— for Aliya and Khalil
Once upon a time, before Donald Trump was elected president, there was a woman who lived on a cul-de-sac where an orange cone in the middle of the road reminded drivers to slow down because children played in the street. The houses were built around a grassy circle with a fire pit where grown-ups gathered after the kids’ bedtimes. Everyone had a two-story home with a whirlpool tub and a balcony off the master. Hybrid vehicles lined the street, and children left scooters and bikes and sixty-dollar helmets on front lawns, and no one stole them. The woman’s closet was so full that when, in a fit of tidying up, she impulsively stuffed five garbage bags full of clothes and hauled them to the thrift store, she still had more than she could possibly wear. At night she and her husband sat together in the white gazebo behind their house, which overlooked a meadow and a fishing pond. They talked about work, close friends, or their kids. Sometimes they didn’t talk at all. She just stared at the water and marveled at this life they had created together, which seemed more secure than either of their childhoods had been, and she dreamed of what the future might bring.
