World in Between

by Kenan Trebincevic

  I’ve had turkey sandwiches, but I’ve never tried what Don calls “our roasted bird.” It looks like a mutated chicken and tastes bland and dry. Salt, pepper, and even mustard don’t help. There’s a vegetable called asparagus that looks like green claws. But baked with olive oil and lemon, it’s better than broccoli. There are also mashed potatoes and a delicious dish made of seasoned bread pieces that they call stuffing. When Katie passes us cranberry sauce and yams with marshmallows on top, we each take some and put it aside for later.

  “You don’t like the sweet potatoes and sauce?” Katie says.

  “Isn’t it for dessert?” Eldin asks.

  “No, no. We’ll have desserts later,” Don says, smiling.

  This is the first holiday we’ve celebrated in two years. It reminds me of the Muslim festival of Eid, when we feasted with our relatives in Bosnia.

  “We’re running out of ice cream and apple cider,” Katie says to Drew when the meal is over. “Want to run to the store?”

  “Sure. Kenan, want to drive with me?” Drew asks.

  I nod, psyched to ride in his red sports car. I feel snazzy, like I have a rich American pal I cruise around with. He drives to the Stop & Shop really fast.

  “Want anything?” he asks.

  I shake my head, completely stuffed.

  Back at Don and Katie’s, a bunch of their church friends have stopped by for dessert, bringing candy, cookies, and incredible pies filled with custard, fruit, nuts. Barbara shows up and rushes over to embrace us, like we’re best friends. She obviously doesn’t know we’ve discovered what she did. It feels uncomfortable, but to be polite, I pretend nothing’s wrong.

  Don glances at her, then looks away without a word. I want him to confront her, to ask where our donations are, but he avoids her completely. Is he waiting until they’re alone?

  “Why isn’t he calling Barbara out?” I ask Eldin in Bosnian. “Can’t he threaten to throw her out of church or call the police if she doesn’t return our stolen presents?”

  “She goes to a different church,” he explains. “Don’s not her reverend.”

  “How many churches and reverends are there here?” I ask.

  “Don said there are five in town,” Eldin says. “He barely knows her. He’s only met her twice—when he dropped us off and then when he picked us up.”

  “But don’t they all have to listen to each other’s leaders?”

  He shrugs. “Don’s a peaceful man of God. He doesn’t like confrontation. Maybe ignoring her is his way of showing disrespect.”

  He’s passive, like my father, who also avoids fighting. Eldin says Dad’s mild nature is the reason we’re still alive, but I’m not so sure staying quiet is the way to handle injustice.

  I wish Ellie Lowenstein was here. I picture her getting in Barbara’s face, demanding answers. I imagine calling the police myself, but I don’t have the words to explain what’s happened. Plus, the presents are at Barbara’s house and were never in our possession. There’s no way to prove anything’s ours. We don’t even know the names of the people who brought the gifts. She could say that she was just storing everything for us, keeping it safe until we had our own home.

  Before she leaves, Barbara gives me another hug. Her old-lady perfume is too sweet. I don’t trust her anymore, but I decide that as people go, she isn’t so bad. She fed and sheltered us for four weeks. She never beat me up, called me names, or pointed a gun at my head. We hardly know anybody here, and we want everyone on our team. We might need her again. I hug her back.

  * * *

  At school on Monday, Miguel invites me to spend the night at his place over the weekend. I’m excited to go to my first American friend’s house. I’m not sure why he asks for Don’s phone number, but I give it to him.

  That night, Miguel’s mother, Nancie, calls Don and Katie to ask permission to have me over. Then they ask Mom and Dad. It’s like an international summit just to get me a sleepover.

  On Saturday, Nancie arrives in a green Jeep Cherokee to pick me up. She’s blond, in khaki pants and a sweater. She seems younger than all the church ladies. She shakes Mom’s and Katie’s hands, tosses my duffle bag into the back of the Jeep, then drives us to their huge house.

  It’s incredible. It looks like a villa in a foreign movie, with a swimming pool in the gated backyard. The garage is filled with balls, bats, skates, and games. Each room has a big TV, and the place is full of books. There’s even a woman named Emily, from a city called Liverpool in England, who takes care of Miguel’s younger sister while Nancie works at a bank all day.

