Chapter 1: The Deep Breath
It was already noon at the Polish International Airport, but to the nine-year-old boy walking down the boarding ramp from his flight with his family, it felt like five in the morning. It was made all the worse by the stress of traveling from the United States to Poland , and he was beat. He looked at his parents, and from the worn and haggard looks on their faces, he could tell that they hadn't fared much better. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a water-bottle. “Almost empty,” he thought as he took a drink and put it back. As they walked towards the baggage claim his younger brother Ben, who was only one and a half, began to cry in his baby chair.“Mom, please make him stop. He's embarrassing me!” complained his sister Stacy. The young boy's mom, Grace Discroll, reached into the baby-bag that hung from her shoulder and deposited a rattle into the baby's outstretched hands. He took the rattle, shook it a few times and then started to goo and ga contentedly. The boy looked around at the things going on around him. He looked at the signs and the foreign words and letters. As he stood there he heard his mother calling, Brad, Braaad….
****
Brad looked up to see his friend Mike come into the dorm room they shared.
“How's your story coming? I can't wait to read it. There is probably a lot you have never told me about yourself.”
“I've only been writing for a day. I've only got a paragraph or so done. Check in a few days.”
“OK, See ya later.” Brad nodded, stretched his fingers, and then resumed typing.
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(continued)
****Brad turned and looked at his mother. She was motioning him over towards the luggage carousels where his father, Henry Discroll, was removing their luggage from the conveyor belt. His father handed him a duffel to put on the cart they had grabbed in the lobby. In a few minutes the cart was loaded and they hurried out to the exit. As they walked through the sliding glass doors leading out of the airport, Brad was hit by the smells of the parking lot: diesel fumes and fresh air mixed together, and, although it wasn't the most pleasant smell in the world, Brad gulped it in as it was the first outside air he had had since the lay-over at Heathrow. He looked around again and saw that most of the cars were older, from the Cold War period, or were cheap compact cars. He looked around the parking lot as other travelers exited the airport. All of a sudden there was a honk. Brad looked in the direction of the sound and almost fell when his dad moved the cart he had been leaning up against. A man was leaning out the window of a white van that had just pulled up. He waved and called them over.
“You must be the Discroll family,” called the man. “I'm Jerry Thompson; I'm on the Poland field with you guys, and I'm here to pick you up. Let me help you load your bags into the trunk.”
Brad's dad thanked him, and they began to talk about things like the latest news from the States, buying cars, and when the Discroll's sea-container would arrive. Brad's mom ushered him, his eight year old sister, and his baby brother into the car, and in a few minutes they pulled away from the curb on their way to Piotrkow Trybunalski and a new chapter of Brad Discroll's life. As they drove along, Brad watched the trees zip past. In a few minutes he was asleep.