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The Art of Leaving.

For Those Who Had To Make An Impossible Choice.

By LPublished 3 years ago 7 min read
3
The Art of Leaving.
Photo by Jonas Allert on Unsplash

We were leaving. Always leaving. The whys didn't really matter as much as the destination, but if you must know, we all had our reasons.

J was leaving because she had suffered violence once too many times. Even now, as we made our way to that new life, her left eye was an impossible shade of purple, swollen and sealed shut.

E was leaving because the only way to make a living around here as a man was to kill or be killed. He had been diving from birth, it seemed, but the ocean had revolted recently, hiding its gifts further out, further down, a place where lungs exploded, and no one ever returned.

C was leaving for and with her babies. That promise of a new life for her new life. For the chance that they could reach their potential, truly walk in their purpose, something she couldn't dare to even dream about in a place like this. A place where she has eaten dirt, an unforgiving land where she'd shared salt with her children.

And me? Well, I’ve always known I didn't belong here.

I wanted to!

I saw what this place used to and could be. Yet, I was wise enough to know even at a tender age that the glory of my birthplace was lost for good.

It was either leave or die, and I was choosing to leave and live.

There are others too, but do you genuinely want to know our stories? They're all the same. They've been plastered all over your tv screens, and Instagram feeds for months.

I know, I know, you have your own lives and leavings to attend to. I don't expect your help; that is why we are helping ourselves, helping each other.

It was eerily silent in the hot, crowded truck. Our sweaty bodies were all pressed against each other. The air was thick, and my nostrils burned with ammonia. Someone had peed themselves.

I thought of my new life, what school I would attend, the clothes I would wear, and the people I would meet.

I smiled even as my lips cracked and bled.

I was leaving.

The truck came to an abrupt stop, our tightly packed bodies were flung against each other, but we smiled; this was just a blip on the radar of our new lives.

We'd been traveling for days, and I was dying to stretch my legs and breathe the air outdoors.

I stared at the door expectantly, my eyes well adjusted to the darkness of the truck’s trailer.

Tiny circles of light from air holes drilled into the trailer's roof and walls pierced the darkness.

Still, we waited, hours as the light grew dim.

Soon my heavy eyes closed.

We were awakened by the sound of heavy locks unlatching. My back pressed against the trailer’s wall, and my breath quickened.

The door opened with loud clanking and rattling sounds. A crescendo of light streamed in until I felt near blindness and used my hands as a shield against the intensity.

Two men yelled at us to get out, and we stumbled out into hot air holding each other up.

My legs trembled with weakness, but it felt good to breathe outside of the trailer.

As my eyes slowly adjusted to the sunlight, I saw that we were on the coast.

“Halfway There,” I said softly to myself.

“Stretch your legs and drink some water,” one of the men said, handing out water bottles.

We thanked them and gulped our water as people wandering in the desert, which I guess we were.

I smiled at C as she nursed the tiny baby in her arms. I reached into my backpack and gave her an orange.

“Thanks,” she said, “ I’m so scared.”

“Me too,” I responded. “Try to think of the reason you're here and hope for the best. That's all we can do.”

I looked to the horizon; a ship sailed along lazily, faraway but so close. My feet longed to adorn its deck. Not long now, I thought with a grin.

“Ok, back in the truck,” the second man yelled.

I was disappointed, but I knew better than to ask questions.

I found my place in the truck and then slept fitfully until I was awakened by the trailer doors opening once more.

This time it was pitch black; we held on to each other, and C asked me to hold her baby as she navigated the darkness with her other child in tow.

The men’s voices directed us through the thick darkness, and soon the water was lapping at my feet.

It was terrifying, the dark nothingness and faceless voices made me want to scream, and I dug my fingernails into my arm to steel myself even as the baby softly stirred in my arms.

We were ushered into a small boat, and I was immediately freed from illusion. I thought my reprieve would come on the beautiful shop I saw earlier, not this sad boat. Even our village fishermen used better boats than this.

I sighed as C sat next to me.

The men pushed the boat off the shore, and four of the men in our sixteen-person fleet paddled as our boat forged ahead.

The seas were calm but fearsome in their never-ending vastness. It was silent, but for paddles and the waves that ran past us to kiss the shores, we had just abandoned.

I tried to sleep but was unable to, although ones beyond tired.

I was grateful when the baby started wailing, anything but that inky, deafening silence.

I was awake to greet the dawn, and I started in awe and the most beautiful sunrise I'd ever beheld.

The baby was sleeping in C’s arms now, and it was my turn to row.

I took over E’s post and did my best to move the oars to water.

My arms were fatigued in what felt like seconds, but I persisted as the waves grew more prominent.

The land had disappeared, but the surrounding water brought no comfort.

I dreamt of my destination. I thought of the stories that had reached me, stories of those who left and found work as cleaners of magnificent buildings.

I imagined what it would be like to inhabit those halls even as a cleaner.

I returned to my reality and found my arms were useless; I passed the oars on.

The waves rocked our boat more intensely, and a few people threw up on the side of the boat. The vengeful wind simply blew their contents back into the small, crowded boat.

Suddenly a large wave reared and slammed the boat on its side.

We were thrown into the water, and my thoughts splintered into a million fragments.

I struggled against the water and looked around wildly. C had disappeared, and her baby was floating. I reached out and grabbed at the baby. I pulled the baby toward me and tried to swim back to the capsized boat.

I wanted to shout, to scream, curse, to rail against everything that had brought this tiny baby and me to the moment.

Another wave crashed against my head, and I tightened my grip on the baby as we were flipped like ragdolls in the arms of a vengeful toddler.

My thoughts slowed away from the initial panic I felt and acclimated to the water's perfect temperature, and at this depth, the perfect stillness.

Humans are always leaving.; from the beginning of time, they've gone.

First, they left their mother’s womb, and then they left their parent's dwelling. When the earth was still connected -Pangaea- they traveled by land, the world split apart, they crossed over the seas then airplanes.

I sank deeper, one hand holding the baby the other desperately treading water.

I thought of all those whose journeys had ended in the water. Acceptance washed over me. No one ever said leaving would be easy. Somewhere deep inside of me, a song rose., a wordless lullaby to the baby, and I joined all the others who’d left before me.

Author’s Note

I wrote this story blind, when I showed it to someone they asked if I had seen the recent news of the asylum seekers from Libya lost at sea. I hadn't. This story however is not new. It's a tragedy that continues to happen, immigrants are often viewed through a one-dimensional lens but there are many whys for leaving. In writing this story I hope I have added insight and humanity to the continuing plight of far too many humans.

literature
3

About the Creator

L

“By hell there is nothing you can do that you want and by heaven you are going to do it anyway”

Anne Spencer

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