No Visible Threats

“Safety is not the absence of threat; it is the presence of connection.” 

-Gabor Matė-

They drove to the highlands of Pennsylvania on a two-lane country road. People said Ohiopyle is peaceful in late spring. She offered to drive but he insisted on staying behind the wheel. A man and a woman in a relationship often find it easier to live within the established social norms despite proclaiming their distaste for traditional gender roles. She did not demand to be an equal driving partner; she was happy to gaze at the combed ribbons of soil etched onto the green hillsides.

“What do you think they are growing here?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he muttered absently.

“Probably grass,” she answered herself, "but it is ridiculous to turn patches of grass upside down to plant grass".

He did not comment. He knew she invented tidbits of conversation to keep him alert. She could not be idle when others were working; he liked that about her.

Soon, the primary colors of red barns, blue sky, green grass, and yellow sunshine changed to a thick forest. She peered into the dusk between the trees.

"I used to walk in a forest like this one," she said, "when I was a little girl, my father took me mushroom picking in a forest near my hometown in Russia. I felt comfortable, safe, but now I think of how terrified I would be to walk among these trees."

He could not remember if this was something new about herself she was sharing or if he had heard her tell this before. In ten years of marriage, they must have shared all the stories from their past. When he told his story, he reminisced about playing football. Careful not to call the game soccer, he tried to make her feel like she was there in his hometown of Ahvaz watching his child-sized, barefoot feet kick a plastic ball to other neighborhood boys. But he was never good with words. She had to use her imagination to fill in the details he omitted: the shimmering air rising from the hot concrete street, bright sunshine, silent outdoor kitchens abandoned by women until evening, and the sounds of boys kicking, passing, cheering, running - all twenty-two of them sharing the dream of becoming the next Pele.

Her voice interrupted his reverie.

“Did you see the junk cars scattered between the trees on the right? A family lives there, among the cars.”

“How do you know?” he asked.

“I saw four people who looked alike sitting around a picnic table. Their mobile home was set farther in the woods. I wonder what it feels like to come home at night to a house surrounded by a graveyard of rusted cars. Sunlight barely breaks through the trees during the day here. No chance the moon or stars could be of any assistance at night.”

He locked the car doors. He preferred to avoid rural America. Away from the diversity and density of the cities, people lived a uniform life. They looked like each other, dressed, talked like each other, and held on tight to the belief that their way of life - the American way of life - was under threat. If he voiced his uneasiness, she would say he is generalizing. Her white skin, blue eyes, and strawberry blonde hair blended in with others in these parts. She could move around unnoticed as long as she did not let people hear her accent. He drew attention: his tanned skin, black hair, and sharp nose reminded people of the enemy many joined the army to fight during the war on terror. Together as husband and wife, they formed a beautiful contrast of light and dark; they could never be unnoticed.

The car continued to climb up the gentle incline, higher into the highlands. They were aware of the myriad of car parts working in unison under the hood; the force propelling the car forward spread through their bodies. They passed a cemetery, a white Baptist church, and a cluster of unimaginative houses: four walls, a roof, a door in the middle, and two windows on either side.

"Do you see the giant billboard in front?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered, "it says 'Play hard, work hard'. But doesn't working hard usually come before playing hard?"

"No honey, the words are pRay hard, not pLay hard"

"Huh! You are right! 'Pray hard, work hard'. How sad, there’s no reward for hard work in this village. What do you think they pray for?"

"To have time for play," he answered. They both laughed. He had this ability to use humor to lighten the mood; she liked that about him.

The next cluster of houses, about twenty minutes later, contained the house they rented for two days. They wanted to get away from the city, to be near nature, to relax, to breathe fresh air, to hear the bedtime ritual of insects - sounds that are so often drowned out in a human hive.

They turned onto a gravel road leading to their rental. "Don't blame me I voted for Trump" signs littered the front yards of every house they passed by.

 "Everything must be really bad here if people are looking for someone to blame," she commented. 

"It cannot be that bad. They are charging city prices per night for the house," he observed as he pulled into a driveway and put the car into park. The doors unlocked automatically, but he locked them again.

"Why did you lock the doors? Is this not our house?" she asked.

"We have neighbors. They are looking at us." 

"Of course, they are looking at us! They are curious about the people in a Lexus. Let's go inside. I'm tired."

"No, look! More men on ATVs!" 

She put her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. There was no point in arguing with him. Images from the insurrection floated up in her mind: the viciousness of the mob, of white men breaking down the doors of the Capitol. All it took was an instigator to declare the government responsible for people's woes. Maybe the men next door have grievances they want to blame on foreigners. Perhaps one of them is an instigator. She opened her eyes and looked out of the window. A chamomile flower gently swayed under the weight of a butterfly. The shadow from the tree in the front yard grew longer. The men next door began to disperse. He unlocked the car doors. She pushed the lock button on the door and said, "Let's go home. We will not find peace here."