In the morning, I heard my mom talking to my dad. She asked him why none of the countries that spoke her language would let us stay there. I knew she was worried. She usually sang happily to me, but this time her throat sounded dry and her voice seemed sad.
Later on, she came to me, smiled and put on my favorite bib. It was blue and white, and it had a bear on it. She told me that we were going somewhere nice and that she loved me.
My dad dragged a bag out the door, and we followed him. They both looked back at what we called home with heaviness that filled the room.
On the bus, my mom breastfed me until I fell asleep. When I woke up, my dad was asking another man for directions as my mother cried.
After a while, we sat in a moving thing. My mom used to call it “boat” in one of her songs. It rocked like mommy’s hands. There was wind which blew my bib up in my face. My mom held me tight against her chest and whispered our usual night prayers. Only I know it wasn’t bedtime or night.