Short Stories
This article is based on true and real events; minor details have been fictionalized.
The trip from John F. Kennedy airport to Italy was relatively uneventful; Ali, my husband, had another agenda once we entered Rome.
“My father sent these to us, there is a change in the wedding and we are needed in Malta right away,” he triumphantly waved airplane tickets in the air.
“But we were supposed to stay in Rome…for a week,” I looked at Ali for an explanation.
“No, we must go,” Ali grabbed the children’s hands and headed towards the terminal.
It was late afternoon when the plane landed in Malta. Ali summoned a taxi.
“Ali, we are tired,” I wiped the sweat from the children’s dusty faces, “where are we going?”
“A minute…” Ali spoke in Arabic, “enough,” he yelled.
We drove for about ten minutes; we stopped in front of a small building located on the harbor.
I looked around for a villa or hotel but saw nothing except boats.
“Wait here,” Ali pointed to a small building.
“Okay,” I motioned for the children to stand by me.
Ali walked towards another small building but then took a sudden turn through the crowd and disappeared. I smiled at my children; Alexandria, my oldest daughter cradled her baby sister, Kali, in her arms. My son, Anthony, shuffled his Nikes on the ground. I stood against a wall and waited for Ali.
Ali returned half an hour later waving another set of tickets in the air.
“What are these,” I demanded.
Ali shoved the tickets in my face, “see for yourself.”
“This is not right, I thought…” I flinched as Ali placed his hand behind my hair and roughly caressed my neck.
“What, you thought…” Ali breath smelled of cigarettes, he pinched my tender skin.
“Ouch,” I murmured.
“Your pain has only begun,” he gave my neck a firm squeeze.
I tried to push Ali away but he was too strong; I placed my head down in defeat.
Ali flicked his cigarette on the floor and headed toward a set of pay phones.
I was confused; eight weeks ago I had made an alliance with Ali’s father and sisters. I had agreed to travel to Rome and Malta under the pretense of attending the wedding of Ali’s youngest sister. Once the wedding was done; Ali would be forced to return to Libya with his family. The children and I would be free to return to America; free of Ali and his destruction. The family gave me their word; I naively believed them.
“Mistake,” I nervously chewed my lower lip as I spoke to the clerk.
“No,” the clerks spoke in heavily accented English, “you go to Tripoli…”
Alexandria tugged at my skirt, “Momma,” she whispered.
“A minute,” I replied, “I am busy.”
“No Momma,” she tugged harder, “Daddy-Ali has taken Kali.”
“Look,” Anthony pointed his finger toward a ship docked in a nearby harbor.
I turned my head and noticed a small passenger ship. “Kali,” I shouted helplessly as I watched an Arabic man and a child with light brown curls disappear further and further down the dock.
“Run,” the children and I ran as fast as we could, “there,” I shouted as we entered the dock.
“Kali,” I screamed.
Kali’s light brown curls were swaying from the motion. She reached for us with her outstretched arms.
I abruptly stopped midway on the dock; I firmly grabbed my two children’s hands as I watched Ali preparing to enter the ship.
“Hurry…” Ali turned and sneered, “the boat will not wait.”
I stood motionless on the dock, paralyzed with fear.
“Say good-bye to Momma,” Ali told his daughter.
I watched as my daughter waved and reached her outstretched arms to me.
“She doesn’t love you, she doesn’t want to come,” Ali lied to her.
I was powerless as my three-year-old daughter’s big brown eyes pleaded with me; colossal size tears stream down her tan cheeks.
“Momma,” her voice uttered helplessly and then faded into the ship’s darkness.
“Oh dear God,” I cried.
At that moment of anguish, I realized that there were two heart-wrenching paths in front of me. Each one was agonizing and difficult; yet I must choose one. I fully understood that the decision would change my children’s and my life forever.
“Momma, please follow Kali,” Alexandria’s hazel eyes are clouded with tears.
I knew to follow Ali and Kali would cement Alexandria and Anthony’s fate; they would be forced to live in an Islamic country where they would probably never be able to leave. They were Ali’s stepchildren; they would not be treated well or accepted by Ali’s family.
“Get Kali,” my son nervously twirled his golden brown hair.
To stay on the dock would cement my youngest daughter’s fate; she would never see us again. Even though she was Ali’s biological child and would be treated well by his family; the fact that she is half American would be detrimental.
I looked at my two children and then toward the ship’s entrance.
“Dear Lord, give me courage,” I silently prayed.
In a split moment I had to make one of the most difficult decisions a mother could ever face. I staggered for a moment; I turned around and took one last look at Malta - our last taste of freedom. I firmly grabbed my children’s sweaty palms and faked an encouraging smile.
“Come on,” I gulped.
My stomach convulsed as I squeezed the children’s hands and led them into the ship. I fought back tears as we entered, “be brave,” I whispered to my children.
“Lord, give me courage…” I petitioned him as I led my children into a perilous passageway.
“Direct our path,” I uttered as the door slammed shut and closed behind us.
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