Chapter Text
There’s nothing like blending in. When no one knows your name, no one knows your face, and no one knows a thing about you, that’s when you can truly get lost in any situation. I’ve been doing just that my entire life. Whatever I’ve needed to be, I’ve been. Whatever I’ve needed do, I’ve done. I haven’t been around that long, just a short sixteen years, but I’ve unfortunately had the opportunity to master the art of being a chameleon. The only people who have any real idea of who I am, whatever that means, are my parents. They’re the only constant. Not even our names have been. They’ve always called me Scylla, but they’re the only ones who have.
This summer hasn’t been entirely unordinary; my parents and I have been moving across the Cession to the latest “safe place.” I’m not sure anywhere is safe for Witches who aren’t serving like they’re supposed to according to the powers at be. I suppose it’s for our sanity that we believe there must be a place where we won’t have to run or hide. My mother decided a long time ago, well before I was even a thought, that she wouldn’t be subjected to the same treatment as the other people like us. She once told me that even if she had to run her entire life, she’d never participate in the endless cycle of Conscription and death. When on her eighteen year Conscription Day arrived and those infernal sparks erupted in front of her, Mom turned around and waded into the waters of uncertainty instead of saying the words. Sometimes I wonder if that was the right choice. It meant a life of…this. Running. Hiding. Dying in a foreign country almost sounds better. At least there’d be some semblance of normalcy beforehand. I’m not sure I would have made the same choice. Mom was lucky though in some ways. She didn’t have to go it all alone. My father loved her enough that he decided to follow her wherever she went. They’ve been going since. Now, I go with them.
I’m fairly accustomed to it at this point. The sometimes endless walking can get old, but I try to focus on the world around me instead of how tired I can be. There’s much beauty to be found in the trees and the sky on a sleepy day like today. The clouds seem to be immobile, suspended in the endless blue firmament. Whatever sparse wind there is rolls gently though the needles on the trees, blessing me with the comforting smell of pine and soil. Birds sing as well, chirping and chittering all around, nearby and in the distance. While it’s a hot day, even for summer, the wild forest around us provides plenty of shade, so I hardy have room to complain. There’s no sense in voicing any complaints anyway. It won’t change that I’m hiking through the woods.
“Scylla,” Dad says.
“Yes?” I say as I turn my head to look at him. His worn, scruffy face stares back at me with a tired smile sitting upon it.
“You holding up okay?” He asks as he takes a hold of me with one arm. “Need some water?”
“I’m okay,” I replied. “I’ve got water.”
“Alright, kiddo. We’re almost done for the day. Just a bit longer.”
Just a bit longer. That should really be Dad’s catchphrase; every time he’s noticed I’m uncomfortable he says that same thing. I’m not sure who he says it for really, him or me. While I tend not to think too hard about all of this, I’m sure Mom and Dad aren’t exactly happy that I’m wrapped up in this situation with them. I think they’re empathetic enough to know I should have been able to have a real childhood free of worry and stress, regardless how impermanent that would have been. I would have inevitably turned eighteen and been sent off, but at least I could have lived normally for a little while, whatever normal means. I know I’m lucky though. Other Dodger families haven’t been as fortunate as us. Most of them are missing parts. A mother killed at a checkpoint. A father who hasn’t been seen in years. A sister or brother who was taken away when they were little, cast into the system with a name their parents didn’t give them. At least I have had both of them beside me this whole time.
Dad says I remind him of Mom. He says we’re both perpetually positive, always looking at the good that could come from any given situation. I suppose that’s why I try my best to be as positive as I do, even if most of the time I want to break down and cry. This life isn’t easy, and if I were given the chance to be candid, I am tired. But the life I was born into is not going to end anytime soon, so I take it one moment at a time. Walking then stopping. Sleeping and then walking up. Eating and then going hungry.
As the sun nears its setting, the familiar sound of a wild river emerges from the woods. The babbling noise grows louder with each step I take.
“That’s the river from the map,” Mom says. “We should be able to stop now.”
The three of us break away from our route and head up a small hill. The river should be just on the other side according to Mom. We reach the top and see the river is indeed right where it should be, with a neat place for camping nestled beside it.
“This spot’s good,” Mom says. “Nice and flat. Got good shade.”
“Yeah, it looks good to me,” Dad says in a sigh. He takes off his backpack. Mom and I do the same.
