Page 72 of A Me and You Thing
I don’t know where I am in the city, but I know I don’t want to be on the truck when it reaches its destination at some factory in a warehouse district. When the truck stops at a red light, I jump off and join the people on the streets. I walk as if I know where I’m going, and I don’t avoid people’s eyes. There’s still fear inside me, but I don’t show it. I feel frumpy and unkempt. I’m wearing baggy jeans and a t-shirt that’s too big for me. My shoes are clunky and hurt my feet as I walk. All that, combined with my scarf, make me stand out on the streets. My scarf is now an identifier rather than a concealer, so I casually remove it. There’s plenty of westerners in Managua. A girl with blond hair doesn’t necessarily scream for attention. In the mountains, yes. Here, no. I look only marginally better without it, but it’s a step in the right direction.
What now? I have no idea what to do next. I just know I want to get the heck out of here as fast as I possibly can. After walking about five blocks while demanding my brain to think, I decide I can’t go directly to the airport in the state I’m in—even though that’s where I’d like to go right away. I’ll call attention to myself when I need to blend in.
I can’t take a taxi because I don’t have cash. So, I keep walking, wandering aimlessly, but trying to appear confident and sure of my destination. In truth, I feel very lost and alone. My hands shake and I feel dizzy. Every person I pass has the face ofTíaandTío. I’m trying not to panic or start running out of fear. I can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching me, waiting to pounce, which is silly, isn’t it? I’m far away from my captors.
I’m not sure how much time passes, but it’s much too long for being in limbo.
Great plan. I escaped, but now I’m homeless and lost. However, even under the circumstances, I’m still in a better place than I was—a prisoner and a slave.
I’ll take freedom any day.
My stomach grumbles, but the whole no cash situation still presents aproblema... problem. I need to find a place where I can exchange a traveler’s check for cash. Right away. Banks are closed at this hour. I think foreign exchange locations are too. My other option is to purchase something at an accepting retailer, restaurant, or hotel. After my purchase, they’ll give me local currency for the remaining balance. I need to keep watch for a suitable place.
The American Embassy would be a good place to go. I’d be safe immediately. But I have no idea where it is or how to get there. And I’m scared to ask.
In the distance, I notice a large sign...The Princess Hotel. It’s the hotel I stayed at on my one and only night in Managua when I arrived. I breathe a sigh of relief. The sign seems like an advertisement for a sanctuary, an oasis in the middle of the desert. It’s a heaven-sent gift.
I speed up my steps and walk toward salvation. I’ve finally found my answer, the beginning to the way back to my life.
I enter the lobby of the hotel feeling very aware that I must look like a bedraggled mess. I pull out my ID, a traveler’s check, and ask for a room for one night only. I hide my trembling hands and try to act poised. I prepare myself to field questions about my appearance.
“Gracias, Mrs. Denali. Enjoy your stay.” The man at the front desk doesn’t blink an eye at my disheveled state, nor does he ask any questions. Money talks. If I look as nervous as I feel, he doesn’t acknowledge that either.
He hands me my remaining balance incordobas.
And I’m all set. I just might actually pull this off.
After where I’ve been, it’s like I just booked a stay at a luxury resort. I’m dead on my feet, dying to collapse on the cushy hotel bed.
But there’s no way I can catch a flight tomorrow looking like this. I’ll call attention to myself and arouse suspicion. There’s more I need to do.
I walk down the street until I find a trendy department store type of shop that looks as though it will have what I need. My eyes are watchful and wary. I trust no one. I pick up a white blouse, khaki pants, new undies and a bra, a pair of sandals, a bottle of Tylenol, shampoo and conditioner, a brush, toothpaste and toothbrush, a razor, and lotion. Now I’ll be able to look half way decent and won’t call attention to myself. I also purchase a small rolling suitcase. I need to look as though I belong. Not having luggage on my flight home will make me stand out. I don’t want that.
What else do I need? My brain is overworked and objecting, my head hammering.Think, Quinn, think.My luggage will be filled with toiletries; therefore, I can’t carry it on. I don’t want to be empty handed as I board the flight. That won’t look right either. I choose a small backpack, a few books, and a light sweater. I also buy a few towels to stuff in my luggage to cushion the toiletries and make my luggage a little heavier.
I’d love to buy more, but I’m not sure I have enough. The remaining traveler’s checks need to be saved for my flight home. I highly doubt the store will cash them for me anyway. Sawyer wanted me to be prepared for any event and insisted on me taking much more than I thought I needed. I’m grateful for that now.
The thought of Sawyer makes my body tingle. I can’t wait to see him.
I glance around. No one appears to be watching or following me. I’m paranoid, and I admit to it readily.
On my walk back, my stomach reminds me that I’m starving. I think it’s contributing to my anxiety. I need to force myself to eat so I have the strength to get through this ordeal. I stop at a supermarket where a vendor is selling food. I grab a plate of grilled chicken with cabbage and plantain chips, wrapped in a banana leaf. I also buy some friedmaduras, which are sweet fried bananas. My meal costs the equivalent to a whopping three dollars.
Once in my hotel room, the first thing I do is secure the locks and place two chairs in front of the door. If someone tries to enter the room, it won’t stop them, but I’ll hear them loud and clear. I gulp down two Tylenol and eat my food. The bed is calling my name. But the cry of the shower is louder. Neither win when the newspaper on the desk catches my attention.
When I see the date, I lose myself again. I don’t know how long I stare at nothing as the news sinks in. I can’t respond, because I’m frozen with shock. My brain manages to master a few calculations. I’ve been gone for twenty-three months. I left in June. Now it’s May.Two years later.
I’ve been gone for almost two years.Two years. Two years of my life have been stolen from me.
Sawyer. My baby girls. Where are they? How are they? My daughters are... what? Math seems so hard right now. My brain doesn’t want to function. At all. I guess they’d be... thirty-one months old, approaching three years old.
I can’t think about it. I can hardly face it. It’s just too much. I’m on emotional overload.
I stare at the phone on the nightstand, and it stares back at me. Glares even. Should I call Sawyer? My mom and dad? It’s been almost two years. Clearly, they think I’m dead. What will a phone call do to them? They’ll be in shock, no doubt. I’m not sure my parents could handle it.
I have no idea what a phone call from Nicaragua to the United States will cost. It won’t be cheap. However, I’m pretty sure no one will care about dollars and cents in a moment like this. My hands tap against my legs nervously. I want to talk to Sawyer so much it makes me ache inside. I want to screamI’m aliveandI love youover the airwaves. I want to talk to my babies and hear their sweet little voices. So, so much.
My mind jogs ahead. If I call, I know what will happen. Sawyer will be on the next flight here. He’ll contact the American Embassy. He’ll want me to talk to the police. He’ll want justice. He’ll wantTíaandTíoto pay for what they’ve done. I might have to see them again. It will be a huge brouhaha, and I don’t want to face it. I can’t. I want out of this country NOW. I don’t want to stay here another minute. I don’t want to talk about my experience, I don’t want to be on the news, and I especially don’t want to find myself in a legal mess that could possibly make me have to stay here in Nicaragua.
