Page 25 of Light Up The Night
Layla inhales, holds it, and lets it out slowly. "Girl, you are all kinds of right. It's ancient history and not worth bringing up. Rye is a good guy, Cadence. He really is." She leans closer to Cadence, stage whispering. "He just doesn't realize it."
"Is that a secret?" Cadence says, puzzled. "Why did you whisper so loudly?”
Layla barks a laugh. "I…no, I was teasing."
"Oh. Of course."
Layla looks at me, and her expression communicates a whole lot of questions. Not that I have answers for any of them, and not that I'd give them to her, even if I did.
Layla forces a smile at us both. "Your food will be out shortly."
When she's gone, I lean toward Cadence. "Look, Cadence, I…"
"Please pardon the interruption, but I neither need nor desire explanations. Your life is your own."
"Yeah, but…" I scrub my hand through my hair. "Fact is, babe, that's who I am. I've never been serious about anyone."
She nods but says nothing. "I believe it is time for me to admit defeat and return home. I have attempted to come up with a scheme which might allow me to raise the money I need, but nothing I can think of will have the desired effect in the time necessary."
"What's the urgency?" I ask.
"There are very few flights going anywhere near where I wish to go. I have managed to secure a seat on a flight into South Sudan, which I have already paid for and which is nonrefundable. That is not insurmountable, as I could deal with the loss of money if it were simply a matter of the airfare, but I have raised a rather large amount of funds for this mission. I have purchased supplies. I have arranged for security. I have secured lodging. I have arranged for personal protection. I have the necessary visa and vaccinations. I have a contact with a local organization that will place me where I am most needed. The money I am missing is vitally important, however. Without it, all of the preparations I have spent the last six months of my life working for will be for nothing."
"And you need eighty grand?"
"Yes."
"And that old man we visited, Mr. Crenshaw, was gonna give youeightyfucking grand?"
"The Crenshaws are very wealthy. Mr. Crenshaw invented a piece of technology that has something to do with commercial airplanes—I am afraid I could not say what, only that it made them very, very wealthy. They were patrons of my parents when they were missionaries. And now that I am carrying the torch of my family's medical missionary legacy, they seek to support me, as well. But as you heard, they do not feel it is responsible to encourage or support me in going to a war-torn country."
"I…maybe there's merit to that, though. Y'know? Like, I don't know shit about global politics or whatever, but I know that place is supposed to be pretty fuckin’ dangerous."
"Indeed, it is. It is a level Four ‘do not travel’ advisory."
"So…why there? Surely there are people in other, less dangerous places who need help just as badly."
She nods. "Assuredly there are. There are people here in this country. But my mind is made up. I…" she looks away, thinking. "I met someone when I was in the Congo last year. A refugee from the war in Sudan. Her name was Atong, which means ‘born in war.’ She is—was, rather—a very beautiful, very kind young girl. She had suffered a great deal in her escape from Sudan. Her father was killed in front of her. Her mother was violated and killed in front of her. Her elder brother helped her escape, but he too was killed, although his death was a tragic accident rather than violence. But Atong was a precious child, so utterly innocent. She carried no hatred in her heart despite all that she had seen and suffered."
"What…um…what happened? To Atong?"
She drops her eyes, swallowing hard. "I could not save her. The Congo has seen more than its share of violence, of course. She stepped on an old unexploded landmine. I worked on her for hours. I stopped her from exsanguinating via severed femoral artery, but she developed a terrible infection that would not respond to antibiotics. I could do nothing."
"Fuck, man," I murmur. "That's brutal."
"Yes. It was quite brutal." She sighs. "In my profession, one is going to lose patients. It is simply a reality of the world—people die, and even the miracles of modern medicine cannot save everyone. But Atong…she left an indelible imprint on my heart. When she passed away, I swore an oath that I would go to her country and do what I could to help. I understand the risks. I know very well that I could be killed, kidnapped, violated, or merely trapped by airport closures, among a myriad of other possible risks. But I swore an oath to Atong’s memory.” Her eyes fill with tears. "Imustfind a way. I simplymust."
"Well, when you put it like that…" I say, trailing off.
She blinks at me. “When I put it that way, what?"
“Oh. I just mean, when you put it that way, I can see why you're so determined. It's personal. It's not just a…fuck, what's the word? Altruistic—it's not just an altruistic desire to help, or some kind of virtue signaling.”
"Virtue signaling? I am virtuous, I think. I am flawed, of course, as are we all. But I…yes, I do not believe I would need to signal my virtue. Unless of course you mean virtue in the sense of…" she blushes. "The other sense."
I shake my head, laughing. "I don't know what the other sense is, babe."
"Virginity," she whispers.