“Scylla, get started on the fire, honey,” Dad instructs.
“Okay Dad.”
I pull my axe from its place on my backpack and make my way. As I set off to gather firewood, Mom and Dad chat back and forth, readying to set up our tents. I walk away from them and their voices grow softer and softer. Soon, I cannot hear them. There’s plenty of dried out wood all around in a forest, if you know where to look, that is. As I walk through the woods gently grasping my axe, my shoes crunch on dried needles and other earthy things resting on the ground. There’s no human noise but that I create. I’m a ghost walking through the forest, searching for something to set on fire to keep my wandering spirit alive for another day. It doesn’t take long for me to locate a dead tree standing tall amongst ones living. I walk up to it, looking up to see its height. It should do fine to provide a fire that’ll keep as long as we need it to.
With a few swift and well placed swings, the thin tree falls to the Earth with a crackling rattle. First, I remove the thin branches and twigs still attached. It makes it easier to tug along if there’s less that can catch. The axe makes quick work the task. Once I’m ready, I take the tree in my hands and begin dragging it back to camp. It’s not overly difficult work, but I didn’t eat well yesterday, so I am winded quickly. That doesn’t mean I can stop. With each step, the firewood makes its way closer and closer to its final resting place. As I approach our camp, I pause for a moment to rest. I let out a soft sigh, carefully exhaling all of the air in my chest. I look at my hands. They’re red and worn. They’re more calloused than they should be. I often find myself wondering about all of the “shoulds” and the “woulds” in life. It’s kind of like a fantasy; I imagine what life could be like were those shoulds and woulds something tangible.
While I’m pondering, I realize that it’s too quiet. My hearing sharpens as I focus on the silence. Cautiously, I turn to look towards camp. Much to my distress, I do not see anyone. I see tents, but there’s no sign of my parents. A familiar dread snaps into place, causing my heart to sink and race at the same time. I drop to the ground, burying myself as low as I can. I carefully look left and right, my eyes flitting from one spot to another to see if I’m being watched. The world is suddenly deathly quiet and it seems there are more ghosts in the woods besides me. My breath quickens and my hands begin to shake. I clench them into fists to stop it. Just as I do, I hear my mother laughing.
The tension is broken immediately. I sigh out and put my forehead on the ground. I hear my father’s voice carry to me, though I can’t hear what he’s saying. I get up, dusting myself off as the wave of post-distress relaxation washes over me. My heart begins to slow but quickly rises again once I resume dragging the tree.
“Good work, kiddo,” Dad says when he spots me.
“Thanks. I just have to chop it now.”
Dad smiles and nods. I get to work chopping the fire wood. My axe helps me cut the log in half first, cutting those pieces in half then and so on, until I have several of the same size. A decently flat rock buried in the dirt makes a fine surface to split them even further. Swing after swing, my task draws closer to its completion. During a moment where I’m taking a break, Mom comes up behind me and hands me a water bottle.
“Drink some water, Scylla,” she says softly.
I nod and take her offering. The water does well to ease the dryness in my mouth, but only exacerbates the hunger in my stomach. I know we don’t have a lot of food, so the pang is made worse when I think about it. Nonetheless, I drink most of the water, setting the bottle down beside me to finish my chore. After a bit more splitting, all of the firewood is ready to go. The final portion of my task begins when I clear a spot on the ground of all flammable debris to make room for a fire ring. My hands gather rocks for the circle. Soon enough, the setting is correct. With a little bit of kindling and a lighter, the fire is born and I can finally rest. I sit heavily beside the crackling fire just as the sun begins to truly set. I hang my head and close my eyes, trying to take myself away from where I am for a moment. I can hear my mother and father speaking as they gather what little we have for dinner and heat up whatever it is over the fire I made. I don’t really hear them though; it’s all just noise. Soft and gentle and familiar noise, but still just noise.
My concentration is broken as Mom rests her hand on my shoulder. I look up at her. She hands me the metal plate that holds my dinner. It’s a just some pre-packaged meal for situations like this. They’re meant to be eaten in full by one person, but the three of us have to split one. I know for a fact that there’s only one more. Before I know it, my food is gone and my hunger is stated only a little bit. I set the plate beside me and look at my mother. She’s eating slowly like she always does. She looks tired. The shadows cast by fire dance around her and Dad, making them look like some strange pair of phantoms that got lost here a long time ago. I wonder what they see when they see shadows dance around me.
