In Beau Jour, when I used to think about coming to New York, I had imagined that speaking in another language would make me a different person. But here Moy and I were, saying a few words to each other in English, and we were still the same people we have always been, the same people living in a different language.

MONDAY, JANUARY 29

A fight broke out outside the school. Faidherbe, Immacula, and I were making our way to the edge of the crowd when a gun went off.

The students quickly scattered in all directions. Immacula grabbed me by the arm and the three of us started running to the bus stop.

I was relieved when we got on the bus. Immacula asked if we would come over to her apartment for a while. After hearing that gun go off, she was very frightened. Thinking of the gunfire I’d heard nightly from Tante Rose’s house during the election period, so was I.

LATER

A school bus dropped Immacula’s three younger sisters off soon after we arrived at her apartment. The oldest of the girls was eight years old, the middle one, seven, and the youngest, six. Not having sisters myself, I found Immacula’s adorable, like little dolls.

Immacula’s living room wall was covered with pictures of her mother and father and three sisters. There was only one picture of Immacula with the rest of her family.

When she saw me looking at the pictures, Immacula walked over and explained that she was hardly in any of the family photos because her parents had left her in Haiti with relatives while they settled here. Like Papa, they had overstayed tourist visas and it took them nine years to get the proper papers and send for Immacula.

In the meantime, Immacula’s three sisters were born here, in America. She didn’t meet them until eight months ago, two months before her father died.

Imagine waiting that long to see your father, only to have him die two months after you arrive.

Faidherbe had an interesting story as well. His aunt and uncle, whom he is living with here in Brooklyn, had had to adopt him in order to send for him. His parents were still living in Haiti. He couldn’t wait to get older and make lots of money to bring them here.

The three of us started on our homework and it wasn’t until it was dark that I realized maybe I should have telephoned Manman—I now carried the house number everywhere with me—to let her know where I was.

Manman was furious. Even Papa was already home, she said. Papa asked where I was when he got on the phone. He sounded angry, too.

“First Moy and now you,” Papa said.

“What did Moy do?” I asked.

“Tell me where you are and I’ll come for you,” he said.

While I was gathering my things to go outside and wait for Papa, Immacula’s landlord came knocking on the door. Following Immacula’s orders, Faidherbe and I hid in the corner and listened as the landlord questioned Immacula.