We didn’t know the beauty we would find there. It wasn’t an obvious dazzling beauty. It needed to be unearthed, searched for. Our clothes stuck to us as we ambled off the plane. The heat and strong odors of others, of ourselves, pressed in on us. We cranked our windows down in the taxi as broken Soviet buildings rushed by. Their gray concrete stark against the sharp neon green of the trees and grass. Wild, tangled growth worked to take back its rightful place from this city that demanded its ownership with cement and rock. The city looked old, but not in the romantic historical way you wanted it to be. It was old in a tired mother way; she was fighting too many battles on too little sleep. She was worn out and frayed at her edges. Too many hands pawing at her and demanding from her.

They said we should rest before we went to see her, but we couldn’t wait. Never mind that we hadn’t slept in two days; we were ready to hold Baby. To see her again after not laying eyes on her for three months. I was so weary of watching every friend around me stretch with new life. All the while I stayed hollow, leaking tears. Maybe it was finally my turn.

When we stepped inside, her green bonnet slipped low over her eyes. She looked like she belonged in a story from long ago. This was her fairytale, only it was dark and murky. And it was real. Even though she was leaving them, they celebrated. The temporary mothers cheered her on in her new life away from them and this lonely place. We put on her new clothes. I looked around wondering what she could bring from her old life, but there was not one thing.

Baby came with nothing and left with nothing.

We were new to each other, the three of us. We promised to give her everything she would ever need. That’s what I told myself, and her as we walked away.

We went to meet our person on the inside. She knew the plan and the procedure. Who to talk to, where to go, what to say. So many things not to say. We headed into the market to trade our cash for Som. Thin blue paper bills with faces we didn’t know. We carried these inside our clothes while we weaved in and out of stalls filled with fabric, rich and vivid with color. Savory meat roasted on sticks, slowly turning as it smoked. Thick cucumbers and deep purple onions tumbled out of boxes on corners we turned. Conversations and laughter that was foreign to our ears, but all Baby had ever known.

Our first stop the guide said was to get her certificate, we could not leave without this. We stood with her on the hot pavement, sun drawing sweat from our brows. This was the first item on the list. The list to finish before we would be safe. These things had to be done if Baby was to belong to us. Our guide directed us while shifting her eyes.

“Take those two large bills, get them ready in your pocket, but no one must see them. We will find the man who has the certificate, and we will ask if it’s ready. He will say no.”

Her head swung from side to side in exaggeration before she continued.

“Then we will ask two more times, and he will say he can make it happen today if we want. That is the cue. You will thank him, and you will pass the money in your handshake.”

She gestured again pretending to shake my hand while looking over her shoulder.

“Then again you will be silent... And we will wait to see if he will be kind today.”

The heat inside the building was the same as outside. We were stifled and sticky and scared as we moved through the narrow halls. We followed silent as foxes. Baby knew too, this was a place to be still. When we entered the room stacked high with folders and papers, an old closed in scent hung thick around us. Files mildewed with time and stalled air. The smell was trapped, stuck in the corners and behind the stacks. The window with tall arched panes was the only thing of beauty in the dingy room. I wanted to ask him to open it so we could all breathe, but it was painted shut. Nothing in or out of this stale expanse. It was just like our guide said. The third time we requested, he said he could do it today. That was our cue, she turned and whispered out of the corner of her mouth. Her red lipstick caked in the deep lines surrounding.

“Shake his hand now.”

We did and just then Baby hiccupped. His hard lips parted, and his eyes grew clear. He chuckled and tickled her chin. She had broken the spell and he decided to be kind. He searched through his piles and asked her name.

“Oh yes, good name, our heritage will stay with her.”

His voice was deep and proud. There it was in symbols and letters I didn’t know, but our guide nodded and smiled at us. This was it. We would walk out of here with the first item on the list. We found our way through the maze of stairs and doors and darkened corridors into the sunlight. I had to squeeze my eyes tight to push back all the fears and doubt. We had just begun and there was not space for all these feelings, not yet. Our guide called her taxi friend so we could see some sights and favorite places.

“You must see our gorgeous city, and outside the city is even better!”

All I wanted was a nap.

