Tag: Stranger

The Displaced

 

1.
I notice the pores on his craggy face. His split eyebrows. Crow’s feet and sombre eyes. I see all this but I don’t recognize the Latino man’s face staring back at me from the bathroom mirror.
2.
Getting up abruptly, I begin walking, trying to quell the murmur of panic inside me. People are scattered around the spacious terminal. Some are observing me casually. I’m stopped by a firm hand on my shoulder. A man in a bright uniform, either a paramedic or a firefighter, tells me calmly:
Sir, please return to your bench and remain there. We will examine you again as soon as we are able to.
He wouldn’t let me cross the barrier. I see another uniform approaching. Uncomfortable with the odds, I decide against resisting.
Outside the barrier, an Indian lady in a beige sweater is standing with one hand on her chest. She’s following my movement, her mouth partly open.
I return to the bench by a ceiling-to-floor glass wall and sit, lowering my eyelids. My anxious thoughts haven’t subsided. Outside, planes are landing, taxiing, and taking off.
3.
I saw my husband being restrained by the paramedics. Yes, he was able to walk back to his seat unassisted. His gait was familiar. But I noticed that when he looked in my direction, there was something missing in his eyes. He didn’t recognize me. I’m pretty sure he didn’t.
4.
She’s a black girl, around my age. Her Afro and jacket went nicely together. I was so close, I could see the evening light on her bewitching irises. I could almost peer into her soul. But why am I seeing a stranger’s face in the mirror?


photo from Unsplash.com by Serrah Gallos 

Arrival

Roman lettering on terminal signboards spelt unfamiliar words to her. Confused and jet-lagged, she clutched her handbag tightly and watched streams of passengers exiting various gates and head to Immigration. She followed them and waited in line with trepidation, softly praying. Her documents were in order, including the invitation letter from her soon-to-be employers.

Larger persons blocked her access to the baggage conveyor. She squeezed through with difficulty. Various bags, boxes, packages, even a folded pram, passed by. Reminded of her little girls, she wiped sudden tears away.

Luggage safely collected, she made a lengthy stop at the ladies. She walked through sliding doors out of the terminal into a sea of faces. Most looked foreign to her when in fact, she was the foreigner. The hard bite of the winter dawn confirmed that.

A large woman waved, Agency placard in hand. What a relief it was to see this stranger’s face. After introductions, both women got into the back of a car that pulled out as soon as the doors shut. Through the window, she saw passengers standing in line for taxis. Others were crossing the road to get into waiting cars and buses. She was glad there was an Agency representative coming along to get her settled in.

City lights flickered in the distance. She felt a twin surge of excitement and fear on seeing this. The Agency woman recognised the look. She said, as usual, “Yes, there it is. Welcome to London.”