May. It was warm, but not warm enough for the sun to conjure up beads of sweat on my forehead outside. Time was of the essence, a panic and an excitement looming: I’m moving to Africa. When the words rolled off of my tongue, it didn’t even seem real. Like I was retelling a fable of an alternate life. The years faded into months, the months dwindled down to weeks, weeks to days.
Twos. My life was measured in twos… Two days before departure. Two days of travel time to get to Africa. Two suitcases. Two brothers. Two sisters. Two parents and two dogs I had to leave behind. Two viruses floating around my house that I was petrified of catching and taking with me on the plane. Two thumbs being picked at, bloody, raw around the cuticle.
I started shoving things into my suitcase, sweating, panicking. My throat was…
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