We stood under the trees in the dappled sunlight. I let myself fast forward in the story of our lives. I sped past 14 years and there we were mother and daughter, exasperated and annoyed with one another. She would cross her arms tightly over her chest, her leg cocked out in defiance. She might say that ‘I don’t get her, or I’m the worst mom.’ But what would she say about these stories and memories we tell her? All the ways we sacrificed to bring her home. Would she roll her eyes, hands on her hips and say, ‘it sounds to me like you bought me?’ She might say ‘you didn’t save me you stole me.’ And I stopped dreaming then about the future. How would she see this thing we are doing? Are we saving her or stealing her? And that is when I let just one tear leak out.

The taxi driver pulled up, his windows down, with a boisterous greeting and dark hair blowing in the wind. Our guide left as soon as he pulled up; she was done with us. Maybe she needed a nap too.

“So, you want to see our mountains and rivers?”

We inched our way over the hot leather seats, our skin sticking with each push and pull to get in. He was driving before our door closed.

“These mountains, they are the glory of our country.”

The driver smiled at us in the rear-view mirror as he yelled his questions over the discotheque music. The bass pounded against my legs. Baby was happy, so we said yes, we want to show her these mountains she came from. This river that flows in her blood.

Outside of the city the beauty took our breath away. We sat on the blue and red wool blanket, thick and rough against our legs. We watched as wild horses drank from the stream. We wondered will she love these animals? Will the mountains feel like home or the water? What places will be her refuge when she becomes her own?

We drove back to the hotel, and Baby slept on Dad’s chest. Her stocking cap slipping over her eyes. Her lip puckered against his shirt as her dreams and drool converged. She didn’t sleep that night and neither did we. We got up to leave in the darkest part of night. Our guide instructed us.

“Be ready, bags packed outside, wear dark clothing.”

I wondered if we should have been more afraid than we were. When our guide picked us up, she had a man with her. She whispered into the night air.

“He will drive us.”

 We exchanged a look, should we trust him? What else was there to do. We climbed into the back seat, snuggled together with our backpacks and our girl and the soft pale-yellow lovey we brought for her to hold. She brought it to her cheek, stroking the velvet green inside of it. Touching the stars and flowers that puffed up and covered the top of it. We began to learn each other in those dark moments. Baby put her thumb into her mouth and her heavy eyes closed as she hummed to herself. She did this when she was tired and when she ate. She had to; she had been alone all this time. Until now. Now was when we would do all the shady scary things we had to do, because we belonged to her.

We drove for hours but it was still dark when we slowed down. We pulled over under a covering of trees. I saw lights up ahead, a check point. Our guide turned and she whispered.

“This is what we will do. We will get out and we will walk over this border. We will not drive. We will walk.” She mimicked walking with her two fingers. I wanted to laugh at her pantomimes, but I took a breath instead.

 “Mama, you carry Baby. Dad, you try not to look mad or mean. Ok?”

He did laugh at that comment, and it made me giggle too. But she only narrowed her eyes at us before continuing in her instruction.

 “You don’t talk, only I will talk. Take that money and fold it in your hand. Don’t look at it, don’t talk about it. When I motion to you, you must take that wad of money and you must shake his hand so that he will take the money. If one of us gets stopped but the others can go, don’t wait. Just go, get across the border, and wait in the trees.”

We stopped giggling after that. We looked at one another and I held back the tears pressing against my eyes—dangerously close to leaking out the sides. He touched my arm softly, and he kissed her head. Then we walked.

“You first Mama, you and Baby go first. Hand them your passport and be silent.”

I adjusted Baby against me. She was asleep like a huge sack of flour slumping and sagging, daring to spill out. I was grateful she would not see the tense gazes or understand the stern words. The man in the booth waved me through, and I sighed in relief. I kept walking and I listened for footsteps behind me telling me he was coming. But only crickets and my own feet echoed in that still silent night. I was a traitor for not stopping, but I couldn’t. I kept walking until I got to the edge of the trees. My terror was bright as I waited to turn around. My fear was valid because there was no sound anywhere. I was alone. No one had followed me.

I turned back after I was hidden in the trees. I could just make out the bridge we walked over. The lights were bright just before it, but there were no figures walking toward me. I thought my heartbeat would wake her up. The way it was slamming against my ribs and daring to rise up out of my chest. I told myself to take deep breaths and I said what my grandma always said in times of unrest and unknown. Jesus be near. I dared to whisper his name into the air, into the darkness where we stood alone. My lips trembled as I chanted. Then a figure came toward me, dark outline. Hope rose, then crashed. Our guide came into focus, and she was alone.

