she waits in line. patiently at first. there are thirteen people ahead of her. all in blue uniform. why? she feels guilty she's not in one. she studies the face of the man who sits between her and the other side of the glass. she worries, she should have chosen the other line. always the wrong line. in the supermarket, in the bank, in the movie theater. he doesn't have the harsh exterior which guarantees her a soft inside. lots of paperwork and- does she actually need a visa? it has never crossed her mind until this moment. she panics. she looks back and notices the elegant older woman behind her. she leaves the line, and heads straight to the man in the white uniform. she explains the situation and he says there is no problem, she's in the right line. are you sure? yes, i'm sure. casually, with a smile. he doesn't seem to understand the situation, the days and nights and the other side of the glass. she asks him again, and again he reassures her, still, casually. she apologizes to the older woman and gets her place back. nine more people in blue uniform. and she with nothing but a passport.
he asks her about the reason for her visit. she pauses. then looks straight at him and smiles her favorite smile. visiting old friends. really. she even offers an address. he stamps it.
the rest is all hazy. she forgets about the people in blue uniform, and the guilt. she finds her very small bag full of nothing. she takes out the red hairbrush. it's eleven years old now. her dad bought it for her at a street fair a very very long time ago.
she brushes her hair slowly. too slowly she thinks. there is no rush. no rush at all.
but what
