My mother is stealing me away to Canada. We made it to the Canadian embassy in Washington, and we parked exact copies of our little purple car all over the parking lot to confuse my father if he caught onto her and tried to stop us. My dad drove into the parking lot, his little car was red, and I ducked down between two cars in an attempt to watch his reaction from a distance.
He is holding some collard shirts in one hand, like he’s packed in a hurry, and he’s distressed. I can tell he has been crying, and in his right hand he is holding a little pair of pink baby shoes, I call out to him. He runs to me frantically, but we don’t hug. My mother comes over and says it was a silly idea anyways.