Love In The Time of Intrusion

The long road to Cambre

The blisters on Annalissa's toes popped and started to refill sometime between when the rain beat down on her, pruning her marching feet and after eating the dripping wet bread so saturated, it choked her as it clung to the side of her throat.

In the early hours of the morning, when it was darkest, the road was quiet. Annalissa had to watch her step because the sides of the road were full of lumbering, uneven shadows, bodies too exhausted to reach the grass; they lay in the dirt.

She heard the sounds of quick, agile legs jumping over the dark, slumbering forms, shushing to be quieter over the gentle opening of latches and zippers. She felt the swiftness of thieves all around her, prying away possessions from the arms of exhausted bodies. She kept walking. She couldn't do anything but feel it happening around her.

Her arms were used to the weight of the suitcases she carried, but her hands were red and indented from the rough leather handles.

She hadn't slept in two days.

She watched a mother, just a few years older than her, carry a suitcase and several smaller bags. She had a daughter who was maybe seven or eight and a son, around three years old. They had traveled in close proximity to her most of her trip.

The trip had been hard for everyone but especially the mothers with children, and every hour it grew more and more severe. The little boy would throw himself down and scream that he didn't want to go any further. He would kick his tired little legs until one of his little leather shoes would fly off his foot. The mother would have to put her bags down and try to pick him up; he would fight her and continue to cry. Yesterday, the mother had to leave a bag so she could carry him.

"Brigette!" The mother yelled at the little girl with equal parts frustration and exhaustion. She looked as if she was ready to walk away from the children and her life right there.

"I can't carry your brother and these bags. You will have to carry one. You'll have to put down your doll." The little girl with straight dark hair and freckles in her yellow dress stopped dead in her tracks and looked at her mother and then at her doll.

The little girl did as she was told. She put down the doll but started to cry. Annalissa could see the tears roll down the little girl's pink cheeks as she reached her little chubby hand to dutifully accept a brown leather bag from her mother.

Annalissa couldn't cry if she wanted to. Her eyes were dry and encased in a film from the dust on the roads.

She listened to the gentle weeping of the recently evicted child.

"I'll carry your doll," Annalissa offered gently, locking eyes with the child's red gaze. The little girl shifted her eyes to the ground, a new sense of distrust evident in her demeanor.

"I'll carry it until I get to my stop. If that helps," Annalissa added, noticing the worry in the girl. Her mother seemed to be in no mood to deal with meddling strangers.

The girl hesitated, clearly torn between wanting to accept the help and fearing her mother's reaction. Finally, she nodded almost in defiance, her face shiny and red from tears.

Annalissa added the doll to her load and continued on, her body aching as her mind tried to process the events of the last few days.