles and chocolate off with our front teeth in a silent competition to see who could make the cookie last the longest. She always won. Even then, as a small child, 7 or 8 years old, I felt like her perpetual victory was a testament to who we were. Like she was the small, delicate one, and her delicate bites of the cookie came from the fragility within. And as I often bit off the top to experience the delicious fusion of chocolate, sprinkles, pastry and jam melting in my mouth and permeating my taste buds as one, I was the tough one, who, even in my adolescence, dove into the world head on. And for some reason I didn't want to be.
Alexcia Foster
I told you, I had the power! Yeah! The power! In my beautiful hands! Can't you see it? I have the power to do anything that I want! Anything! These hands are so big and strong. They have the power. I HAVE THE POWER! I HAVE THE POWER TO MAKE YOU PAY! I showed you, yes I did. I showed you what these ten fingers could do. THAT'S WHY YOU ARE ON THE GROUND BLEEDING, DEAD!
(Person talking to empty space on the ground and toward the audience).
I have taken your life.
(With a smirk, he says:)
They say I am crazy and I lost my mind. I'M NOT CRAZY! I'M JUST IN LOVE! (Silent pause, he looks away from the audience and looks at the body with soft-spoken words, he says:).
Please don't leave me. I love you. I LOVED YOU! Stay with me. Stay with me forever. You are my love, my joy, my hope and my everything. Don't leave me. Please?
(Pause-he looks toward the audience).
From the moment I met her on the busy streets of New York I knew she was the one, my love. I saw her and stopped her and told her how beautiful she was. As we talked I watched the movement of her lips and the way her eyes danced. I just knew she was attracted to me and wanted to know more about me. She didn't say it but I just knew. It was love at first sight. I got her phone number and I called her all the time. She was always busy. Finally, she agreed to meet me. Our attractions matched up with our reactions, or so I thought. Her deceptive love blinded me and turned me into a lovesick fool. I did everything to please her.
(Looking at the empty space on the floor).
BUT THAT WASN'T ENOUGH FOR YOU, WAS IT? You thought you had me fooled, didn't you? You thought you had power over me. I HAVE THE POWER! I STILL HAVE THE POWER AND I KILLED YOU! I wanted you to stay with me forever. Forever, you would have been mine. I HAVE THE POWER. I AM GOD, BOW DOWN TO ME! Ha, why even bother, you already have.
(Pause, looking towards the audience).
I wrote her this poem. I wanted to give it to her that night; it's little but true.
My life is what you are
You are the only joy in my life
That holds such piece
The kisses you give are so special to me
They give me hope to see another day
I love you without end!
The night I was to give it to her, we had a date. I called and went to her job to pick her up. She was nowhere to be found. All that was left was a vacation notice and a note for me. She said she had another man and that she never loved me. She said I was a stupid wimp and I was easy to use. DID SHE THINK SHE COULD JUST LEAVE ME LIKE THAT! DID YOU THINK YOU COULD HIDE FROM ME!
(Looking at the empty space on the floor).
WELL, I FOUND YOU AND MADE YOU PAY FOR YOUR LIES! I HAD THE POWER. I STILL HAVE THE POWER! (With sobbing tears) LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO! It's your blood glaring at me. I have your bloodstain on my fingertips and all over my hands. I have killed you, my love! My love, my precious love. Maybe I shouldn't have killed you. Maybe I should have let you live. I couldn't let you live with another. I couldn't handle not having you. Did I really have to kill you? Did you really leave me? Couldn't I keep you forever? I NEEDED YOU, and now you're gone. Why? I missed you, I still miss you...
(Pause)
You said in a letter that I was weak and that I couldn't stop you from doing anything. You said that I was nothing to you. No!! You didn't care anymore. Throughout everything, I shall still love you and hate you forever. While we were together, I would tell her I had the power to make her happy, but somewhere in here I didn't think she believed me. The love I felt for her turned to rage when I found out. I couldn't handle it and I changed into two beings. One named rage, the other sweet sorrow, THEY KILLED HER! THESE TWO BEINGS KILLED HER. And now as I look into your cold, still eyes, I see that I can't live without you. You may not have loved me but I sure loved you! I can't live without the fact that you really never loved me and I can't live without your bright beautiful eyes gazing into mine.
I'LL MEET YOU IN HELL!
(And with that, he shot himself in the head, right next to his love.)
by Josette Manzano
The hourglass shifts from half empty
to half full.
