February.
Thirty-something hours since I left
Home.
My first steps in America.
Chicago. O'Hare Airport. 2002.
The only words I knew were yes and no
Maybe a greeting.
I felt small. Smaller than a
Seven year old should feel.
Baggage, Customs, translators
Passports and green cards.
I was restless in my black and red coat
And new white hat.
Doll under my arm, I gripped
Onto my mother's cold hands
As we pushed through the crowds.
Three hours seem like three years
To a seven year old on pins and needles.
My aunt! Finally a familiar face
In this blur of alien beings.
My small body was swallowed
By hugs and greetings.
We can finally go
Home,
She said.
Four hours of driving.
Will I ever get
Home?
Trying to keep up with the bright blur of lights
Known as Chicago,
My eyes glued themselves to the windows
And my mouth formed a perfect “O”
The frantic darting of my eyes
From one window to another
Slowly ceased and sleep took over.
The lit city left a brilliant and
Vivid light show on the backs of my eyelids.
For the rest of the car ride
Home.
At the end of the yard
There was a white fence.
Behind the white fence
There was a house.
A house with kids!
To them, I was mute
To me, they were alien.
They must have understood
My desperate attempts at talking
With my hands
For they would wait for me every morning
At the same spot as the day before.
When you are seven years old
A young soul to play with is all you need.
Ninety-nine shiny cents rattled
In my small Tupperware box.
My first American purchase
With my own American money!
Excitement danced on my face
As I held my brand new plastic cash register.
The fake bills crinkled with every touch
The plastic coins jingled
And jangled in my palms.
Gratification spread through my veins
Like wildfire through a forest.
Springtime came at a hundred
Miles per hour.
Had it already been over a month?
School enrollment forms scattered on the table
Blue ink smudged on the corners
And on fingertips.
Next week.
I would be starting my first day
Of American school.
Monday morning.
My new light blue backpack rested by my feet
While I sat at the kitchen table
Anxiously eating candies
From my new PEZ dispenser.
It's time to go, my mother urged me softly.
Flocks of butterflies fluttered around
Helter-skelter in my stomach.
Heads turned and faces smiled
As my new teacher introduced me
To my soon to be friends.
Learning a new language at a
Young age proved to be an effortless task.
By the end of first grade
I could ask simple questions
And give simple answers.
Last day of school.
Cubbies and desks were all cleaned out
Artwork was returned to its rightful owners.
We sat on the carpet like puppies
Waiting for food.
Paper bags overflowing with papers
And folders and broken pencils.
One more minute until the
Dismissal bell.
I was a second grader now.
Summer was
Clifford the Big Red Dog
And Arthur
Dragon Tales
And Recess.
It was all nine feet of the deep end of the pool
And boxes of Fruit Loops.
They have colored cereal!
I wrote to my friends and cousins back
Home.
Three months of summer
Went by like three days.
It was the first day of school again
It was the first day of second grade.
I walked into school with my fresh,
New vocabulary.
My friends were already waiting for me.
We huddled together
Anxiously chattering and glowing with superiority
Towards the new first graders.
During second grade I tutored
With Mrs. Sims, the library teacher.
Board games and flash cards
And snack time.
I had made more friends.
I even received a sticker
For spelling the bonus word right.
Enough.
E-N-O-U-G-H.
I was on the road to fluency.
Every day for the next few years
I had learned something new.
In all modesty, my success was
Immense.
Sans accent.
I was completely fluent.
Many didn't even suspect that I wasn't a
Native to this country.
Those who knew
Forgot.
Language of choice
English.
Connotation of speech
English.
Thoughts
In English.
Dreams
In English.
I had fit in
In one place
I left my family in another.
Who’s to say where
Home is.
