a baby. A signature line that said, underneath, in Spanish, that the holder was unable to sign, and in place of my signature somebody had pressed a tiny inked thumbprint, so small and clear that I could see the whorls in it. My thumb. I put my actual thumb next to it on the page. Seventeen years. The swirl in the middle was the same.
On the very last page, the one for emergencies, the person to notify, my mother had written her own name, and under it, a phone number with too few digits and an address in Cuenca on a street called Calle Larga.
I had never heard of Calle Larga. I had never heard her say the name of a street in Cuenca. My mother told stories about Ecuador the way some people talk about a dream they had a long time ago: the color of the light, the cold in the mornings, the bread her grandmother made in a clay oven, the river with the strange name that went through the middle of the city. Never an address. Never a job. Never a reason why. When I asked why we left, she said, "For a better life," in English, which was the language she used when she wanted a conversation to be over.
My phone buzzed. I thought it was my father. It was Yusra.
are u up?? do u want me to bring u a breakfast sandwich before ur flight bc airport food is a human rights violation
Then, a minute later: also my mom wants to know if ur dad wants her to drive bc 95 is gonna be a NIGHTMARE today
Then: maya??
I looked at the screen for a long time. Yusra had been my best friend since sixth grade, when we had been assigned to share a microscope in Mrs. Plunkett's science class and had discovered within ten minutes that we both thought the girls who screamed at the earthworms were faking it. She knew everything about me. She knew my crushes and my grades and the time I threw up at the Ridgefield Playhouse. She knew I was afraid of large dogs and small boats. She knew, now that I thought about it, a very carefully edited version of my life, edited by somebody else, and I had been reciting it to her for six years with total sincerity, like a person who doesn't know they're reading from cue cards.
i'm at tarrywile, I typed. by the pond. can u come. don't bring ur mom.
She texted back a single word, omw, and then a sandwich emoji, and then a question mark, and then nothing.