“It’s ok, they stopped him and questioned him and asked why his beard is so long. And he gave the money. And they told me to walk away but they said it’s ok, he will come too.”

I looked past her and then back at her.

“Well then where is he? He will come? Don’t worry. Don’t worry?”

I whisper yelled at her. She turned back to me her eyes a narrow beam reminding me that she was in charge. We both turned when we heard gravel move beyond us. And it was him, I saw his outline and I knew it like my own and my legs wobbled under me. He looked pale in the streetlight, and he chuckled, but it was shaky like the ground beneath me. I reached for his hand, damp and cold in mine.

“They brought in more guys wearing guns to look at my passport together. They said my beard made me look like a criminal.”

 We smiled at one another. It was watery and unstable. And then our guide snapped us back.

“Ok let’s go, get in the car. We are not done yet. Our driver is waiting for us.”

I wondered then if he didn’t want the bother that we were. He wanted to cross alone without the weight of our bodies and our baggage to stop him. When we were driving again swiftly through the black night, I unclenched my stomach and chest, but only a little. Like she said, we were not done yet.

We slept, all three of us, our new family. Just for a little bit, just enough for the sun to start its ascent. To push up those thin lines of pink and orange along the horizon. To bring us some hope, light does that. It pushes the dark back, reminding us we aren’t alone. The driver spoke, our guide translating his clipped words telling us we were close. She turned then in her seat, and whispered again but only because Baby was asleep.

“This is the last thing, but I cannot go with you.”

We looked at one another, eyes meeting, working to conceal the fear that was lurking between us.

“But how will we talk to them? Who will translate?”

“Someone there will know some English, don’t worry.”

She said this phrase so flippantly, don’t worry. We just crossed borders in the dead of night. We had paid people off while they were wearing cold metal guns strapped over their shoulders. But don’t worry. We pulled over for our guide to buy us some bread and tomatoes to eat since she said we would be in this place for possibly hours. We awkwardly ate the crusty bread, letting crumbs gather on Baby’s head as we sat in the backseat. Juice from the tomato ran down my arm and he wiped it away for me. I turned to look at him. The sun filtered through the peeling tint of the window, causing patchy light to freckle across his face.

We climbed out of the car and walked to another concrete crumbling building, our guide giving us instructions. She caressed Baby’s head as she talked absentmindedly. Her softness surprised me. She repeated her mantra to us.

“Don’t worry you are almost done. Soon we will have all the pieces. Now you just get her visa and then tomorrow you go home.”

We walked through the doors and asked for someone to speak English. The guard was rough in his mannerisms but waved us along behind him. Baby was drinking her bottle. Her soft murmurs caused him to glance over his shoulder and he couldn’t help but smile at her, then at us. She was our golden ticket, she paved the way, cleared the path. She smoothed out the rough edges around us.

Our guard seemed to have taken us under his wing. He watched us, making sure we got the woman who spoke English, telling someone in front of us to wait, let them go first. He rested his hand on his gun when the man in front of us snarled at his lost place in line. The woman didn’t look up, just barked questions.

“Name? How old? Where are you going?”

Before we even finished talking, she abruptly walked away. We stood there waiting. She was gone a long time. We shifted our weight from foot to foot, trying on our patience. Then we waited some more. She returned, peeled a sticker off and slapped it into Baby’s bright blue passport.

We got it.

My shoulders sagged. She pushed it through the hole in the bars and yelled what I assumed was ‘Next!’ in her language. She looked past us, ready to be done with us. We could hardly contain our excitement. We did it, we got all the pieces. We walked out into the bright morning light and our hope was ignited. We were going home! We saw our guide and she was smiling as she leaned against the car. We walked over and I opened the passport to show her.

“Look!” I said, as I opened to the stickered Visa. But my joy turned to dread.

He stopped too. “What is it?”

I showed him, and then our guide. Her name was wrong. Our guide shrugged.

“It’s ok. Just fix it in America. They can do that, no problem.”

She was so sure, even though she had never set foot in America. At this point I thought, sorry Baby, this is now your name. Let’s go home.

-Alyssa Lance

Alyssa Lance earned her MFA in creative writing from Regis University in Denver Colorado. Reading and writing fiction is her favorite pastime. Alyssa works part-time at her local library where she loves being amongst books, as well as the people in her community. She moonlights as an uber driver for her teenage kids so they can keep up with their very demanding social lives. Alyssa hopes her writing connects people to themselves and others, as we all live in this bright beautiful world together.