  His family is obviously very well-off. Everyone is friendly and welcoming, but I’m still wondering why Miguel is being so nice to me.

  Looking at photos and asking questions, I learn that Miguel’s father is Spanish and Nancie is an American Catholic. Miguel recently moved to Westport from Spain after his parents divorced. So that’s why he understands how it feels to be alone in a new country. Now I see that even with a big house, a nanny, and a garage full of high-end athletic equipment, Miguel has a sadness I don’t know—from missing his father. I’d rather have my dad around than spiffy sports stuff and toys any day.

  “What would you like to eat?” Nancie asks me as Miguel and I join her, his sister, and Emily in the kitchen at lunchtime.

  “Vhatever Miguel eats,” I say, and they all laugh.

  She makes us cheeseburgers—another of my new favorite American foods—and chopped vegetables on the grill, but no tater tots. Dessert is pudding and cookies. It’s delicious, and as we eat, I notice that they have chips, cashews, and even candy-coated pretzels in jars and bowls around the room. I hope to try them later.

  In the playroom, Miguel teaches me to play a hockey game on his video console. He wins every time. While we’re playing, Nancie brings us a tray of grapes, cheese, and dried fruit. Boy, does she have a lot of snacks. Everywhere!

  At Don and Katie’s, I’m always on my best behavior. Since they’re older than my parents and he’s a minister and she’s a teacher, they’re authority figures. At Miguel’s, there’s a different vibe entirely. His mom and Emily are lenient, and it seems like he runs the show. It’s playtime all the time, and I figure whatever he does without getting into trouble, I can too.

  Out in the backyard, Miguel teaches me American football, showing me how to hold the “pigskin” and throw a perfect spiral. Then we try a pickup basketball game in his driveway. “Two out of three wins,” he says. But I win the first two games, so he changes it to three out of five.

  When I make the next basket, he calls out-of-bounds, saying I stepped over the line.

  “Vrong, I vas not!” I yell, stepping on his foot. For our next round, when he goes for a layup, I stick my knee into his thigh to slow down his streak.

  “What the hell, dude?” he yells, cracking up. Then he steps on my foot. I haven’t had so much fun in two years.

  No wonder we get along! Aside from me, Miguel is the most competitive kid I’ve ever known. This makes me trust him completely. It’s a tossup which one of us is more of a sore loser, but it doesn’t matter, because we understand each other.

  To me, second place just means you’re the first to lose. Playing sports is the only time I feel confident, in control. I hate losing more than I love to win. I’ve lost too much already.

  Twenty-Four

  December 1993

  “Happy thirteenth birthday,” Mom says as I sit down to eat my oatmeal. It’s thicker than the hot cereal we’re used to in Bosnia, and flavored with maple sugar. She kisses me on the cheek. I try to look happy, as if I don’t care that I won’t be getting any presents, since we have no money. I remind myself that last year we were marooned in a war-torn country with no electricity or water, that we’re lucky to be staying at Don’s. But I still miss the excitement I used to feel on birthdays when my majka, aunt, and cousins all came over to celebrate with desserts, cash, and toys for me.

  At school, none of my teachers or classmates know. I d
on’t want to draw any more attention to myself, so I don’t tell anyone it’s my birthday, which feels lonely.

  After dinner that night, Katie goes into the kitchen and surprises me by coming out holding a big cake. It has vanilla frosting and my name written in blue icing, and there are thirteen candles on top. “Happy Birthday, Big Guy,” Don says, giving me a hug as Eldin leaps up to turn off the lights. Katie sings a birthday song to me.

  “Blow them out and make a wish, Kenan,” she says.

  I extinguish them all in one try, wishing the war would get over soon so we can go home.

  As Katie carves out a slice for me, she tells us it’s carrot cake. I don’t expect a dessert made from a vegetable to be so good—I eat two big pieces. Then Katie and Don bring out a pile of presents wrapped in bright-colored paper. I can’t believe they’re all for me! The first gift I tear into contains two turtleneck sweaters—one black, the other gray.

