or history for that matter. What’s the deal?”
I stared into his eyes, brown like mine, on the edge for a few long seconds—before backing off, shaking my head. “Never mind.” It was the closest I ever came to sharing the secret that belonged to him as much as it did to me.
D ays after Chris came to visit me in Chicago, the flight path of four airplanes changed the world.
When I talked to him on the phone that week, Chris said, “Everything’s different now, Jo.”
“I know.”
“Remember how I said I didn’t know what I wanted to do with the rest of my life?”
“Yes.”
“I do now, Jo.”
I heard the conviction in his voice and envied it. In a world now flooded with fear and doubt, I wanted what he had, dismissing what Grandma Faith had said about the dangers of certainty.
Professor Crawley called me into his office a few weeks later. He told me about the career options that were more lucrative now, and more in demand, than when he’d first mentioned them. I grabbed at the sense of conviction that he offered, leaving behind all the reasons I’d wanted to study languages in the first place—to do what Grandma Faith did, to connect with people so that I could help them. What I’d intended to do before—Grandma Faith’s whole approach to life—seemed suddenly naïve, too simple for what the world had become. Because now, among the people who spoke one of the languages I’d stumbled into studying—fresh from the strangeness of Sadiq’s story—there were some who were even less comprehensible than he had been, the source of a hatred I couldn’t fathom, no matter how well I understood their words, the source of mass murder in the name of a god that could have nothing to do with the One I worshipped.
Language, Professor Crawley told me, was a weapon now. And I could use that weapon to help in a war that my country hadn’t asked for. I applied for the job. And got it.
Signing all the contracts was scary. Confidentiality clauses galore. All the secrecy involved made me hesitate, wondering what exactly I was getting myself into—national secrets, now, on top of the personal ones I already kept, buried deep inside the color of my eyes and Chris’s. But I didn’t dwell on the doubts hidden in that hesitation. For the second time in my life, I climbed over them, taking on a role I’d never imagined I’d want. And, just like before, the doubts came with me, eventually forcing a reckoning far more difficult than the one I’d dealt with before.
Angela
The sinning is the best part of repentance.
Arabic proverb
I t seemed like a lifetime ago, that weekend when Chris went to visit Jo in Chicago. I worried my heart out that she would give away the secret I’d asked her to keep—the truth that had driven Jo away from me no matter how much we both pretended things were the same. Now, both of my babies were gone. For the first time in more than twenty years, I was back where I started. Confused. Not knowing who I was, now that I didn’t have either one of my children around to define me. I had nothing to do but mope around the house, dwelling on the past, on the life I had before I had them, on the details of that life, which I’d shared with Jo, laying them all out for her, hoping she would understand.
How lonely it had been, before I became a mother. How dull.
D on’t be so dull, child! No one buys a dull-looking doll. Put a smile on that face of yours—paint it on if you have to!” my grandmother, Grandma Pelton, used to say to me when I was young. She’d clap her hands. “Liven up, liven up, Angie!” Dull was the very worst thing a person could be in Grandma Pelton’s eyes. She herself was anything but—a bustle of noise and energy that wouldn’t tolerate any dullness around her.
To “liven” me up, she’d hustle me into the kitchen and scoop me up some ice cream—with a look over her shoulder to make sure the coast was clear. Grandpa Pelton didn’t approve of snacking
I stared into his eyes, brown like mine, on the edge for a few long seconds—before backing off, shaking my head. “Never mind.” It was the closest I ever came to sharing the secret that belonged to him as much as it did to me.
D ays after Chris came to visit me in Chicago, the flight path of four airplanes changed the world.
When I talked to him on the phone that week, Chris said, “Everything’s different now, Jo.”
“I know.”
“Remember how I said I didn’t know what I wanted to do with the rest of my life?”
“Yes.”
“I do now, Jo.”
I heard the conviction in his voice and envied it. In a world now flooded with fear and doubt, I wanted what he had, dismissing what Grandma Faith had said about the dangers of certainty.
Professor Crawley called me into his office a few weeks later. He told me about the career options that were more lucrative now, and more in demand, than when he’d first mentioned them. I grabbed at the sense of conviction that he offered, leaving behind all the reasons I’d wanted to study languages in the first place—to do what Grandma Faith did, to connect with people so that I could help them. What I’d intended to do before—Grandma Faith’s whole approach to life—seemed suddenly naïve, too simple for what the world had become. Because now, among the people who spoke one of the languages I’d stumbled into studying—fresh from the strangeness of Sadiq’s story—there were some who were even less comprehensible than he had been, the source of a hatred I couldn’t fathom, no matter how well I understood their words, the source of mass murder in the name of a god that could have nothing to do with the One I worshipped.
Language, Professor Crawley told me, was a weapon now. And I could use that weapon to help in a war that my country hadn’t asked for. I applied for the job. And got it.
Signing all the contracts was scary. Confidentiality clauses galore. All the secrecy involved made me hesitate, wondering what exactly I was getting myself into—national secrets, now, on top of the personal ones I already kept, buried deep inside the color of my eyes and Chris’s. But I didn’t dwell on the doubts hidden in that hesitation. For the second time in my life, I climbed over them, taking on a role I’d never imagined I’d want. And, just like before, the doubts came with me, eventually forcing a reckoning far more difficult than the one I’d dealt with before.
Angela
The sinning is the best part of repentance.
Arabic proverb
I t seemed like a lifetime ago, that weekend when Chris went to visit Jo in Chicago. I worried my heart out that she would give away the secret I’d asked her to keep—the truth that had driven Jo away from me no matter how much we both pretended things were the same. Now, both of my babies were gone. For the first time in more than twenty years, I was back where I started. Confused. Not knowing who I was, now that I didn’t have either one of my children around to define me. I had nothing to do but mope around the house, dwelling on the past, on the life I had before I had them, on the details of that life, which I’d shared with Jo, laying them all out for her, hoping she would understand.
How lonely it had been, before I became a mother. How dull.
D on’t be so dull, child! No one buys a dull-looking doll. Put a smile on that face of yours—paint it on if you have to!” my grandmother, Grandma Pelton, used to say to me when I was young. She’d clap her hands. “Liven up, liven up, Angie!” Dull was the very worst thing a person could be in Grandma Pelton’s eyes. She herself was anything but—a bustle of noise and energy that wouldn’t tolerate any dullness around her.
To “liven” me up, she’d hustle me into the kitchen and scoop me up some ice cream—with a look over her shoulder to make sure the coast was clear. Grandpa Pelton didn’t approve of snacking
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