“We don’t have a lot of food left,” I state. Mom and Dad look up at me. “Are we almost there, wherever it is we’re going?”
“We are actually,” Mom states. “We should get there tomorrow night. It’s just a little town on the edge of the Cession. We should be safe there for a while. The military tends to avoid the area, from what the Tippets said. The tribe there doesn’t really care for them snooping around.”
“And this tribe is going to just let us be there?” I ask.
“They should,” Dad adds. “There’s a bunch of us out there. We’ve been out that way, before you were born. The Tippets should be there by now. Like I told you a while back, you should even be able to go to school again this coming term.” Dad smiles at me when he says the last bit, a proud smile meant for a daughter he loves with all his soul.
“That’s good,” I mutter, smiling back at him as strongly as I can.
After we’re all done eating and we’ve cleaned everything up, Mom and Dad decide to go to bed. It’s very well dark by now. I hug them both tightly like I always do, like I won’t get to do it again in the morning. When Mom hugs me, she takes one hand to the back of my head and holds me longer than usual. I close my eyes and fall into it, listening to her heart beat.
“I love you, Scylla,” she whispers. It sounds strange through her chest. “I love you with all of me.”
My eyes tear up. This I love you sounds more weighted than it usually does. I tighten my arms around her.
“I love you too, Mom,” I say. My chest wavers a little bit, shaking with the emotion that slips through. “Get some rest.”
“You should too. Don’t stay up too late. Make sure to smother the fire, okay?”
I nod at her. Mom and Dad retreat to their tent and soon it’s quiet. As quiet as a forest at night can be, that is. Most people would probably be fearful of what lies in the woods during the day only to come crawling out at night. Wolves or bears, maybe. A pack of coyotes. But given my experience, there are much worse things that stand out in the open in places much more inhabited than this.
There’s a reason we are on the move again. Sure, we have never stayed in one place for very long, but there’s always a reason why. The military would sniff us out or there would be an incident where another Dodger would decide to rat on everyone else. Sometimes we’d have been somewhere for a couple years or a just few months. Wherever we were and for however long, we lived as normally as we could. The places we tend to go aren’t usually overly reputable or populated, so there’s an abundance of people who will accept cash for rent. My parents worked the jobs they could and I would go to school, though transferring can often get confusing when you constantly have to remember a new name. This particular time though, we weren’t even settled in or fully unpacked when we had to leave again. The three of us were staying with another Dodger family that was established in a small town in Illinois. The town was close to the Cession border, another one of those could-be gray areas.
We had arrived the day before. I had just gone to bed when I heard a knock on the door. There’s never anything good that comes from a knock late at night. It was another Dodger, coming to warn everyone in the house that the military police were on the way. The Dodger said they didn’t know about Mom, Dad, and me, but they’d take us anyway, as we all knew. Everyone abandoned the house and took off with whatever they could carry. I left behind my only book. I didn’t have time to grab it. But to me the saddest part was that family had been living there for a few years. They seemed to be virtually undetected. The parents worked. They kids were in school. The teenaged daughter told me she even had a boyfriend. It’s sad that she never got to say goodbye. He was just a regular human, too. He had no idea she was even a Witch. Probably better that way. The point is, they did everything absolutely correct and with diligence, and the Army still caught up to them.
While I sometimes wish my parents hadn’t chose this life for us, I do feel that burning anger in my chest that they used to feel. I say used to because that inferno burned out a long time ago. They’re tired now, not even to mention their current reasoning behind this lifestyle. They do it for me. Somewhere deep in their hearts, they believe that by doing this, they’ll delay my fate long enough, keep me a secret long enough, that the system will crumble before I’m discovered and I can be free without ever having to be another cog in the machine. It might just be wishful thinking, but so far, the Army has no idea I even exist, at least in regard to my status as a Witch. I’ve talked to MP’s plenty of times. I’ve been interrogated even. But that ability to blend in always came in and they always let me go. Faining ignorance or simply behaving in a way they aren’t suspecting always got me out of it. Detailed and accurate fake documents coupled with well-rehearsed stories help too. There have been a few times though, when I felt especially bold or angry, where I wanted to jump out of my proverbial camouflage and ask them why they supported their cause so heavily. I want to know what’s wrong about not having a need to be sent to my death or kill people who have never personally done anything to me. All for the sake of people who used to set us on fire and stone us, nonetheless.
