I held the coffee cup in my hands and looked out of the window, beyond the police officer who had asked my name.
The American flag danced in the breeze and I compared its design to the one I had grown up with. All those lines and little stars.
It had been three years since my defection, which was much simpler than I’d expected. But I still felt nervous when I thought people were sent to recover me.
“Starzanlines,” I answered. “Combo Starzanlines.”
She tapped her notepad.
“Is that German?”
“Polish!” I smiled encouraging at her and she left.
For more stories from this prompt in Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog, try here.