247/365 Bye Bye Bosnians

"They've moved," Sr. Fern tells us at lunch. "They didn't have a phone, so Ben called the landlord. He went over there--they were late on the rent anyway--and they'd cleared out."

Terri nods, satisfied that her version of reality came true. "Told you."

"And he asked Ben where they might have gone, because not only did they not pay this month's rent, but they also took the stove, the refrigerator, the carpet from the living room, and the poles in the closets. Mini-blinds, an air conditioner in storage, and another tenant's washing machine."

Now even Terri is shocked.

"The landlord said there's no way their deposit will cover even half of what's missing, and that doesn't include the damage and cleaning he'll have to do. He said it looked like they'd been sorting trash in the living room and living on pallets on the kitchen floor. Piles of kids' clothes and baby stuff and food trash and all sorts of crap."

And then suddenly it isn't a crazy funny story. Suddenly it's 6 kids growing up like this, illiterate, barely understanding English, moving from place to place with parents living in a culture they can't escape from in their heads. Fern isn't smiling. Terri isn't smiling anymore. I look over at my class eating lunch, my normal kids from normal families (within a range of normal, at least) and having nothing in my brain.