  “Go try them on,” Don says, smiling.

  They smell fresh, new and clean, as I slide into them, thrilled with the longer sleeves that fit my longer arms. I can’t wait to wear them to school.

  I also get pajamas, a Wiffle ball, and a plastic baseball bat. Though I’ve never played this game, I’ve watched it on TV with Don. In another box is a real leather football, made in the States. It does look like a dinosaur egg.

  I treasure each gift, for different reasons. Though my parents have no money or car to get presents for me themselves, I bet they told Don and Katie what to get me, knowing exactly what I’d want.

  * * *

  On Saturday, Don and I toss around my new football. He’s wearing his suit pants, a buttoned-up shirt, and loafers, which seems funny to me. But he has meetings at the church every day. For an old guy, he isn’t in bad shape, though he’s not as athletic as my father, who comes out to the back yard and joins in. Dad’s quicker than Don, but he can’t throw a spiral. Cary’s the fastest of us all, running and barking alongside us.

  “Would you and Eldin go with Don to pick out a tree?” Katie calls out the back door to me. “He needs help.”

  Don drives us to a lot in the next town, which is full of Christmas trees for sale. I’ve never seen anything like this. We choose one he calls a “wide eight-foot-tall Scotch pine” that has big, pointy branches and carry it to his SUV. We have to put the back seat down so the long trunk will fit.

  Back at the house, Eldin and I carry the tree inside and stand it up in a base Don has assembled in the corner of the living room, next to the fireplace. Then we go out to the garage and help him carry in boxes of ornaments.

  “Be careful not to break them,” Mom warns.

  Katie unwraps the decorations carefully. There’s a painted heart, an angel, a bird, a star, and a snowflake. “This porcelain bulb plays music,” she says, gently handing me another ornament. “My Grandma Lilly saved it from her childhood.” I help hang her special ornaments on the tree as she rearranges the framed pictures on the mantel to make room for all her delicate-looking holiday figurines.

  Although it’s not our holiday, they’re excited to celebrate our first Christmas in the USA with us. Back home, I’d buy fireworks and sparklers to set off with Vik, Ivan, and Marko for New Year’s Eve. Just two years ago, Mom had screamed to me from the balcony, “You’re going to lose your fingers!” When we visited Christian friends, I’d play with their train sets and toys under the tree and eat the peppermint candy canes they gave me. And every year, Santa Claus came to Mom’s office, a treat for the employees’ kids. I sat on his lap and got chocolates and lollipops. I’m hoping we’ll get candy here too.

  * * *

  I’m understanding more English words now, interpreting for Mom and having long talks with Don, who tells me about his old parish in Virginia, where his family is from. When the church bigwigs transferred him to Connecticut, he didn’t want to leave his home, either.

  At ten thirty every night, Don invites me to take a ride with him “to lock up at work.” My parents don’t mind me being up late. Cary loves jumping into the back of the SUV, and Don speeds the five miles to his church, driving fast, like Drew. Maybe daredevil drivers run in their family. The streets are narrow, with no lights, so I put on my seat belt. At the church, Don calls the security company to say, “I’m closing down now,” and then locks up his office. Then we zoom back to his house while Cary sticks his head between us in the front seat and I pet his wet nose.

  “You and Cary are my protection,” Don always says. “It’s too dark in there. I’m scared to go alone.”

  My two grandfathers died before I was born, so being with Don is like getting a second chance at having a grandpa. He and Katie are becoming family.

  * * *

  One night at the dinner table Don tells us all about his church’s preparations for their special midnight Christmas service. I’m glad he says we don’t have to go, since we aren’t Christian.

  “But it’s Don’s big night, and Katie’s singing in the choir,” Mom says later. “Let’s be there to show our support.”

  “No. We don’t belong,” I complain.

  “We should all go,” Eldin agrees. “Come on. Look what they’re doing for us.”

  “I don’t want to be in a church. It’ll be too weird,” I argue. I don’t know how to act or say their prayers. I’m afraid the congregation members will stare at me, knowing I’m an outsider.

  “It would mean a lot to Don and Katie. We’re going,” Dad says, overruling me.

