An Escape

We sat in the neon light on a cool evening of a summer day drinking beer and eating salad. You told me your story similar to those of many others: All your savings are gone, the managers, the secretaries, the supervisors, the police in charge of passports all having received a handsome share. Now you have nothing left there, your color TV and refrigerator were sold to get the cash for the plane ticket. “But I was lucky,” you assured me. “Many people have spent fortunes and still cannot leave the country.” “What are you going to do here? Don’t think this is a place where you can make a fortune by snapping fingers. Starting poor, we have to labor for every dollar. It is a place where money can hire the devil to make bean curd and your growth is measured by financial figures. There is no way for us to get beyond a social security number.” “Anything, I would do anything, as long as I can make a living. At least, I am free here and don’t hate others. Do you know what I wanted when I was back there? I always imagined how to get a gun so I could shoot all the bastards. That country is not a place to live— I would rather die than go back.” We stopped to watch seagulls. An airplane was writing the word FUN in the distant sky. I wish I had left the same way, but I brought with me all my belongings, even my army mug and a bunch of old letters.