When Sarah Alder decide to strike up her “Salem Accord” with those Puritans, she laid out the fate of every single Witch in America since: to fight pointless battles on behalf of the ones who want to destroy us. She decided that we would all have to bleed and break bones and kill and die for people who didn’t understand us or even have an urge to. Sarah Alder, the great American General who has lived for more than three hundred years, decided that I was born to become to swear fealty to the government and live as a Solider. She decided the same for my mother.
The fire crackles as I look upon it. The warm orange glow from the embers fills my vision. The sight relaxes me enough that I realize I’m overwhelmed with exhaustion. I sigh again and get up to put the fire out. When I’m done, the crackling fire and smoldering ashes are replaced by ash and dust floating in the air. Once I see the fire is well and put out, I head to my tent. The sound of the zipper undoing feels loud in the vibrant silence of the night. I don’t like interrupting the cacophony of sounds, especially in the summer. My interruption doesn’t last long though, and soon I’m lying on my back on my sleeping bag, looking up through the mesh top on my tent. The trees tower over me and I feel small, like I only do when I’m in a place like this. The river sings in the background while the insects chitter away. There might even be an owl sounding in there somewhere, but I can’t tell for sure. I’m tired.
As the sun’s morning rays creep through the trees, the birds begin their morning routine, I wake from my slumber. This moment my favorite part of the day: those first few seconds between asleep and awake where you don’t really know if you’re still alive and none of the realities you live in have hit you yet. That moment is so sacred and so fleeting and so very short. When I sit up, I see that my parents are already awake. We’re on our way after we eat the last of our food.
“There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t wish we could have taken the car,” Dad sighs out as we walk along.
“I know what you mean. We would have made it there by now,” I add with a chuckle.
“You’d think I would have kept better track of the keys,” Mom says.
“Eh, it’s probably better without it. Those MP’s saw the car. They’d have been able to use it to track us down.”
“That still would have probably beat walking across the Cession though,” I say. “Not that I mind the opportunity to do some cardio.”
My parents laugh and it feels full. The laughter is real, not something forced. More often than not, the laughter that we share between us, especially as of late, is not genuine. I think the thought of finally being done walking for a while gives us that last bit of strength we need, letting us really laugh together. I know for me personally, the idea of some permanence is welcome. I’m looking forward to sleeping inside and having a bathtub or shower to wash up in instead of a river. Bathing like that has been, and will always be, bullshit.
By the end of the day, I am more exhausted than usual and my feet feel heavier than they did in the morning. We haven’t eaten well for a few days now, so all three of us are completely spent, energy-wise. Like I always do, I keep my spirits as high as I can, never wanting to be the one who drags everyone into the figurative undertow, even if my stomach is cramping from hunger and my headache is skull-splitting. Just a bit longer.
Mom and Dad were right about arriving by nightfall. Just like they said, we reach a sleepy town on the very edge of the Cession, a place resting quietly in no man’s land.
“Odyssey,” I say reading the sign on the outskirts of town. “What an interesting name.”
“Sure is,” Dad says. He scratches his chin.
“Did they say what time they’d be there?” Mom asks.
“Nightfall. That’s all,” Dad mutters, looking around with suspicion in his eyes. “Let’s just get there.”
We walk just a little bit longer, turning down a dirt road off the main highway. As we follow the unlit road, everything around us gets darker and darker. But the air, the very oxygen around us, feels more concentrated and luminous. It’s as if the energy is buzzing with some alien hope that I haven’t felt before. Suddenly, we hear someone walking towards on from the opposite direction on the road. Dad stops all of us, standing before us like he always does when he feels threatened. Thankfully, there’s no need for that.
“Douglas,” Geoff says as he gets closer, “Good to see you.”
“I was beginning to wonder if you’d actually show up, Tippet,” Dad jokes as he gives Geoff a hug, patting his back. “How’s the wife? And Porter?”
“They’re just fine. Back at the house. Good to see you Cate. Scylla.”
Geoff gestures at Mom and me. I smile back weakly, my hunger panging. He puts his hands back into his pockets and shrugs with a casual smile on his face.
“Let’s get home. I can tell from the looks of you, you all need to eat.”
“We sure do,” Dad says with a relived sigh.
