Breathe For Me

CHAPTER 5

SARA

I kick the floor of the baggage claim in the airport. With Dad being on the Relief Committee and Mom being the English speaking representative of our town, I was obligated to be here as well. Mom tried convincing me to come as a translator, but it honestly seemed a little unnecessary to me. Ever since everyone started learning to speak Routine, a combination of English, Chinese, and Spanish (the three most spoken languages in the world) the need for translators has all but diminished. The Relief Committee decided to have them anyway because if we will be having people from all over the world, we might as well try to make things as easy as possible.

I picture what it'll be like in school with all of these new arrivals. Chaotic seems like too mild a word. I figure it'll be more of a catastrophe. I imagine a philosophy class with teens that come from opposite ends of the globe- kids that grew up in incredibly diverse settings. I wonder how they'll react to the simple things like the food or the hard things like the cold. 

Mom catches my eye and gives me an excited smile. She's actually thrilled about having "new additions to the family." We were told that coming to live with us would be a man from England and two children from China. I feel sorry for the children who will no longer have their own parents in their lives. My favorite childhood memories are centered around my parents. Having snowball fights with my friends and then coming home for a soothing hot chocolate while smooshed between Mom and Dad on the couch near the heater. Helping Mom make ice cream since she didn't believe that the cold should be a legitimate reason to cut such a heavenly food from our diet. Being terrified the first time I had to take an algebra test and having Dad pick me up, flip me upside down, and tell me he won't let go until I stopped worrying so much. Which ended with us both on the living floor laughing until our sides hurt, because when the tension pops, there's no better kind of laughter. 

I sigh. I'm not sure how I feel about having these people living with us. But the one thing I know for certain is that I don't want to add to the pain I know they'll be feeling when they get here.  I straighten my back and plaster a smile on my face. Maybe if I just look certain about all of this, I'll start feeling certain about it all.

Dad taps my shoulder. "There they are," he says. I look up and see a stream of people coming through the baggage claim doors. Dad goes off to greet them and I crane my neck to look for the three individuals that should have a number 8 taped onto their shirts. As I glance from person to person, I notice two expressions that seem to dominate everyone's features. Either a face of hopeful wonder or a kind of lost sadness. Then I see a face that didn't just look lost or sad but had an expression of complete defeat. As if he'd just lost something he knew he could never again find. We lock eyes and he stares directly at me for a few seconds before he gets jostled aside and  breaks the connection. 

Only after the mayhem of the new arrivals has settled, do I realise that the  defeated man had had the number 8 taped onto his shirt.