the two levels Read online

  Daddy smiles at me through the mirror. “Good choice, sweetheart.”

  Daddy brushes my teeth, then brushes his own (using the same brush—gross), and then we leave the bathroom and head back toward the nest, where Momma is sitting cross-legged in the middle.

  She’s doing something with her hands—there’s a long hallway between us, so it’s hard to tell exactly what she’s doing. But it looks like she’s shuffling a deck of cards.

  Then I realize: it’s probably Uno!

  I drop Daddy’s hand and run toward Momma. On either side of the hallway, I see people building their own nests—some on the floor, some on the chairs where you wait by the gate—and I quickly sneak a peek, looking for kids like me, as I run by.

  When I get close enough, Momma sets down whatever she’s holding and spreads her arms wide open.

  I barely slow down at all—I crash right into the hug.

  I was right about what Momma was holding.

  It was Uno cards.

  I plop down in the nest across from Momma and spread out the bright red and blue and yellow and green cards. As I look through the cards, I find a Reverse—that means the turn bounces back to you. Then I find a Draw Four, my favorite card (to give, not to get). Soon Daddy comes and sits down too—the three of us make a triangle shape on the floor with our bodies.

  “Isn’t it a little late for this?” Daddy asks.

  Momma shrugs. She takes the cards from me, puts them back into a stack, and starts passing them out. “I thought someone might need a little wind-down time.” Momma winks.

  “Uh, yeah. Good idea,” Daddy says.

  Daddy’s right. It is a good idea. A great idea, even.

  I watch my stack of cards get bigger as I count. “Seven cards, Momma,” I remind her.

  “Yep. You got it,” she says.

  We play three games of Uno.

  I win the first two games easily. But Momma wins the last game.

  I cry about losing the last game—I really, really wanted to win.

  “It’s okay, hon,” Momma says. She rubs my back, but her hand feels like sandpaper. I bend and twist away from her until she stops touching me.

  “But I losed,” I say.

  “What?” Momma asks. She reaches out and pulls my fingers away from my mouth. “We can’t understand you, hon. Why don’t you finish crying first. Then talk to us.”

  I shove my fingers back into my mouth—they’re my fingers and that’s where I want them. I try to calm myself down by counting slowly from zero to twenty inside my head, just like Miss Daria (one of my doctors) taught me.

  “I losed,” I say after I finish. “I really wanted to win.”

  “The word is lost, honey. You lost. It’s okay, though,” Daddy says. “Most people want to win, but that doesn’t mean you get to be a poor sport when it doesn’t happen.”

  “You did win twice, Jazzy,” Momma adds.

  “Exactly,” Daddy says. “You should be focusing on the two times you did win. Not the one time you didn’t.”

  I know all of this. Everything they’re saying—I know it already.

  “But I losed,” I say, and I start crying again.

  • • •

  I feel a whole lot better now.

  Momma says I wasn’t even sad about losing in the first place. She thinks I was actually sad because I was tired—isn’t that funny? Why would I be sad from being tired? I just hate losing at Uno!

  Daddy goes back to the boys’ bathroom, while Momma stays in the nest, putting the Uno cards back inside their little cardboard box. I crawl over to her and move her hands out of the way so I can get into her lap.

  “I want a book,” I tell her.

  Momma puts the card box down. “Then maybe you should ask politely.”

  “Please,” I say. Then I remember that please doesn’t usually work by itself, so I say, “Please can I have a book?”

  Momma makes a big sigh. “All right. But first I want you to look around you. And don’t just look—I also want you to listen. Tell me what you see and what you hear.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it, Jasmine,” Momma says.

  Momma used her No Negotiating voice, so I don’t ask any more questions. Instead, I do what Momma tells me: I look around and I listen.

  “Um. It’s an airport?”

  “Yes, Jas. But who’s in it?” Momma asks.

  “Um. People?”

  “Right,” Momma says. “And what are they doing?”

  I look around again.

  “Um. Nothing?”

  “Well, not exactly nothing,” Momma says. “They’re just not doing anything you’d call exciting. They’re getting ready to go to sleep, hon.”

  “So?”

  “So do you hear how quiet it is in here?” Momma asks. “Listen for a second, Jas.”

  I listen. It feels like I’m playing a game—like when I’m at the ear doctor and I get to push a red button whenever I hear a beeping sound. Some of those beeps are so quiet! It’s really fun.

  “I can hear talking!”

  “Shh.” Momma hisses at me. “Dammit, Jasmine. Do you even have an inside voice?”

  “Sorry,” I whisper. “I can hear people talking.”

  “Yes. You’re right,” Momma says. She puts her fingers on both sides of her head and rubs a few circles in her skin. “But you’re being too literal, Jasmine. My point is that it’s not loud. Folks are settling in. Do you get that?”

  “Yeah,” I answer.

  “All I’m trying to say is this. Let’s read a book, let’s settle down, and let’s try to get some rest. Okay?”

  Why didn’t Momma just say that in the first place?

  “Okay,” I answer. I burrow myself into the area between her chest and arm.

  Momma reaches over to her carry-on bag, opens it, and pulls out a book.

