Leaving Shangrila by Gecils Isabelle;

Author:Gecils, Isabelle; [Isabelle, Gecils]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Morgan James Publishing
Published: 2016-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 31

FAREWELL

I told those I could at school that my departure to America was imminent.

“You? How can you go live in the United States?”

It seemed they had forgotten what I told them about my American father.

“I have a father who lives there, remember?”

“Really? We all thought you were lying.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“Well, you can’t blame us. Nobody knew you had an American father. When are you leaving anyway?”

“I don’t know yet.”

They groaned as my reticent answers confirmed that I must have concocted this coveted story. “Yeah, right!” most answered, rolling their eyes and shrugging their shoulders.

“You will see. One day soon I will be coming here and telling you all goodbye,” I responded.

That day never came.

My father called my grandparents to tell me the visa had been approved. Yet, before it could be issued, my mother needed to sign a custody release—in person, in court, in front of a judge—before the Brazilian government would issue me a passport. So he asked to speak with my mother. Not able to tell my father that my mother knew nothing about the visa process, my grandparents spoke directly with her about my father’s request.

“What are you talking about?” she asked my grandfather while looking at me, surprised.

Needless to say, the rest of that conversation was a disaster.

She refused to go to court and refused to sign the form.

This was a signature I could not forge.

“I will not let you live in the United States with a father who abandoned you and a witch for a mother,” she screamed. “Your home is here! And you will stay here.”

“Mom, you have to sign . . . Everything is approved. Everything is ready,” I pleaded.

It was so close. Yet, here I was, again, having my plans thwarted by my mother. I resorted to tactics that had worked before during the Olympics debacle. I screamed, cried, begged, pleaded, pouted, and relentlessly requested that she appear in court to release her custody of me. This time, however, she did not relent.

“You will not go!”

“But I told Pappy I would.”

“Now tell him you will not.”

“You only want to keep me here because you want my father’s money!” I said bitterly.

My mother did not take the bait. “You can believe whatever you want. You will stay here. And I do not want to hear about it . . . ever again.”

My mother missed the court appointment. And the window of opportunity for me to leave Shangrila closed along with it.

For the first time in my life, I was glad we did not have a telephone. I could not bear the thought of telling my father directly that my mother refused to sign the papers. He had believed all along that she had supported my decision. Yet, I needed to communicate that I was not coming after all. I wrote a letter—one that my mother read and to which she added caustic language—telling my father that I had reconsidered my request and chose to stay in Brazil after all.

My father’s response was swift and hurtful.

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