As each grain ticks away another second
of life,
the sun slowly settles into the horizon,
parting with a farewell overflowing with
red and orange hues.
As the landscape alters, giving birth to the
unknown, the shadows play on the fear of
children, freezing them in their slumber.
The firmament illuminates the windows to
the soul as the dreamer stands in awe
of the vast expanse of the universe.
Reason cannot unlock the secrets of this world,
only faith and divine revelation,
with unsatisfied curiosity, centuries old,
the dreamer returns to her bearings,
constrained by the four corners of the earth.
Sitting beneath a weeping willow, she observes
her world change as the vibrant light over the
horizon pierces through another day, as the
hourglass shifts her world from rightside up
to upside down.
by Stephanie Nolasco
Written during Journal Writing Workshop.
My bedroom. What a princess's fantasy. Vanilla curtains cover the rays of the glowing sun. A warm, fluffy, cake-like bed with layers and layers of strawberry covers fat, ripe, cherry pillows. Hundreds of dolls, all types, all forms. Barbies, Ken's, imports, babies, you name it, I’ve had it. They all pollute the room with their pearly white smiles and long blonde hair. How I wish I were one of them. Smiling, getting all the attention a girl wants. The intoxicating smell of roses and fresh cream makes me want to hurl. I am tired of all the silk and ruffles. I am tired of the mirrors that stare at me with their decorative precious jewels. I am sick of it all. I want it to disappear. I want to play with cars, throw rocks at the neighbors, and beat up my siblings. This girlie stuff is way too boring for me. I need a messy and dark room, smelling like burning gasoline. I need motorcycles, wrestling, and hard-core rock band posters. Remove me of this dress. Give me a pair of jeans. Give me a new gender.
by Liz Platt
On Sunday morning Adam came upon a root.
Or at least it looked like a root.
It was thick and brown and had fine little dirt-covered hairs on it,
Sort of like a stringy, stretched out potato
Sticking vertically out of the ground.
And it looked like it held some treasure on the other end
Some mystery buried deep into the holy soil.
So Adam pulled.
He pulled and he pulled and finally with a "pop!"
He drew the root from the mother ground.
And out came oil.
It sprouted out and out in eternal orgasm
Seas full of thick, black, greasy oil.
It was truly a Sabbath miracle.
Years of rotting vegetation
Death and decay of a thousand of God's creatures
Lying, stagnant beneath frothy moss and vital grass
Christened by the blood of the last unicorn
Had produced this liquid force.
The all-powerful, stinking sticky sweet
American apostle petroleum,
To fuel Adam's car
And Eve's General Electric stove
Over which she cooked Adam's piping hot meals.
Adam licked his lips at the site of the geyser
The stream of gurgling oil dancing out of the earth's crust
It's own funny little victory dance.
He dropped the golden red apple
Untasted, from his hand
And ran to tell his lover of the blessing bestowed upon them both.
Now Adam and Eve, the happy couple
Drilled into the hole where the oil sprouted
With muscled pipes and toothed wheels
Pumping and steaming for the lacy oil.
Collecting it into muddy pools
Where stamped in big red letters it said
Garden of Eden Petroleum Company.
And the porous ground gushed oil
And the sunny garden was warm and bright
And Adam and Eve lived the rest of their days in bounty
Sailing God's rivers in their shiny, clean white yacht
Cruising the garden in their sexy red convertible
Which was pumped full of hot, black Garden of Eden gasoline.
Hair streaming out behind the wind,
Palms greasy.
On the eighth day God created oil.
And the oil was black
And the oil was good.
by Liz Platt
Okay
He is (a Villanelle)
He is the inside of an empty box
The packaging holds promises
He is what falls between the raindrops
He is a garden made of rocks
With fern creeping through tiny cracks
He is the inside of an empty box
He is the scythe that gathers the crops
Only a tool for the real hunger
He is what falls between the raindrops
He is a clockmaker's clocks
The time passes but has lost its meaning
He is the inside of an empty box
He is a head of shining golden locks
That you can almost feel the scissors cut
He is what falls between the raindrops
He is a green onion's core
Lives above the ceiling, behind the door
He is the inside of an empty box
He is what falls between the raindrops
by Veralyn Williams
Inspired by Playwriting and Screenwriting Workshop.
At rise:
Tiffany is doing homework on the bed. Tanya is heard running up the stairs, and then bursts
into the room, dropping her coat on the floor.