  “I don’t want that one,” I tell her.

  “Well, this is the one I’m reading, Jasmine,” Momma says. Her voice sounds not very patient right now.

  “Okay. But Momma?”

  “Yes, sweetheart.”

  “I love you. And you said a bad word a minute ago.”

  “Did I?” Momma shakes her head back and forth. “Sorry about that, hon. I love you too.”

  “It’s okay. Just try to do better,” I tell her.

  “Okay. I’ll try. I always try, Jas.”

  Momma promises to read the book twice, because it’s a short one.

  Daddy comes back from the boys’ room in the middle of the second reading and sits next to Momma. When the book is all finished, we lie down side by side on our backs, all three of us. I’m sandwiched in the middle of my mom and dad, which is my favorite place in the world to sleep. I close my eyes.

  • • •

  I can’t sleep.

  The millipedes won’t let me—they’re way too busy for sleep. They must be building their own Family Nest or something. Or maybe they’re playing Uno! That would be funny. The cards would have to be so tiny!

  Since I’m not allowed to get up and go exploring, I decide to spy on everything from my home base.

  I slowly lift my head and look at my mom and dad. Their eyes are closed. I think they’re sleeping, but I’m not really sure.

  I turn over onto my tummy and look at the other moms and dads and kids sleeping nearby. I try to see if another kid might be awake, like me, but the lights are all turned down really low, so I can’t see very well.

  I look at the big white numbers on the signs over each gate. Our nest is near gate 26, which is in between 25 and 27.

  • • •

  My body is shaking from side to side. I open my eyes.

  The light is too bright, so I have to squint.

  “We’ve got to get moving,” a voice says. It’s Daddy—I know his voice really, really well.

  I blink a lot. Soon I can see Daddy’s face floating right above me like the sun. His hand is moving my shoulder back and forth.

  I sit up
and look around the airport, rubbing my eyes. There’s a lot of action happening—people carrying things, packing things, and talking about things with big voices. I look back at my daddy.

  “I can see your beard growing,” I tell him. I don’t like it when he doesn’t shave—it looks weird.

  “I know, sweetheart. I didn’t have time to deal with all that,” he says. “Can we focus on business, please?”

  “But your pouch has a razor in it.”

  Daddy shakes his head and stares up at the ceiling for a few seconds. “Jasmine. Get up,” he says. “Please.”

  I do a big stretch and a yawn—I still feel sleepy. “Why?” I ask.

  “Listen to me, Jas. The plane is here—right now. We’re going home, sweetheart, but we can’t go home unless you get yourself together. Let’s move.”

  I suddenly feel really, really awake. Wide awake.

  “We’re going home?”

  “Jasmine,” Momma says.

  I didn’t even know Momma was right there! When I look, I see her nearby, folding a red blanket into a nice sharp square.

  “Hi, Momma.”

  “Move, Jasmine,” she says. “If you really need to talk about something, fine—but move while you do it.”

  “Okay, Momma,” I say.

  • • •

  As we get ready to leave Freetown, everything turns into a whirlwind.

  I get my teeth brushed.

  I get my hair combed out and braided. It hurts quite a bit, but I don’t cry.

  I get my face washed with cold water.

  I get a banana and a mini-box of Cheerios from the gift shop, but I’m not allowed to eat anything until we’re on the plane because we don’t have time.

  When we finally get on board, I sit down in a seat between my mom and dad. They’re both sweaty and breathing hard—Momma wipes a strand of hair off her forehead where it got stuck.

  I look around at the inside of the plane and all the people getting in and sitting down.

  Suddenly I don’t feel okay anymore. It happens really fast.

  “Momma?” I grab her sleeve and tug on it.

  Momma’s eyes are closed and her head is resting on the back of the seat.

  I tug harder. “Momma.”

  “Yes, hon.” Her eyes stay closed.

  “Is this the same one?” I ask.

  Momma’s eyes open, but she doesn’t look at me—she looks at the ceiling of the plane. “The same what, Jasmine?”

  “The same plane as before,” I answer.

  “No, hon.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask. “I think it could be the same plane as before.”

  Momma closes her eyes again. “I’m sure, Jas. It’s not the same plane—it just looks the same. They all do.”

  “They all do what?”

  “Look the same,” Momma answers. “Lord have mercy, Jasmine. Planes all look the same—that’s why it seems like it could be the old one. But it isn’t.”

  “Jasmine,” Daddy says. He doesn’t sound very happy with me.

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you just let your mom be for a minute? Everything’s fine. Okay?”

  Daddy’s wrong—everything isn’t fine. I’m not fine. But I decide to try and stay quiet because that’s what I’m supposed to do.

  One of the ladies in charge of the plane walks down the aisle, counting everyone; when she finishes, she says the number 113 in a walkie-talkie. Another lady is standing in front, looking out the open hatch. Almost all of the passengers are already sitting; only a few are shoving their suitcases into the giant bins attached to the ceiling. I hear a whole bunch of clicks and snaps—those are all the seatbelts getting put on, I’m pretty sure.

  I think about what Momma said about all planes looking the same. I don’t feel okay about it, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk right now because of what Daddy said. I decide it’s best to wait.

