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Anita Junge-Hammersley 119 Closing the Loop The taxi driver’s driving like an absolute lunatic and in spite of her sadness my grandmother asks me if I have my cell phone so I can call her from the terminal—yes, I say, and I miss her already—and so I can call her brother as soon as I get there, I might forget, she says, and I promise that I’ll call him even if I already see Tani waving at me from the balcony; we’re already pulling up to the door for Air Canada and I see Flora waving at us, the dark Venezuelan among all the gringos—she knows I like to arrive early so I don’t have to rush, give me your hand, Grandma, I’m not going to let you trip and fall after we’ve finally made it here in one piece, the driver will get the bags, you know me, I always travel light, I say, what a mess it was trying to organize this last-minute trip that will answer so many questions, hopefully I’ll find my grandfather, the purpose of the trip, the different trails to find him haven’t led anywhere, why all the mystery? They’ve all come to meet me here; my friends congratulate me because I’ve arrived and because I’m going; if we celebrated mybirthdayalltogetherjusttwoweeksagoandnowI’mleaving alone, but not lonely, only going on my own and armed with my grandmother’s autobiography, it’s because they love you, I read in her travelled eyes, but they’ve all come, all these people, and soon I’ll be surrounded by hundreds of other passengers, sharing two tiny washrooms, hoping I won’t get sucked down the hole with the blue whirlpool spitting me out of the plane like a dragon toward Cuba or Venezuela, depending on the wind and the altitude, because the plane’s screws might be loose, what are you thinking about, says Flora, who never misses the slightest flicker in my face or a beat in the conversation , now let’s get you to the counter to confirm the electronic ticket she says, no, I tell her, now there are machines like at the movies, you buy your ticket using a credit card, it’s the same here, help me with the cart, it’s a bit heavy, could you please take Grandma back to the house once I go through customs, I don’t want her taking a taxi on her pensión. Cloudburst 120 At least I don’t have a stopover in the States, I’m flying directlyintoSantiago,noproblem,ohhoney,becarefulbecause they’ve seen me checking my luggage and I won’t have time to go to the bathroom before going through customs, they’re coming to say goodbye now, it hasn’t even been ten minutes since we said hello, I say, don’t worry it’s all part of the process, she says, let me introduce you to the friend I’m sharing an apartment with next semester, says Flora, I’m going to live the student life, no, don’t talk to me about university, I just finished my semester, I scream silently, nice to meet you, I say smiling, terrified at the prospect of her outstretched arms, it’s so good to meet you too, she says, as all her kindness squeezes the breath out of me, I manage to wriggle out of the embrace with a tense smile, eyes glassy, to walk towards Security up ahead. The airport is a giant, modern corral where I get lost, we get lost and then we find each other again, amid the announcements over the loudspeakers, just to say goodbye again later for the nth time, have a good trip resonates under this roof, just like under the roof of train stations, of certain subway stations and cathedrals, I smile at them, raising my arm to wave goodbye, make sure to write or send postcards the voices call out over the voices of the other families, other passengers; they don’t want me to leave, that’s the truth, even though we really only see each other once in a while, they’re worried about the flight, Grandma knows I’m afraid of flying; calm down, love, she says; it’s good to release your nerves, I say; you’re making a face and your hair is a disaster, Flora says, think about the vaudeville...

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