Safe

by Kelli Frykholm (United States of America)

A leap into the unknown Chile

Safe Despite it being a school holiday, I remember the pressing rush of people, hurrying, running. Even legs that hadn’t run for years, ran. To my sensitivities, it seemed like they were competing with me, and being the American, I wasn’t going to stand by and lose. So, that day, we hurried too. Even my eight-year-old son felt the urgency. He raced ahead. As we all clambered down into the bowels of the Santiago subway, I tightly gripped our raincoats and my five-year-old daughter’s hand. My backpack jumped away from my back with each quick stair, only to land hard again. Without even being aware of the time or the train schedule, I knew that we were close to missing the next train. Hurry, hurry was all that was in my mind. In hindsight, I wonder, why were we rushing? As our eight-month Chilean sabbatical was nearing its end, I had decided to take two of my kids on a mini adventure to downtown Santiago to buy final trinkets at the market before we headed back to America and a return to our usual life. “Joel, wait up! We can’t go as fast as you!” I called ahead to my son. His blond hair was easy to spot in the sea of long black hair; however, he was little, deft, and probably imagining that he was eluding Wargs or some other fantastical creature. He dipped to the right and around a group of slower moving people. As we rounded the bend, I could see the subway car waiting. People hurried and hopped in, disregarding manners and others who were also trying to board. It was every rider for themselves. As I neared the car, I had that sinking feeling similar to going through an intersection with a yellow light that has been yellow for just a little too long. Su atención por favor: las puertas se están cerrando, said the robotic voice over the loudspeaker. Joel leaped agile as a cat onto the subway car. Joel! He turned and faced me, five inches of clear thick plexiglass between us. Joel’s blue eyes grew with the dawn of realization. Joel, get off at the next station! Do you understand? Get off at the next stop! I’ll be right behind you! Can you hear me? GET OFF! I screamed as I ran alongside the quickly moving train. With an almost imperceptible nod of his head, my young son was whisked away, surrounded by Spanish speaking strangers. I felt my knees buckle. Walking back to the platform to wait for the next train, several Chileans and I spoke through a mixture of broken English, my messy Spanish, and many hand gestures. They reassured me. I have very little memory of the words we said, but it was the feeling which they conveyed that I needed most. My little girl buried her face in my shoulder and wrapped even more tightly around my torso. “It’s ok, honey. We’re going to see Joel in just a few minutes. He’s going to be just fine.” I was surprised by the calm in my voice. Waiting for the next train and its delivery of us to the next platform felt like a lifetime. In reality, it was probably only eight minutes. I chastised myself every second of the silent ride. Why did I let him run ahead? Why didn’t I insist that he hold my hand? Why were we hurrying? Eight minutes later, my daughter and I emerged from the subway car. Joel waited for me surrounded by four stoic, armed Carabineros. I understood then that someone had radioed ahead and let them know that a young gringo boy would need their care. I also learned that someone on the train with Joel had instructed him in English to get off at the next stop. Never before had I ever wanted to see my son surrounded by policemen; however, at that moment, I couldn’t say gracias enough. Once our heart rates subsided and we were drinking hot Milo together in a quiet coffee shop, I recognized the small reality in the midst of the fear and unknown. My son had been safe all along.