  It feels like I’m holding my breath even though I’m not.

  While I’m waiting, I suddenly hear people yelling and I open my eyes—I didn’t even realize my eyes were closed!

  At the front of the plane, a huge group of new people is pushing its way into the plane through the hatch. It looks like the lady in charge doesn’t want them to do that. The new people don’t seem mean or scary, though; in fact, if I had to pick a word, I would say that they look terrified. One of the new people has a nose bleed—it looks really gross, even from way back here.

  I turn. “Daddy?”

  He isn’t paying attention to me; he’s too busy staring at the front of the plane. His eyes look as big as hard-boiled eggs.

  “Daddy.”

  He doesn’t look at me. “One sec, sweetheart.”

  “I need to ask you something. It’s important.”

  Daddy keeps on staring forward. His head is tilted, like he’s trying to hear something really quiet.

  I look at the front of the plane and see the new people hurrying down the aisle toward us. They all look like people from regular Africa—mommies, daddies and kids, businessmen and business-girls. I watch as they all find places to sit down.

  It takes forever—there must be hundreds of new people.

  “Dad,” I whisper.

  He looks at me. “What, Jasmine?”

  “How does Momma know?” I ask.

  Daddy makes a big sigh. He doesn’t answer me right away. “Know what?”

  “How does she know this is a new plane?” I ask. “If all planes look the same—like Momma told me—then this could be the old one.”

  “She just knows, hon. Trust her. Trust us.”

  “But what if it is the same one?” I ask. I can feel myself getting close to crying—I don’t want to, but I can’t always stop it all by myself.

  “Jasmine,” Daddy says. “Don’t start with that nonsense. You’re not a baby anymore. Everything’s okay. Just relax.”

  “Stephen?” Momma says. Her voice is almost a whisper. “What’s going on?”

  Daddy shrugs. “She thinks this is the same plane.”

  “Not her,” Momma says, her voice snapping. “What’s going on with all these people?”

  Daddy looks around the plane, then looks back at Momma. “Late sleepers? Shit, I don’t know. I couldn’t hear anything—could you?”

  Momma says something to Daddy, but I stop listening to them. I stare up at the ceiling—all I can think about is a thousand jellyfish tentacles breaking through and reaching down to grab me again.

  “Jasmine,” Momma says.

  I look at her. “What?”

  “Stop kicking the seat. Now.”

  I stop my leg from moving—I didn’t know it was doing that—and I lock my ankles together.

  “Momma?”

  “Yes, Jasmine. What.”

  “Remember the other plane? The one that had a problem with it?”

  Momma looks at me like she doesn’t know me—like she forgot that we’re in the same pride. “Are you for real?” she asks. “Yes, Jasmine. I think I remember the plane we were on yesterday.”

  “What if this is the same plane as that one?”

  Momma closes her eyes, and right away I feel Daddy reach across me to take her hand.

  “Jas,” he says. “Can you give your mom a break, please?”

  “But what if it’s the same plane, Daddy?” My voice sounds like it’s broken—it comes out in little pieces. I start to cry.

  “Jasmine,” Daddy says. “Good Lord, can we please not do this right now?”

  I cover my eyes with my hands. I hear the engines roar like lions and I feel the plane start to roll away.

  Someone pulls my hands away from my eyes. It’s gentle, though—not rough at all.

  It’s my momma.

  She puts her arm around my shoulders—it makes me feel better almost right away.

  “Is it scary to be on a plane again?” she asks. “After what happened yesterday?”

  “Yes,” I answer. My voice is still coming out in broken bits.<
br />
  Momma nods. “Of course, hon. Of course it is. I understand,” she says. “I’m so sorry that I didn’t think of how it would feel for you.”

  I stare at her. I don’t feel like I need to cry anymore.

  “But why didn’t you think?” I ask.

  “There was just so much going on, Jas. I’m sorry.”

  “Me too,” Daddy says. “But it’s okay now, sweetheart. Nothing’s going to happen to this plane. What happened yesterday was like a one-in-a-million thing.”

  Momma leans over and kisses the top of my head before I have a chance to push her away.

  She looks down at me. Her face is nice, not mean. “Are you kind of angry at Momma right now?” she asks.

  I nod my head hard because I am. “Yes.”

  “I understand. And that’s okay,” Momma says. “But hon, I need you to work on telling me how you feel—using your words. That will help Momma understand what’s going on when you’re upset.”

  “And Daddy too,” Daddy adds.

  I don’t say anything to Momma or Daddy. I cross my arms and stare straight ahead at the tray table locked in front of me. Soon I feel the plane stop—it probably reached the beginning of the runway, like the starting line before a race.

  “But I did,” I say.

  “What?” Momma asks.

  “I did.”

  Momma puts one of her hands on one of mine—it feels soft and warm. “You did what, sweetheart?” she asks.

  “I did tell you what I was feeling. I said I was scared.”

  “You did?”

  “Like a hundred times,” I answer. “You weren’t listening to me.”

  • • •

  The plane ride home to San Jose is totally boring.

  Everybody is fast asleep during most of the trip.