I am in Malaysia and the girls and I are in a shopping mall. Suddenly, sirens blare. They sound like those Cold War nuclear alarms and before I know it, American policemen file into the supermarket we’re in and tell us that war has broken out and bombs are being dropped by planes, and that as American permanent residents, we are being rounded up to be brought back to the US because it’s not safe for us here.
I am at the airport, still pushing my shopping cart with the girls inside, and our luggage. The girls are crying for their father. I look around frantically, hopelessly for Lokes as torrents of people rush through the gates and onto planes (despite there being fighter jets with bombs in the air) and we are shoved and jostled out of the way. Raeven is screaming and I am crying as well because we can’t leave without Lokes as I have all our passports. I imagine the worst, that he’s already dead, gunned down or worse, shattered to pieces by a bomb.
I open my eyes. Outside, the garbage truck with its beep-beep-beep is picking up our trash. It is 6am.
Beside me, Skyler is tossing and turning. A foot hits my face. Raeven is curled into a ball next to her, unaware.
Lokes is on his way home from Vegas.
All is well.