Internment(54)

I don’t believe I’m hearing this. But I am.

Mom continues. “They have put us in danger, but we’re in danger every moment anyway. Progress in this country always carries a component of risk. Every movement has—civil rights, marriage equality, women’s rights—”

My dad grabs my mom’s hand and squeezes it. He gives her the slightest, almost imperceptible headshake. He glances at the camera, then swivels his head back to my mom. His bloodshot eyes are wide with fear. My mom kisses him on the cheek. In many ways my parents seem so different from each other, but they possess this intimate mode of communication—a gesture, a look, a tone—that I envy. I wonder if I’ll ever share that with someone, really find a person who understands me in a way that others don’t. I love David so much, but right now there’s also the cracked earth between us.

My mom reaches out for me so that she’s holding both our hands. She whispers, “We will be okay.”

I so much want to believe her. I’m sure she wants to believe herself, too. Maybe she does. Maybe she has more faith than I do. My dad certainly does.

My heart lightens a bit now, here with my parents. Even hearing my mom say those words makes this trailer feel less like solitary confinement. But I’m not willing to endanger their lives. I’ll never tell my parents that it was me—that David and I are the disrupters, that Jake is helping, that this is merely the beginning. That a bruised cheek barely even scratches the surface of what the Director could do. My parents would try to stop me. It’s their job to protect me; I get that. But I have a job to do, too—despite the fear rising from my gut and threatening to explode every cell in my body. So, no, Director, I will not abide.


Dinner in the Mess passes quietly. No one is in much of a mood to talk after the Director’s threats this afternoon. The minders greet everyone in their usual too-cheerful-to-be-sincere tones, pretending that everything is normal. Ayesha, Soheil, and I, along with the other gardeners and plotters, nod at one another. The fast is planned for tomorrow, the same day as the Red Cross visit, to be most impactful. To raise the stakes. But with my article out in the world, I’ve made the risks a lot higher. Is it possible to feel seasick in the desert? Because I do, and it must be written all over my face. When Soheil passes me, he whispers, “Nice work. Dig in. It’s about to get real.” I nod, try to screw my courage to the sticking place. He means his words to be reassuring, but I don’t think any words could possibly sound heartening right now.

People quietly shuffle through the dust back to their Mercury Homes. Even though we are in an open-air camp, we breathe the recycled air of dread and anxiety. Like everyone else, I wonder about tomorrow. Hope. Fear. Anticipation.

The minders assign all of us special jobs for the Red Cross visit. They remind us about the rewards the Director will bestow if the visit runs smoothly. We’ll never know what those pathetic rewards will be. Some people will be angry. Some people are willing to settle for crumbs. But the only reward we want is freedom. Though it’s not exactly a reward when you’re born with freedom and a thief sneaks into your home at night and steals it from you. It’s something that’s rightfully ours. We want it back.

Every muscle in my body is strained, like a rubber band stretched a millimeter too far.

When I walk through our door, I head straight to the shower. I let the water wash off the dust and the stress and the hurt of the day. I stare at the muddied water as it swirls down the drain. I take my first unencumbered breath. The timer dings. The water stops. Of course it does.

My parents are watching one of the approved TV shows on the media unit and trying to escape into another world. I wish them a good night and step into my room, tucking myself into bed and pulling the covers up to my neck. My body sinks into the mattress, and my eyelids droop shut. My sleep is deep and dreamless, but a nightmare wakes me with a start. I almost bang my head against the bunk but duck in time. I don’t remember the dream exactly, but everything inside this place is the stuff of nightmares.

I slide my legs off the bed and step to the small window in my room. The sky is clear and full of stars; the mountains are silhouettes in the moonlight. It is beautiful here. But that’s all on the other side of the fence, unreachable—like our freedom. So close. So far. I wonder if I’ll ever look at mountains or a starry night sky the same way once we get out of here. If. Will their beauty always be marred by memories of Mobius? Will beauty simply cease to exist for me?

I’m scared for tomorrow. The fast—the protest. I look east, past the mountains. I hear Nanni’s voice in my head, another prayer she used to whisper over me. A prayer that her own nanni shared with her, the one she said over and over during the Partition in India, when she was terrified of the mobs and the horror the British left in their wake. “God, protect me against them, however you may wish.”

Protect us.





Boom. Boom. Boom. I wake to loud knocking. A voice bellows through the door, “Get up. They’re here.”

My heart leaps out of my chest. Those bangs sounded like they came from inside my head. I look around and see the sun screaming through the blinds. My groggy brain realizes where I am.

I bolt out of bed and proceed to bump my head on the frame of the bunk. I’m at a 50 percent rate for smacking my head when I wake up. I rub the unlucky spot on my skull and clear my throat. “Ayesha? Who’s here?”