'The New World' by Annie Bien

We drove home.

She had walked past him. Stepping across the lawn, she pulled the For Rent sign down.

“Hello, I rang about—” my father had begun.

The woman walked past him, my mother, and me. Daddy said, “Excuse me ma’am, I called earlier—”

The front had door opened.

My father rang the doorbell again.

“Daddy, I saw a lady inside.”

My mother said, “Let’s go.”

We waited.

No one came.

Daddy rang the doorbell.

My skirt scratched against my legs but I made sure to look polite, hands by my side, my pigtails still had ribbons in it. We had walked up to the door, got out of the car, my mother adjusting her Chinese dress, a spring cheongsam, with myriad green leaves of different shades. A woman with a blonde bouffant bubble cut had pulled aside the lace curtain, peering out. She saw us. 

The green house had white trim shutters and a realtor’s board on the lawn. So pretty. A diagonal sign across it said “For Rent.”

“She said to come over,” had smiled Daddy, parking. “She sounds like a nice lady with a smile in her voice. We’ll soon have a house to live in. The land of the free, home of the brave. Green card now, next year, citizenship.” He smiled to Mommy. “We’re in America now.”

We sat in the car, breathing.