Until that moment, I didn’t realize I was hungry. My stomach viciously reminded me, rumbling loud enough to confirm Noma’s suspicion. I sat opposite her, noticing she faced the parking lot and her eyes bounced from one end to the other, staying vigilant as she quietly fixed me a sandwich.
Now, at ten, I was admittedly far too old to have my Noma cut the crusts off my peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich, but I said nothing as I watched her, my shoulders releasing a twinge of tension as she added grapes, chips, and a brownie.
I accepted my plate and waited for her to make her own, surprised when she reached for her brownie first. Noma shrugged. “It’s okay to eat desserts first sometimes, especially when it’s not just our stomachs that are hungry.”
With a heavy heart, I lifted my sandwich, taking a bite. But my gaze shifted to that tablecloth and its worn but clean pattern, remembering all the moments we shared meals with and without my father, of the love infused into every picnic adventure. And the home we left behind.
“Noma,” I managed to squeak when I swallowed the bite.
I didn’t know what I wanted or needed, but my throat felt raw and tight like it had lumps I couldn’t swallow past. And my chest couldn’t seem to open enough to fill my lungs completely with air. Anger still stiffened my back, and I was too young to understand this was part of the grieving process.
Noma placed her brownie on her plate and I watched her fingers lovingly glide over the top. “You know, baby boy, home is where we make it. It’s you and me and the moments we share together. Right now? It’s this picnic table and this meal. Tomorrow? It’ll be someplace new, and that’s okay. Wanna know why?”
I nodded, trying to avoid the sting of tears in my eyes.
“Because home is where we’re together.” She reached for my left hand and held it. “Home is us, baby boy. It’s you and me. Always.”
I released a long breath, feeling the weight and warmth of her words blanketing my mind and heart with their truth.
“You haven’t lost your home,” she assured me. “It’s not possible because you have me and I have you.”
“We have each other,” I repeated, letting some of the anger fade.
“That’s right.” She squeezed my fingers and released my hand. Noma smiled as she took a big bite of her brownie.
Not to be outdone, I picked up my brownie and sank my teeth into the fudgy goodness.
And it was sooooooo delicious.
We finished lunch, packed up the picnic basket, and continued our journey. The rest of the afternoon, I thought over her words, letting them sink roots into my chest and heart.
My Noma was magical. A sorceress who saw things a small boy of ten could never fathom. Her soothing nature eased aches and heartache better than any balm.
Thank heaven she knew what little boys needed more than we did.
Sadly, no longer taking heavy pain pills, nightmares quickly distracted me from dreaming of the girl in the water. I was relieved to be awakened early in the morning to get back on the road after sleeping at a shady motel that preferred cash. If Noma didn’t wake me, gasping for air from a night terror of motorcycles would. Even awake, the sound of a bike would cause me to be alarmed. I worried we’d be chased down and Noma would crash. Then we would be shot like my uncles.
Motorcycles weren’t the only thing that haunted me, though.
Water did, too.
One morning, around four a.m., we were back in the car, with me in the back seat staring at the rain dripping down a passenger window. As we would pass under streetlamps, the light shined off tiny dancing water stars.
My eyes slid shut with the ache of longing for a girl with green eyes. I felt as if I were missing a part of me I hadn’t known was crucial for my survival. Since I was told she didn’t exist, there was so much confusion for such a young boy.
I shut my eyes in an attempt to block the stinging sensation. That only helped me fall back to sleep. Hence, another frightening nightmare. Though this one was different. I had tried to swim back up to the surface after the bridge explosion, but Dad’s bike was weighted to my leg, dragging me down. My magical friend had come to help me, but then the drowning tether evaporated from around me and suddenly appeared around her. Around her fin. The bike’s weight was now dragging her from me, tugging her to the ocean floor. Her little hand reached out to me as she screamed. No sound escaped, but air bubbles rose from her distressed mouth as she disappeared into the darkness of the bottom of the sea, a little boy frantically following her down.
What did the dream mean? I had no idea at the time. All I knew was fear.
Grabbing my chest while trying to catch my breath, I sat up, asking, “Why are they after us, Noma?”
Noma only reached between the seats and held my hand with a strong, loving squeeze.
“What’s going on?” I tried.
She sighed. “A contingency plan that was put in place long ago.”
“By Dad?”