The Tippets are old family friends; I met them for the first time when I was probably eight or nine. They’ve been one of the more constant forces in my life, especially Porter. He has always been nice to me. Tonight is no exception as he takes my backpack off of my back and carries it to the room where I’ll be staying. I roll my shoulders individually, helping the muscles relax after such intense work over the last few weeks. The two of us walk up the carpeted steps to the second floor, our footsteps thumping softly as we make out way. Porter leads me to my room, one tucked away in the back left end. I enter the room after him. Porter sets my pack down beside the bed that’s mine to sleep in, one made up with a cozy looking quilted blanket and two pillows. I rub the back of my neck when I sit down on a bed for the first time in a long time.
“Dinner should be ready soon,” Porter says. He sits next to me. “I’m glad you made it here safely, Scylla.”
“You and me both,” I reply, looking to him. “I’m just happy that I’ll be sleeping on a mattress and not the ground.”
“Yeah. I can’t even imagine. My dad told me what happened in Illinois. That’s just bad luck.”
“It is what it is. It is good to see you though. It’s been a while.”
“Too long. We’ll hopefully have time to catch up, though. We’ll be going to the same school.”
“Can’t wait.”
Porter places a gentle hand on my shoulder. I look into his blue eyes. I can see something in there, something that has always been in there. He’s held me close to his heart since our inception, from the moment I met him.
“This is a stupid question, but are you okay?” He asks, leaning his head forward a bit in sync with his brow arching slightly.
“I’m as okay as I can be,” I say. “I don’t like all the running.”
“Me either. I’m here for you, okay? Even if it’s just to talk or whatever you need.”
“Thank you,” I whisper after a moment of ponderous silence.
Porter takes me in, hugging me. I allow it, welcome it even, and sit on the bed in his embrace for a few moments. It’s easy for him to get through to me.
“You’re safe now, Scylla,” Porter mutters. “As safe as you can be. I promise.”
I bury my head in his chest, clutching some of his shirt in my left hand. A shaky sigh escapes my lips, my jaw shaking with it. I swallow harshly, feeling the emotion swell in the center of my being. It doesn’t last long; I smother it as quickly as it comes. Mom pops into the doorframe with a knock. I slowly pull awake from Porter, leaving one hand on his chest.
“Dinner’s ready, kids. Real food, Scyl,” Mom says softly. The words come out with a diligence, as though a penance had been paid in full and her sins were forgiven.
“Thanks, Mom.”
I stand up and follow my mother to the dining room, Porter following closely behind. The smell of food, home-cooked food, hits me slowly then all at once when I cross the threshold into the room. The deep aromas nearly nauseate me as my hunger spikes. I find a place at the table, deciding on a seat next to Mom. Frida and Geoff bring the food in from the kitchen, setting it all on the table while Porter passes out plates. Manners always seem so strange in situations like this. I’d love nothing more than to stuff my face without waiting for everyone to be seated and ready. But I know I’ve gone this long without a proper meal, so a few more minutes won’t kill me, even if it feels like it will.
Those few minutes pass with such length. Sixty seconds per minute, but those sixty seconds feel ages long. Soon enough, though, we’re ready to eat, and eat I do. I know better than to get too much food since my stomach won’t be able to handle it anyway, but that doesn’t stop me from getting a few heaping piles of vegetables and rolls of bread. I try my damnedest not to scarf everything on my plate. Emphasis on try. There isn’t much talking from the three of us, but the Tippets carry on with their regular conversation as we enjoy the food they made. The clatter of flatware meeting plate slows in frequency as we all eat our fill. I lean back in my chair and sigh.
“Thank you for cooking,” I say.
“Don’t mention it,” Geoff says, “You all deserve it.”
“Especially you, Scylla,” Frida says. “You’re still growing, you need all the food you can get.”
Frida smiles widely at me. I reciprocate it.
“You’re very generous,” Mom says. “Always have been.”
“We have to look out for each other,” Frida says. “Given our…status, there’s nothing else to do other than stick together and help one another at every opportunity.”
“One day, we won’t have to worry about this anymore,” Dad says. The words punch out of him like a mantra, as if he’s willing it to be.
“I agree,” Geoff adds.
The conversations carry on between us, naturally rolling into laughter and pauses like they do when held between friends. After a little while, the night is late and everyone is exceedingly tired. Mom and Dad head to bed, wishing me a good night before they do.
