A week earlier I’d received a certified letter with the Department of Homeland Security seal on it—a blue eagle holding an olive branch in one talon and thirteen arrows in the other. It was a summons to have my biometrics captured, to have my fingerprints cleared by the FBI, one step closer to being naturalized. Ariel offered to come along to keep me from falling asleep at the wheel and crashing the car I borrowed. We’d also half-joked that her whiteness would keep us both safe. My appointment: February 14, 2011. 210 Walnut Street. 1 p.m. Des Moines, Iowa. Shards of sunlight have just started creeping over the long hills along I-80 West. We made sure to leave early enough to make it on time in the event of a flat tire or some other incident. Ariel snaps photos of me driving. “So you’ll remember.” She snaps another one, squinting behind the viewfinder. “Are you excited?” I watch the sunrise tremble in the rearview.
What do You think about The Weight Of Shadows (2016)?
