Refuge

I.
I knew your eyes were caramelized sugar,
oozing comfort I mistrusted;
I knew your skin, like mine,
was not a true café au lait;
I knew your lips were full,
plump with the words you held back,
and your best feature.

I knew your cheekbones spoke of native ancestry
which likely explained the scar
ravaging the left side of your face;
I knew you were of an average height,
our eyes perfectly aligned;
and yet you had to work hard
at being unintimidating.

I knew you were insightful
from the worry you radiated
when our hands touched and I flinched.
I knew you were compassionate,
having driven the twenty-odd miles
on the strength of someone else’s love.

And I knew that you were strong,
lifting me out of the diner and into the truck
without breaking your stride
when my feet refused the forward step.

In the dim lighting you cupped my face
buckled my seatbelt
murmured reassurances to calm my tremors.
I knew enough to say nothing until we were away
and you less likely to leave me
on the side of the road.

The late night DJ played country tunes
which required no translation,
the plaintive singing and subdued guitars
marking them as songs of heartbreak. 

I knew she trusted you.

I knew not to feel safe
trapped in the dark with a strange man
who spoke my language harshly
though those hands had gentled
when they touched me.


II.
“Tell me, love, what happened.” 

The words gained traction and heft
as they moved from your side of the cab to mine. 
I knew they were a plea but in a man’s mouth
they underwent a hideous transformation,
the force of them a command.
Stiffening joints and muscles betrayed my fears.

Taking your cues from mine you fell silent. 

It could be you knew
that there was terror in my eyes
that I was a wounded thing
apt to lash out at the nearest body
that I would not could not let you
touch me twice;
it could be you knew
to leave well enough alone.

If I could have wept I would have,
tears of myself, for what was lost. 


III.

A daughter of surf and sky
invading the land of earth
I stared at the trees keeping ominous watch. 

I knew without asking which one was yours. 
Your house an oasis
the string lights blinking the warm welcome
the darkening woods had not.

I knew despair then
the crunch of the tires on gravel
one of the many sounds I had trained myself to hear;
I would never fit myself seamlessly into a place
where the forest brooded so loudly. 


IV.
She left little room for gloomy thoughts.
Fairly flying down the path,
she grabbed me in a running bear hug
that felt like my missing tears.

I did not know when
I got out of the truck to greet her. 

“Soraya,” she said – an incantation. 
I knew that in it was an abundance of love
grief and remorse
for leaving me behind. 

“My baby.”

This glamorous creature
that lived in the mountains but came from the sea
this apparition
that had once scrabbled and scraped
alongside me in a river shantytown
at the world’s end
wept the tears that I could not.

Meaningless words
spilled from her mouth onto my scalp
furiously fast
in that horrible guttural tongue
oppressive and devouring. 


V.
“Patricia, slow down, she doesn’t understand.”

I jumped in her arms. 

I had forgotten your presence. 
Your voice cut through my euphoria,
an inescapable reminder
of monsters not quite left behind
other uglier things
no matter that you made it soft. 

No longer reassured I remembered instead
the sly glances when you thought I was asleep.

Fingering the pocket where the knife
that bought my freedom was sheathed,
I knew that already blooded
it would protect me, us both, if I asked it again.

Afraid though I was, I was angry more,
now that the immediate burden of securing safety
was gone. 


VI.
I made to move.

She held on tighter as though fearing
that her touch was the only thing keeping me grounded. 
Over her shoulder you watched us carefully
caramel eyes filled with an emotion
too soft for a man’s face;
on you it seemed natural
even sincere.

I disentangled myself
from her suffocating embrace.

She asked me again what had happened,
her syllables tentative
awkward in our native tongue;
one question, and yet another.
In this land of evil forests,
she was out of practice
speaking it rarely except
maybe at home at night with you
where only the love words
were necessary.
My hopes, dim, faded further.

I knew she had lost herself
her words
and gone native.

Her frustration with my stubborn muteness
lent an edge of hysteria to her tone.
My refusal to answer was not meanness;
but what was the advantage
in rehashing a familiar story to one who knew better.

Was that not why she had run?


VII.
“But how did you get here?” 

The shock had faded. 
I could see the conflict
that raged within her:
Here was something she had once
loved and lost turning up again.
I had ruined her reinvention
imposed myself on her version of history.

“Let’s get her inside, Patricia, it’s cold out here,”
you said, having once again noticed
the fine tremors rocking my body.
Charity in how you
deliberately misattributed them
to the weather
as to not irritate her further. 

You rose a notch in my estimation
the recognition of my mother’s frailty
softening me towards you. 
If I were another I might unburden myself
taking a chance on the compassion and ignoring the sly glances
as products of my youth and your gender.

I knew I did not have the luxury
to indulge in such foolishness.

She gave me one last look,
eyes overflowing with pointless tears
ones that begged for a forgiveness I could not grant
and then turned away
guilt and resentment
making it impossible for her to sustain my gaze. 

I was not
the daughter she wanted me to be;
the disappointment
was mutual.


VIII.
You extended out a hand
a chivalrous gesture designed to negate her rudeness
a kindness
I pointedly ignore. 

You followed her down the driveway.
I stayed where I was
reaching into the other pocket
for a piece of paper
which represented another, riskier option. 

I did not crawl into the sunlight
carve myself out of a cage
to be pushed into another one.

I knew these new words,
even if I never spoke them.
I knew I could leave,
if I had to.