  Back in Brčko, when my parents went out somewhere nice, Mom would wear a fancy dress, high heels, and jewelry. Now she makes do with a long denim skirt, a red sweater, and flats, and she puts on eye shadow and lipstick. Dad doesn’t have a blazer or a tie, but he does his best with dark dress pants, a button-down shirt, and a zippered jacket. Eldin and I wear the nicest sweaters and pants we have. We haven’t gone out socially in two years, since before the war.

  At 9:45 that night we drive with Katie and Don to his Westport church. It looks different all lit up. I’m startled to see hundreds of members out so late: men in suits and ties, women in dresses, with silk scarves and necklaces, like they’re at a swanky wedding. There are a lot of kids in spiffy clothes too—I recognize many classmates from school. I’ve never seen so many people so dressed up for a religious service.

  The inside of the building is modern, nothing like the churches we saw in Vienna. There’s no tower, beams, or stained glass windows with heavenly angels. I’ve been in a mosque with Uncle Ahmet. Now I’m in a church with Don. Will they cancel each other out? What will my uncle and Majka Emina think? Am I a traitor for being here?

  Don goes into his office and comes back out in a silk robe, with purple scarves hanging from his shoulders. He looks powerful and grand, like an American pope. Everybody rushes up to him, crowding around to shake his hand. I didn’t know he was that important. I stand next to him so my classmates will see, and he puts his hand on my shoulder. If they know I’m connected to Westport’s pope, maybe it won’t matter that I look scruffy and poor.

  Jill, a shy girl from my class who has blond hair and light blue eyes, walks up to me. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she says.

  “Mr. Don is my close friend,” I brag.

  She looks impressed. I’m too embarrassed to admit my family stays with him because we can’t afford our own place.

  Katie tells my parents she has to prepare to sing in the choir and we should find a place to sit before it gets too crowded. As we walk down the aisle, everybody is holding their Bibles, ready to pray, eyes closed. I’m definitely not doing that. I feel guilty being at a ceremony in Connecticut with rich Methodists and not at a mosque, trying to save my people.

  As we find seats in the middle of a row toward the front of the church, I stare up at the cross above us.

  “Where is Jesus?” I whisper to Eldin.

  “They’re not Catholics,” he whispers back.

  I once asked Majka Emina about the difference between our belie
fs and Vik’s, whose family celebrated Christmas. “Our holy text is the Koran, not the Bible, Kenan,” she explained. “We believe Jesus was a messenger of God, not the son of God who was resurrected. And we have only one higher power, not the Holy Trinity.” I didn’t know what the Holy Trinity was, but I sure wished we had their chocolate Santas, lollipops, and peppermint sticks.

  “Only Catholics have him hanging from the cross?” I ask Eldin now.

  “Shhh. They’re starting.”

  Katie comes through a doorway at the front of the church with fifteen other women, all in long blue robes. They sing “Silent Night” and other Christmas songs I recognize from the movie Home Alone. Katie stands in the front and has a beautiful operatic voice. She seems like an accomplished star up there.

  Then Don speaks into his microphone. He greets the congregation and talks about the holiness of the holiday. Then he says, “We all know that Jesus, Mary, and Joseph had to travel a long and dangerous road from Nazareth to Bethlehem, migrants forced to flee their land to escape the violence of a local tyrant. For the sake of their child’s safety, they became refugees.

  “This year, I’m so proud that our community has sponsored a wonderful family who are seeking refuge from war. They were persecuted and forced to leave everything they had. They’re living with Katie and me for a while, until they find their own home. They’re already changing our lives for the better, and we hope you’ll open your hearts to accept them into our fold. Kenan, Eldin, Adisa, and Keka, would you please stand up so we can applaud you?”

  The last time someone called out our names in public, we were getting thrown off a bus. We slowly stand up. Mom’s cheeks turn red as she stares at the floor. She’s never liked having a spotlight on her. Dad, on the other hand, smiles widely and waves to everyone, like he’s running for mayor. Eldin puts his hands in his pockets and grins. I keep my eyes down and don’t stand up all the way, humiliated that now Jill and everyone from my school knows that I’m a penniless charity case without my own house.