The Things We Carry

Everyone has something they carry with them day to day that holds serious emotional weight. In recent years, mine has been my faith necklace; before that it was a bracelet my mom gave to me in August 2010, when I got my first car. It was a thin, red leather bracelet with two charms on it: a silver feather and blue-spotted stone. These two charms are supposed to represent luck and protection. Since it was my first car, it was fitting; therefore I kept it wrapped around the gearshift.

Not until March 5, 2011, did this bracelet have meaning to me. Driving my brother home from a hockey game, we were hit by a drunk driver on the I-93 exit 1 off ramp by Rockingham Mall. The car was a complete loss; yet thankfully somehow my brother and I walked away from the accident unharmed.

The first thing I saw after the impact of the crash was that bracelet, still wrapped around the gearshift. I made sure to take it home with me last night. I'm not the kind of person to believe that an insignificant, inanimate object could save a person's life, but I do believe the bracelet brought us both luck and protection that night. If any one thing had been different that night, everything would have changed. What if my parents weren't close behind us in their car? What if the accident happened on the highway and turned my car over? Most frightening: what if one or both of us didn't walk away from the crash scene that night? My family never would have been the same.

When I look at that silly little bracelet—which I still keep in my car to this day—I remember that night and how much worse it could have been, how much it might have changed my family. While I know the bracelet is not what kept my brother and me safe that night—rather it was the airbags, seatbelts, and circumstance—it is the symbol of that night that I carry with me as a reminder of everything I know and love can change in the blink of an eye. 

The Journey to Find Home

It wasn’t discussed. It was simply understood that all other options had been exhausted. The only place for the family of six to sleep for the next four nights was inside their proverbial rolling prison, their grey 2001 Dodge Caravan. “La van,” as they called it, was their life. Driving for thousands of miles with no clear destination, simply looking for a place to call their home.

Marco Vinicio Loria Morales was born on September 17, 1989, in the city of El Erizo, in the province of Alajuela in Costa Rica. He is the youngest in a family with four children. In Costa Rica Marco’s family was supported by his father’s construction business, until work became too sparse to continue. The decision was made in June 2004 to move the entire family out of Costa Rica for “a chance at a better life,” he says. To buy the plane tickets to Canada, they were forced to sell everything they owned. They told no one they were leaving, reducing the risk of authorities being notified of their departure and ending their journey before it began.

For two years the family of six lived in Canada, forced to live in a refugee shelter and tenement housing; they had no other options. After their two years, the Canadian government gave them an ultimatum: leave or be forced out. After crossing the American border, Marco’s family remained on the road for over three years, sometimes forced to live out of their car. Starting in Miami and moving up the Eastern Seaboard, everyone worked odd jobs until they reached Salem, NH, where they live today.

Finally, the unpredictable string of odd jobs had come to an end when Marco’s parents found full-time jobs with a cleaning service that they still have today. Marco and his brother found jobs at breakfast restaurants, starting as part-time dishwashers eventually being promoted to cooks and ultimately running their kitchens themselves. Two years ago, Marco started at Maddie’s in Salem, where he still works full time today, while taking classes part-time at Northern Essex Community College studying business management and real estate.

Today, that Dodge Caravan is still a part of their everyday life, parked in their driveway in Salem, a sentimental reminder of the lowest point in their journey and how far they have come. Growing up the way he did, Marco used to consider his luck unfortunate, but only for a short time “As I got older, I realized I was very fortunate because most people never have the chance to grow up the way I did, with a [realistic] taste of life and the world.”