“Your turn, Auntie,” Janie prompts, pushing my cookie closer.
I open the cellophane with reluctance, feeling too old, too jaded for this game. Fortunes are malleable; we make of them what we want—what weneed.
My cookie crumbles as I attempt to halve it, a bad omen. Apprehension skips across my skin. I read silently, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. My eyes swim with tears as I skim the tiny words again.…
Stop wishing. Start doing.
MATI
When the ringing begins,
I am at the park,
in our memory-steeped turret.
The night is alight with stars.
I pull my phone from my pocket,
filled with nerves,
with dread,
with hope.
I miss her like twilight misses the sun.
For a moment,
I can only watch her name
as it blinks tirelessly
against the illuminated screen.
Why now?
She is calling to tell me enough.
Enough calls, enough messages.
Enough wishes of goodwill sent on the breeze.
She is calling to tell me to stay away.
Now, we have a sense of how it will be
when I leave America for Afghanistan.
Something like drowning,
or being buried alive.
Sadness blacking out sensation.
Despair drawing hope away.
I am so scared.