“I love you, kiddo,” Dad says. He hugs me. “You make me proud.”
I don’t say anything. He kisses my head and smiles one more time. Mom places a kiss on my forehead.
“Sleep well, daughter. I love you.”
“I love you too. Both of you.”
Mom nods and follows Dad to their room. After washing up in the shower, I turn to head towards my room when I’m stopped by Porter.
“You want a beer?” He asks quietly. “Dad’s got some in the fridge.”
I smile. “When have I ever turned one down?”
Porter smiles wide, raising his eyebrows then quickly lowering them again. “I’ll meet you in your room. We can drink on the roof.”
“Got it,” I say. I walk to my room and open the window.
The view is a good one; the trees dance in the breeze, rustling quietly. Everything is dark, but I can still make out silhouettes of other houses down the street. A light shines on the porch of one, summer bugs buzzing around it. Most of the windows on the buildings are darkened like the night, but one or two are lit up, the lights flashing and fading from the TV inside the rooms. It doesn’t take long for Porter to return to me, now clutching a dark bottle of beer in each hand. He sets them on the floor.
“You look nice with your hair down,” he says rather awkwardly. “I bet you haven’t been able to do that for a while.”
“You’re right. Long hair blowing around in the woods doesn’t do it for me.”
Porter and I crawl through my window onto the roof outside, being careful to not slide on the shingles. Once we’re both outside, Porter reaches back through to grab the beer off the floor. He hands me a bottle and I twist the cap off, flicking the metal lid off the roof.
“Littering,” Porter scolds, “Shameful.” He sips his beer through a smirk.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say. “Thanks for grabbing these. Will your dad notice?”
“Probably. I doubt he’ll care to be honest. I thought you needed a beer after everything you’ve had to deal with recently, and I don’t think he’d disagree with me.”
“That’s a reasonable assumption.”
Porter and I sit together while we drink, talking about all manners of things, catching up after such a long time apart.
“So of all the places you’ve lived,” I say, “Which one has been your favorite?”
“Just back in Mass for sure. No place like it.”
I take a sip from my bottle.
“Yeah. I agree. I miss Labor-In-Pain,” I sigh out. “I want to go back there. Just hide in the lighthouse until everyone forgets I even exist.”
“You always loved that beach,” Porter says with a nostalgic chuckle. “You’d just sit there in the sand for hours.”
“I liked the sound of the ocean. The rumbling waves. It was relaxing. If I closed my eyes, I could be someone else. I could be someone free.”
Porter doesn’t say anything. He drinks some of his beer, resting his arm on his knee. We sit together in silence, enjoying each other’s company like we always do.
“I gotta wonder though, Scylla,” Porter says suddenly. “How the hell are you still awake? I can tell you’re exhausted.”
“That’s true. I just wanted to enjoy drinking on a roof without my parents’ knowledge for a minute,” I say, “You know, be up to no good like some normal sixteen year old.”
I turn to Porter with a mischievous smile, raising my bottle for him. He laughs softly and our bottled clink together. I toss the rest of the beer back, the liquid mildly warm by then. I set the bottle beside me and bring my knees to my chest. I look up at the moon, a nearly full thing hanging lowly in the sky. Its effervescent light illuminates everything. The moon has been an object of fondness for me from the minute I could think deeply. I’ve always felt drawn to it, like my work was stronger when the moon was full or nearly so, like it is tonight. I can always do things more effortlessly when the moon sits over me. I’m lost in thought, so I hardly notice Porter scooting closer to me. When I do, I turn my head towards him. I watch him for a second and he watches me. We don’t say anything. There’s no real need. Porter’s blue eyes soften as he leans into my face, kissing me gently. It’s a welcome sensation. I kiss him back. There’s the taste of beer on his lips, a taste I’m sure lingers on mine too. The kiss doesn’t last long. Porter has a smile on his face when he pulls away. I have one too. He takes his arm around me and I rest my head on his shoulder.
“I hope we get to stay here a long time,” Porter says. “I hope that you get to have some peace.”
“I do too,” I say with a softness. “We’re supposed to go get new documents in a few days. Then we can get a house and I can have my own room. My own space.”
“I admit, that feeling is pretty great. Not too much longer till you get to really settle in.”
“Yeah. Just a bit longer.”