“Chasing the Echoes of Home: A Journey Through Memory and Migration”
Ginnie was my best friend. How bad could her father be? “Please,” I begged. What was Grade Seven without sleepovers? “Let me do something normal, like other twelve-year-olds.” Like girls at home in Canada.
“It’s too risky,” my father said.
***
But at last, in late spring, by some miracle, Maman agreed to let me sleep over at Ginnie’s for one night and gave me money to buy myself a new pair of jeans. It was my first taste of freedom since we’d arrived in Lebanon in January.
On Friday after school, I went to Ginnie’s apartment on the third floor of the Mayfair Residence on Hamra, where most of the city’s Americans lived. My parents had arranged to pick me up the next morning, after breakfast. Ginnie and I would have a bit less than twenty-four hours together.
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