into little grains of sand on her cheeks, his dad, pretending to read a book, while rubbing his son`s back. Upon his arrival, they sit befuddled as an unhinged door, she vigorously searches her handbag, he lays hands on his narrow pockets, nothing, mere lumps of rock tanked like an empty silo, outside their window, inside their throats. They unzip their luggage , bags shut open like their mute mouths, clothes heaped over -another like buried, unspoken words “It will be fine, we’ll be fine, you’ll be just be a video-call, just a few semesters, probably then a 9-5 job away.” They check over his little pockets, the little fingers, those curly hairs, the bottled milk, nothing. mere ghost spaces and bones intertwined into one. The TTE mumbles and moves away with a slight hand gesture, rather a sympathetic nod read as” Its okay, I understand, anyways.” It doesn’t matter if the engine whistles or silently drags itself with a thousand bodies floating through time and space, when those fluorescent lights are already shut, the pastel blue curtains drawn and that bottled milk spilt on the floor.
47
