Tonight

Through the dirty window of the bus number 199

I saw the sunset at the hour

When for the past three months I was seeing only darkness.

I have not expected everything to hurt as much as it hurts right now. I have not expected to feel so helpless and so angry. For a brief moment last year I fancied myself wise, almost invincible in my wisdom, an elder in the making. Now I look at myself in brief distorted reflections in windows and toilet room mirrors and see a scared thirteen year old, her life stolen from her by her father’s freakish accident and immigration laws.

This morning I read about Trump’s demands for Ukrainian rare earth mining rights in exchange for aid. I felt breath leaving my body. Of course, I thought, this was coming. They will never be sated. They will never have enough. They are the Windigo. They will consume us.

The land that is source of my memories, my identity, the land that is source of my love and connection, my birthright, the land that has birthed us, that in these past three horrible years has opened again her womb to cradle the bodies of our sons and daughters, of our youth and our elders, the land that is worth dying for is just a source of rare materials to them. These materials are not even rare, but their extraction and refinement will transform the land into a dead landscape. They will kill my land to make more Teslas. To give our children a chance to survive, they will force us to sacrifice the children of our children. I cannot even start describing the feeling of violation.

As I was ruminating, the train suddenly stopped and remained immobile for a very long time. Everyone was relatively calm, absorbed in their books and phones. Everyone, except a large, burly older man, dressed in rocker’s attire with massive silver rings on each fingers and dirty hair, a kind of person I instinctively dislike. “Goddammit” said the man quietly to himself. And then, more loudly and insistently over and over and over “goddammit!”

They made us get out of the train, wait on the platform, then get into another train and still nothing was moving. The angry man now found a seat, but kept cursing. Then we heard a loud, clear child’s voice: a mother with a boy around six squeezed into the already full and motionless train. The angry man got up immediately, no longer cursing. “Here, sit kid!” The kid ignored him. Instead, he weaselled through the crowd to the front of the train where I was standing. I want to be in front when the train moves, announced the kid. I nodded. I do the same, I said. The boy had the most beautiful curly hair that looked almost like wool and large dark brown eyes. Just as he positioned himself in the front, facing the window, miraculously, the train came to motion. Maybe it’s thanks to you, I said. He considered my suggestion and nodded his accord. I will drive the train, he said to his mother.

The boy started making train sounds. I watched him for a while, then looked around and saw many people looking at him and smiling, as if they were truly grateful to this little stranger for driving us towards destination. Be careful, said his mother, now also involved in the game, the train will enter the tunnels, you have to slow down. The tunnel, the boy exclaimed with unabashed enthusiasm, oh yes! And this is the exact moment when my heart decided to break into a thousand pieces and the tears flowed.