+-{Emerson & the Lion}-+
+-{Chapter 11}-+
"Why are we here, my love? There are juice places closer to home and it is 115 degrees outside by your temperature," Ali signed in swift, fluid motion as though he'd spoken through his fingers all his life. He was following me up a side street as I led him to the juice bar.
"You forgot?" I signed back to him with a sigh. His phone was glowing with text messages in his hand, but he couldn't turn away from the disappointment in my eyes. "We met here."
"Two years ago today," Ali interrupted and finished my thought as he awakened to the memory. "I know, my love, this is where you met me. I met you earlier when I saw the video of your dancing and then watched over you as you came to Satra. I fell in love with you before I bought you juice. I knew before you met me that you would be mine for life."
"Nice save," I joked. I thought back to that day when the juice guy was so mean to me and I had no idea how any of this worked. I had no way to communicate with him beyond pointing.
+++ +++
It was hard to sleep that night. Ali had taken me for a nice dinner and the next morning we were taking the early flight to London and then another one on to New York City. I'd never been there. Ali had business and Samir and Caleb were coming to stay with us there for a week.
I hadn't been back to the U.S. since I'd left it over two years ago. I'd gotten used to the scorching heat of life in the desert, along with the sights and smells of Arab life. Ali kept asking if I was excited to be going home, but I pointed out that I'd never been to New York and it was still very far from California.
"Do you want to extend our trip and spend a few days in California and see your home place?" He asked me last night.
"No," I signed sadly. "I don't have a family. What would I go back and see?"
"Your family is here. You belong with us. This is your home, my sweet Emi," Ali signed and hugged me.
We made it to the airport on time and were quickly ushered around the security lines and into the first class section. It was one of those two story airplanes with a bar upstairs and our seats were in a private lounge area that had a few plants separating the private areas. I tried to move one just to see if it would slide around when the airplane took off, but it was secured to the floor.
"My baby gets into trouble," Ali signed. He shook his head disapprovingly, but laughed.
We curled up in adjoining leather seats that reclined flat and the steward brought us a large blanket with the Satra Air logo plastered across the front. It was new and fresh out of a bag. Ali went to the bar and got a drink for himself and some juice for me. By the time the plane took off, I was already half asleep with my head in his lap as he checked business emails on his tablet. He held me tightly with one arm until the plane leveled off in the air.
I didn't see much of London. I was waking up in his lap when the plane touched down. Ali had fallen asleep sitting up against the pillows that lined the wall. All we did was walk around the lounge to stretch our legs as people got off and new people got on.
We had lunch somewhere over the Atlantic. Ali had them specially make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich just for me along with a tray of sliced vegetables. By the time we landed in New York, I was ready to run a mile and breathe some non-airplane air.
They split us up at immigration. Ali wasn't a resident of the U.S. He tried to explain that I was deaf and needed to stay with him, but that just seemed to raise alarms with the lady directing the line. She pushed a button on the radio strapped to her collar and soon there was someone there signing that I needed to come with him for special processing. Ali was furious, but he knew his name, wealth, and position had no power here.
"It is your country, they will not hurt you. I'll wait for you at the exit, my love," Ali signed.
The interpreter agent understood his signing, and I caught him giving a look of disgust. He pointed for me to follow him.
It was so strange to me to be in a place where Ali was not in control. In his country he was the lion. He roared and people scurried. Here he was just another foreigner who had to go through separate checkpoints than citizens.
I had to wheel the suitcases that were mine and follow him to a small room. Another agent came into the room and the interpreter translated for him. He went through everything. He asked me about everything from my toothpaste to my tablet computer. He asked why I had been out of the country for so long and how I had received a resident visa from Satra when I went there as a student.
"Your paperwork shows that this family adopted you. And now you're bringing them here? Are they planning to stay permanently?" he asked.
"No, he is a very powerful man there. He is only here for a business trip and brought me with him," I signed back.
"His visa does not say business. He is here as a tourist. He listed no business contacts here in New York. Are you here of your own free will?" the agent asked.
"Yes of course! He's my... boyfriend. We are in love. I guess he listed us as tourists because we are going to see the sights here once his business is done," I assured. That was the wrong thing to say. The agent kept insisting I'd been somehow duped by some kind of sex-trade organization or immigration scheme.
He went on and on telling me they could help me get away from him if I'd testify. I kept insisting that we were a couple and in love, and then he started to ask about terrorist connections. He kept leaving the room for periods of time and I was left with the translator who didn't seem to want anything to do with me.
I started crying. I didn't want to, but they kept telling me I was being stupid, taken advantage of, etc...
Finally, after the agent had gone away for a long period, another agent came in. It was a lady this time, and she simply told the translator to tell me to pack up and exit through the green door. It ended so abruptly, but I hurriedly threw everything back into my bags and took off before they could change their minds.
I wiped the tears off with my sleeve as I pushed through the door and saw Ali pacing and talking on his phone. He saw me and hung up quickly.
"This is exactly what I was afraid of. They think scary brown man with his purchased golden boy. It is why I don't come here often. I am so sorry, my sweet Emi," Ali signed and fumed.
"I want to go please," I signed back, not wanting to discuss it. He nodded, took my bags, and loaded them onto a cart with his.
"I'm sorry, my love. I could not protect you from that. I hope the rest of our trip is better," Ali signed when we were secured in the back of a black town car and cruising onto a crowded freeway wedged between dirty and crumbling old buildings. It was a stark contrast from the new and shiny city we'd left on the other side of the world.
Caleb and Samir were waiting in the hotel suite when we got there an hour later. It was a hulking old tower that New York seemed to be overstuffed with. The suite had a large living room, large dining table, and a bar stocked with liquor I'd never be able to touch. There was a terrace with tables and plants that looked out over the city. Two bedrooms flanked the living area, and the guy carrying our bags put them away in the larger one.
Caleb hugged me for the longest time. We hadn't seen each other in months since he'd talked Samir into opening an office in Los Angeles. He wasn't cut out for the quiet desert houseboy life. He and Samir had been on a relationship roller coaster for weeks before they left. Caleb missed his family, friends, and California. Samir was helpless and followed his heart.
Samir hugged me next as Ali went to make phone calls. He was going to make a big deal with the embassy over my airport misadventure. I filled Caleb in on what had happened and he translated for Samir. Caleb said I should sue, but Samir said that the world had recently gone through events where Arabs didn't look so good. He seemed to understand.
"I didn't know about that," I said when Samir told me what had been going on. "I guess I should read the news more than once a year."
Caleb shrugged. "Well, enough of that! We are going to do New York right," he laughed.