Tanya:
I had the craziest dream last night.
Tiffany:
Another one?
Tanya:
And you wouldn't guess what this one was about.
Tiffany:
Are all your ex boyfriends after you again?
Tanya:
No. I kissed a girl.
Tiffany:
Ok.
Tanya:
And not in a hello, then kiss on the cheek kind of way. It was a full frontal where we're about to
have sex, kind of kiss.
Tiffany:
You're a lesbian now. I'm happy for you.
Tanya:
You think this means I'm a lesbian?
Tiffany:
You're not a lesbian.
Tanya:
I did catch myself checking out this girl's ass today. She had a big ass.
Tiffany:
You look at everyone's ass.
Tanya:
I know, but it's different now if I'm a lesbian.
Tiffany:
You're not a lesbian.
Tanya:
How do you know?
Tiffany:
I just do.
Tanya:
Kiss me.
Tiffany:
What?
Tanya:
It's the only way we'll know for sure is if you kiss me.
Tiffany:
(Goes back to her work)
Tanya:
Come on, I'd do it for you.
Tiffany:
Well, when I ask you for a kiss, you can say no, and then we'll be even.
Tanya:
Come on, (in a sexy voice) you know you want to.
Tiffany:
I think I'm goin to get you a pet.
Tanya:
I'll put on some chapstick. (Goes to her bag, looks through it)
Tiffany:
I would get you a cat, but I'm allergic.
Tanya:
(Pulls out two kinds of chapstick) Which one do you like better, vanilla or strawberry?
Tiffany:
Not a dog, you'd never walk it.
Tanya:
(Licks both sticks) Strawberry tastes better.
Tiffany:
I think a small goldfish would be best.
Tanya:
Darren always liked strawberry on me. I wonder how he's doing.
Tiffany:
I saw him with Ms. Thing the other day.
Tanya:
Ms. Thing Ms. Thing?
Tiffany:
Yup, and they were all hugged up in front of the school.
Tanya:
Well, she can have hijm. (Laughs) Wait until she finds out about his problem (Emphasize Ôproblem')
Tiffany:
You know her fast ass probably already found out.
Tanya:
That will teach her that sometimes another man's trash ain't treasure, it's just trash.
Tiffany:
Amen to that.
Tanya:
You ready.
Tiffany:
I'm not going to kiss you.
Tanya:
What, are you scared?
Tiffany:
Yes, that's it, I'm scared.
Tanya:
Who knows, maybe we're both lesbians.
Tiffany:
I knew that was coming.
Tanya:
Together in another life...
Tiffany:
I'm hungry.
Tanya:
Destined to always love each other always.
Tiffany:
You want to go get something to eat?
Tanya:
This is serious...
Tiffany:
We an go to Popeye's.
Tanya:
What day is today?
Tiffany:
Wednesday.
Tanya:
Does he work Wednesdays?
Tiffany:
Yup.
Tanya:
I was getting kind of hungry. (Grabbing her coat)
Tiffany:
(Gets her coat) That's what I figured.
by Four Mentees
Written during the Fiction Workshop.
Free-spirited Betty just wanted freedom. She walked
out of her door and left her past behind her. She
tires of dreaming and setting aside her goals. She
smiles at her new start. The Floridian life, is not a
life for her. It cannot compete with artistic views.
She is the true renaissance woman. Where she will be,
who knows.
She smiles to herself—once she becomes a New Yorker,
no one from her old life will even recognize her. It
will be like she has dyed her hair or gained 40 lbs
except that it will only be her attitude that has
changed. She is now a super hero—Betty the Enigma
swooping down on Gotham City. Florida can't compete.
Betty is taking Manhattan. Perhaps she will even be
the spark for a new artistic movement.
In New York she will attend poetry readings and pick
up funky necklaces at street fairs. She will have
friends with names like Gina and Sergio and they will
all be writers or fainters or academics. She'll be
able to forget all about John and his family. She
will travel to London and Rome instead of the Bahamas
every year around April. She won't miss weekend
drives to the Beach because she'll be too busy
enjoying her new life.
And, as always, she will be miserable. After two
weeks, two months maybe, it will all be too small and
too familiar. She will know her neighborhood too
well, but won't want to bother leaving it. The people
will be unfriendly, the pint will cost half a Ferrari
and she'll be freezing her ass off despite her crisp
Florida tan. Already she had to shake off the feeling
once or twice that her hollowness will never be filled.
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