Midnight Run

When her underpaid job in Vietnam becomes unbearable, a young teacher risks everything — including detention and blacklisting — to escape the country and reclaim her freedom.

She glanced at her watch for the hundredth time — she could not miss this bus. On the terrace, smoke trailed from her mouth as she exhaled another puff of her cigarette, staring out over the blue South China Sea. It was quiet, except for the sound of “Clandestino” by Manu Chao playing through the speaker. Once again, she replayed the plan in her head like a prayer: Nha Trang, Saigon, hostel, airport. It felt like the universe had lined up this window for her to escape, and there may not be another. 

She had been looking at flights out of Vietnam for months. Finally, the time had come. It was a strange last day at the English center, since only she knew it'd be for the last time. It was her smug head teacher's birthday, so they had cake in the break room. It almost felt like they were celebrating her last day.

There were pangs of guilt for not being able to say goodbye to the kids she’d been teaching for months, or to the teacher’s aide who had always been nice to her. Just weeks earlier, they’d walked arm-in-arm through the busy streets of Dalat. 

But bigger than the guilt was a red-hot rage. The English language center owed her money. For the past few months, they’d kept pushing ‌payday back, trickling out a couple thousand đồng here and there to keep the staff satiated. But if she quit now, she’d technically ‌owe them money too. She also risked being detained at the airport without a proper exit visa — or being blacklisted from entering the country again. At least, that’s what the company had said. 

She shook the worried thoughts out of her head. It was the risk she was willing to take to be free. Taking one last look at her home’s koi pond, she said goodbye to the older couple who lived there. Walking to the corner outside, she hugged her roommate, John, and got into the taxi heading to the bus station. 

“Good luck,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. 

She smiled with warmth in her eyes. “Good luck to you too, roomie.” 

The bus lurched south towards Saigon as Karina sank into the seat. One last night bus, she thought to herself. I’m almost home. When she arrived, the familiar smells of the city invaded her nostrils‌ — a combination of meat roasting and exhaust. Somehow, she had missed it. She walked to her nearby hostel, grateful for the soft-spoken receptionist who let her check in early. Pushing open the door to her room, she collapsed onto the fresh white sheets. 

A few hours later, hunger pains hit her, along with the realization she’d made it out of Nha Trang. She walked to one of her old favorites, Pizza 4P’s, and ordered her usual: a white pizza with burrata, baby greens, and prosciutto, along with a glass of red wine. I wish I had enjoyed the finer things more often, she thought, instead of being worried about money all the time. Soft raindrops tapped on the window as she ate. 

At the airport early the next morning, she stared at a bleak Departures screen. “Canceled, Canceled, Canceled,” it read in red letters next to most flights. Thankfully, her flight out to Tokyo read On Time.

Her hands trembled as a delicate woman with a slight frame checked her in, casually skimming her passport as she printed out the boarding passes. What if the exit visa rumors were true? Her throat tightened. But the woman let her through, as did the immigration officer. She let out a long breath. 

Two hours later, she landed safely in Tokyo. She sat at the gate for her next flight to Houston, and shakily pulled out her phone, opening up the Facebook messenger app. 


Hey, I’m sick again, unfortunately, she wrote to her head teacher. It might be COVID. I won’t be able to make it to work today.

We cannot manage without a teacher during our Grand Opening. We need you, he wrote back. 

She stared at the message and didn’t answer. His second message was more urgent. It's imperative that you get to the center. I know you aren’t feeling great, but we really need you here.

She watched the phone ring before switching it off. 

*** 

A few days later, the phone rang — it was her roommate. 

“They’re looking for you,” he said with a panic in his voice. 

“Who? What are you talking about?” Karina pressed the phone to her ear, her heartbeat steadily rising.

John’s voice was shaky. “I think the people from your work...they came here calling out your name.” 

“How did they know where I lived?” She said, half to herself. “And what did you tell them?” 

John hesitated. “I told them you were gone…I…I’m sorry I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t tell them where you went though.”

She hung up the burner phone and removed the chip, throwing it into the candle on her desk. Black smoke rose into the air as she turned back to the email on her computer.

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The Crater