STRANIERA

Part 1

"One coffee, please," I requested.

"Will that be all?" Wendy, as her name badge indicated, asked.

"Yeah, thanks," I nodded at Wendy across from me.

I tapped my card on the card machine, and after receiving my waiting ticket, I sat down on one of those uncomfortable steel waiting chairs. I fidgeted, trying to retrieve my phone from the red handbag, which, as a matter of fact, was not mine.

This morning, there was a light snowstorm throughout the night. The early morning sun melted the snow, creating wet and slippery roads. As I walked to my small red Kia, Sylvester, our black Great Dane, decided to greet me by jumping on me with his front paws. Out of reaction, I dropped my handbag, and, with my luck, it fell right into a water puddle. I was already late for work. I politely shouted for my mother to grab me another one. She brought out this red one, and I didn't have time to send it back or make a fuss about it, so I just said 'thank you' in a miserable tone. The handbag wasn't sore on the eyes because it was red but because I was wearing a baby pink hoodie with olive-green skinny jeans. It just didn't fit in with the outfit.

Just a quick thought, why is Tim Hortons so busy at 2 a.m. in the morning? Shouldn't these people be sleeping? Shouldn't I be sleeping? But at this moment, sleeping isn't the answer to my busy mind. I switch my phone on to look at the time. I've been waiting for 7 minutes just for black, bitter coffee. I take a quick glance at my lock screen picture. It's a monochromatic picture of me and my twin brother with our matching tattoos. I got mine on my wrist, and he got his on his left arm muscle. The tattoo consists of a fraction. Danny was born a few minutes before me, so he is technically the oldest, so he got '1/2,' and on my wrist, I got '2/2,' and under it 'tu étais aimé je te salue.'

"Order number 7," a voice says over the barely hanging-on-wire speakers. How old is this Tim Hortons? This place wasn't my first choice, but it was the first drive-thru I saw after driving around town for about half an hour that was open. I put my phone back into the handbag and go to the counter to receive my coffee, giving Wendy a weak smile.

I climb into my car and just sit there, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. As I exhale, I take a small sip from the coffee and put it into the cup holder, throwing the handbag over to the back seat just to hear how it falls on the floor. I just squint my eyes shut. I turn my body around to face the back, stretching to reach the zipper of the handbag, just to open it and struggle to get my phone out. I open the phone's security system with my middle fingerprint. It was an inside joke between Danny and me. The thought of that made a little smile escape from my mouth. I swipe straight to my emails and open my latest email that I've already read three times today. This is the email keeping me away from sleep, the same email making me wander around town at these hours.

The email reads as follows:

Dear Miss V Schoor,

We hope you're doing well. Under these circumstances, we are not doing well. We are a small town on a farm in Afghanistan, Asia. We have lost many teachers during the past year, and the reasons are unclear. We received a recommendation from the school where you are currently working as a Math teacher. Our mission is to lead these children into a brighter future. Some of the children in this school have dreams beyond this farm, and we want to do our best to help them. We haven't had a high school teacher for about three months now, and the children are falling behind. The salary isn't very high; we can't offer more than what we have. We hope you'll consider our offer and decide with your heart, not just your mind. If you get back to us with good news, we will need a copy of your passport and your hand signature on the attached contract, scanned digitally and emailed back to us. We will support your plane ticket out of the school fund, and you may live on the farm as long as you need to. We do need you as soon as possible in Afghanistan; you will have to leave this Friday.