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breath.
    We all knew it wasn’t her decision to make or even comment on.
    â€œYou will not be going by train,” my father said. “We are going down together. A family needs to be together.”
    Midori smiled, pleased with the decision. If she only knew what this trip could possibly be like, she wouldn’t be so happy.
    In the distance I could see the faint outlines of the tall buildings that made up the skyline of Vancouver. I’d read that some of those buildings were over twenty stories tall. Looming behind the buildings were the mountains, which stood so many more times taller and wider and dwarfed the skyscrapers.
    I’d always wanted to see Vancouver. I guess it’s like my grandmother always says: “Beware of what you ask for, because you may get it.” This certainly wasn’t the way I’d wanted or expected to see Vancouver, but then again, I couldn’t complain. There’d been times on this trip when I didn’t think we’d ever make it this far. It was almost over, but it had been without a doubt the longest and hardest two weeks of my life.
    I knew how those buildings felt standing against the mountains, the feeling of being dwarfed. Our little boat had been nothing more than a speck on the ocean. Moving along with the other specks, sometimes towed by the navy frigates and sometimes chugging along under our own steam as we moved down the coast toward Vancouver.
    We’d travel during the day, sometimes for fourteen hours and sometimes for only a few hours, depending on the distance between safe harbors. Each night we’d all put in at a protected spot along the coast, someplace where we could anchor out of the worst of the waves. There was small comfort in being a speck amongst many, tucked in with all the other boats. But I knew that no matter how many of us were there, we were all equally powerless. The same way we were powerless against the government.
    Twice on the journey down we didn’t leave our safe harbor in the morning. The wind and the waves were too strong and we stayed at anchor, bounced and buffeted by the storm, but safe … at least, safer than we would have been if we’d have put out to open ocean. Once we had to stay put for three nights, waiting for the weather to clear enough for us to make a break for the next safe haven.
    I didn’t know what was worse: staying at anchor, which meant having to stay on the boat one extra night; taking to the ocean and risking the elements; or finally getting to Vancouver to find out what they had planned for us next. All the options were bad.
    I took a last breath of cool air and headed into the cabin. The door stuck a little — all the steam from the cooking had warped it slightly — and I gave it a big push to open it. I was immediately struck by both the heat and the smell. The heat I welcomed. The smell I didn’t. The smell was a combina`tion of odors that swirled together into a pungent soup. It was the cooking — the last two weeks’ worth of meals; the wisps of smoke that escaped from the little stove — we’d been forced to burn wood that was green or wet; the smell coming from us and our clothes — we hadn’t been able to wash since we first took to the boats; and the sickening smell of the chamber pot.
    â€œFood?” my mother asked as she extended a bowl toward me.
    I wasn’t hungry, but eating was one of the few ways to pass the time.
    â€œThank you,” I said as I took the bowl from her. I slumped down on a mattress beside Yuri, who was asleep. I started to scoop in the rice. It tasted good.
    My mother gave me a big smile. Watching us eat was about the only thing that seemed to bring a smile to her face. Ever since we’d started down the coast there’d been something simmering or cooking on the fire. It was almost as if, because she couldn’t make us our regular meals, she had to make up for it by making us more meals.