She doesn’t recognize me. We’ve been in school together since kindergarten and She. Doesn’t. Recognize Me

MYeyes feel like someone filled them with water from Yam Hamelach. Awww, Yam Hamelach! I blink back tears. Can you be homesick for a place that isn’t your home? Avrumi leans against the luggage cart, half asleep. I nudge him with my foot as our navy suitcase goes by on the carousel. He doesn’t move.

“Avrumi. Rums. That was our suitcase.”

He blinks awake. “Oh, man. Okay, let me know if you see it again.”

He’s about to fall back asleep when our black suitcase comes chugging out of the spout.

“Avrumi!” I hiss. “There goes our other one. Grab it, grab it, grab it.”

Take the suitcase, grab it

Before I crab it

My eyes are sleepy

This airport is creepy

I don’t actually voice this clever poem, but I think it very hard in Avrumi’s direction.

He stomps over to the carousel, grabs the bag, and wheels it grumpily back.

“You,” he growls, “have gotten bossier in Eretz Yisrael after hanging around with Hadassah and Temmy.”

I run my hand over my hair. “I’ve gotten a lot more than that,” I say, almost to myself.

Avrumi looks at me sideways. “Yeah, about that. Mommy is going to flip.”