Bond

Long before I became myself, I was just some shy kid watching the world. And my foster sister, Edith, was the best person to watch. She had sixteen years on me and, in my eyes, was a goddess in leggings. Once, she saw me studying her as she dressed for a party and said, “Someday, Vee, your friends will disappear, one by one, until you're left with two who actually understand you."

I looked at her incredulously and left to play Duck Hunt.

But the girl was spot-on.

So when I moved to Liberia, I didn't expect to make friends. Acquaintances, sure, but not friends. Imagine my surprise when I met a girl I dread being away from. What an effing coup.

Then, another realization: I understand outsiders in a way I'll never get my family. People ask me what it's like to meet relatives in Liberia. My response is always "Cool" but what I mean to say is "Quiet." If my growing up in the States built a wall between the family and me, the war here added barbed wire and a moat. Our lives have neither overlapped nor run parallel; the teens are as unknowable as the elders. I so want memories with them but can't get past stare, smile, glance at clock.

I wish Edith had also told me that someday, my family would appear, one by one, and we'd have nothing to say to one another.