Hamtramck stories(letters)

Mid January, 1989. The airplane was landing in the heart of the whiteout. It was a late evening flight from New York to Detroit, final port of my destination.
My life at that time was unfolding by the moments. My past was shedding off of me like an old snake’s skin. The future was unknown, unattached and unrelated to anything in the past; it was looming into and through my life with the swiftness of an avalanche. And I was a thin membrane of permanency that sliced and refracted those two forces…
About an hour later, after landing, I am HOME… Hamtramck, Michigan, my home for the next three years of my life. Hamtramck… the heaven/hell and the “capital” of a new, mostly Polish, emigration in Michigan.
Not all of us, who arrived in this state, went through Hamtramck, and those who did not, missed an important stage of psychological cognitive development (refer to Piaget). On the other hand, many are trapped there for the rest of their lives. Some of us had a chance to discover the power of resiliency and others… well…







That first winter we were so hopelessly lost and broken financially, mentally, spiritually… We were supporting each other mostly with worthless advises trying to find an exit from the room we were trapped in. The room without doors or windows filled and painted with white background and static noise.
AZ came up with the first useful suggestion; we need to obtain driver licenses. In the reality of Detroit it is an absolute necessity. One of the secretary of state offers the writing test in Ukrainian. Brainstorming the issue we came up with the “perfect” plan. Three of us go together AZ (driver from Russia); Val (will translate Ukrainian to Russian to AZ and pass me the correct answers from AZ). My role was to memorize all the questions and answers to pass along.
As one may guess we were spotted after the third question. Val and AZ were kicked out. I had to make a decision to follow them or pretend to finish my test. To follow them, I would admit that I was cheating too. And I was too embarrassed to do it. Regarding the test, I have never drove a car nor ever know any driving rules. I knew the language of the test, so I started to read it and mark my answers with my best intuitive guesses.
The person by the counter gave me a piece of paper in return, when I had submitted my test. I nodded silently, politely and cluelessly while she tried to explain something.
As it had happened it was a driving permit. I had passed the test. But the story is not about that. The story is not about the fact that I had recreated the test with all the questions and answers and all my friends got driving permits.
The story is, as follows. Four years later all the emigrants from Poland, Russia and Ukraine start to fail the written test. Someone complained in my presence that it was noted in the office of secretary of state that all the participants make the same two mistakes over and over again. So, the test was changed… In an instant my mind recreated the small unkempt piece of paper with uneven edges and bad handwriting but perfect order of Cs, As, Ds and Bs.