“Chasing the Echoes of Home: A Journey Through Memory and Migration”
“It took us two hours to get through the roadblocks,” Maman said to me. “And then I didn’t know if you’d still be at the Mayfair. We had no way of reaching you.”
“I tried to call.”
I’d felt desperate to hear my mother’s voice. But now that I had her next to me, in person, I felt foolish and small—a huge inconvenience— risking my life for a sleepover and a new pair of jeans.
When we got home, Ghys was sitting on our living room couch. Wires and antennae spilled out of his shirt pockets. He nodded at my mother but didn’t step in to kiss her like he did on social calls, when his wife Violette was with him.
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