by Samira Ahmed
There is no news. Not inside the fence. I mean, we hear things. The whisper network is never silent: talk of protests on the outside, marches. The government trying to censor the outcry on social media. Word of a second camp being readied. But it’s whispers mostly, bits of rumor from the staff here who aren’t military, the ones who feel twinges of guilt that make them feign not a friendliness but a base level of civility. Maybe their neighbor is Muslim; maybe they had a Muslim classmate. Maybe they’d never met a Muslim until they came here, looked one of us in the eye, and realized we are human beings who laugh and cry, like they do. Who are flesh and bone. And who bleed. And that scant thread of civility, that nod or half smile, that extra pat of butter on a scoop of mashed potatoes, sometimes comes with tiny tidbits from the world beyond the fence before it makes its way around Mobius. Like the telephone game—when the final sentence is uttered, it doesn’t quite sound like what it started out as. But you can imagine what it was. You can hope.
There’s a knock on my door. My parents. Both of them. Standing there with their tea and an extra cup. Tea is their normal morning ritual, but having it in my bedroom is not. In some way, maintaining some rituals helps them. They pray, and my mom always has her tasbih bracelet with her. I know they also enjoyed the normalcy of the way they structured their lives back home. When Dad was fired, and when Mom’s patients started dropping off, they were sometimes like ghosts of themselves. They never said anything like that to me; they always tried to shield me, to protect me even from the slightest troubles, but I could tell. And here it’s so much worse. I mean, Mom is spending her days at the clinic cracking backs, and Dad is meeting with other teachers and professors to ready a makeshift school, beginning with the younger kids. They’re trying to help other people, in their own way; because, knowing them, I can guess at how helpless they must feel inside. I feel the same way.
“Beta, have some tea with us?” my dad asks. “We thought it would be fun for you, like breakfast in bed.”
I knit my eyebrows, unsure of what they’re talking about. But I move aside and they step in and my mom closes the door behind them.
I pull out the chair at my little desk and gesture for my mom to take a seat. She hands me my cup before sitting down. I take a sip. Sugar and milk, how I like it. My dad finds a comfortable spot to sit cross-legged on the floor, his back against my door. I position myself in the small floor space between the chair and my bed.
Then I look at them and shrug. “You guys have something you want to say to me?” I ask. There are no cameras in the bedrooms. So this definitely means something. There’s no other reason they’d squeeze in here for tea, which they prefer to take leisurely—a reminder of what life was before.
My mom nods at my father, who clears his throat. “Some of the others were saying that they—”
She interrupts him. “A couple of the other parents were saying they saw you going somewhere with that guard, the tall one who never smiles.”
I tense up but try not to show it on my face. “None of the guards ever smile, Mom. They’re guards, not the fun squad on a Carnival cruise.”
My mom raises an eyebrow at me. “No need to be so sarcastic. Are you saying it’s not true? You weren’t seen walking to the Hub with that guard?”
Shit. I guess I’ve been kind of careless. Can’t let that happen again. “I… it was nothing. I asked him if I could call David.”
“What?” My mom raises her voice. “Are you crazy? Asking a guard for a favor? Do you understand what he could do to you?”
“Jaan.” My dad uses his favorite term of endearment for my mom—my soul, my life—and pats the air with his palm down, a quieting gesture. “Let Layla explain.” They both look at me.
“I’m sorry. It was nothing. I asked him if we really get a call allotment and if I could call David. I walked there with him but then remembered David was in English class, so I wouldn’t be able to get through anyway. That’s all.” Mostly that’s the truth. It’s all I can give them now, without worrying them even more.
My mom’s bottom jaw practically hits the floor. “Layla, do you have any idea how foolish you were? To even ask him? You put yourself in danger. We don’t ever want you to be alone anywhere with one of these guards. You never know what they could—” She doesn’t allow herself to complete that thought.
My dad picks up her thread. “Layla, the best thing we can do here is keep our heads down. Don’t attract attention. Fade into the crowd. Stay as anonymous as possible. That’s how we’ll survive.”
I had raised the cup to take a sip of tea, but I put it down on the floor next to me, harder than I mean to, and some of it spills over. I pull my hand back and wipe the hot liquid from my pants. “Survive? Is that all we want now? To survive? What about wanting to live? Have we all forgotten that? Have we all decided that our entire lives are going to be spent here? Did I miss the memo?”
“Layla.” My mom usually tries hard to soften the edge in her voice when she feels it coming on, but not this time. “You’re young. Too young and too foolish to understand what’s happening here. We have no rights and no power, and no one in this family is going to take any risks. Do you understand me?”
“Beta.” My dad tries to temper my mom’s voice by adding his calmer tones. He takes a breath. “Do you remember that line I wrote, ‘Only when you open yourself to the heart’s silence can you hear its roar’?”
“I thought you wrote that poem after I was born, about finding love in quiet places.”
My dad smiles. He stands up, walks over, and squeezes next to me on the floor and strokes my hair like he used to when I was little. I look at my mom, and there are tears in her eyes. “It is about that. But it’s also a reminder that being quiet doesn’t always signify weakness. Sometimes it takes great strength to find that silence. Sometimes it takes incredible strength to survive.”
My mom takes a deep, quivering breath. My heart hurts for her. For both of them. I worry about them, too, but I can’t imagine how much more they worry about me. I mean, they built their entire life around my existence. I know they mean well. I don’t share their worldview. But I’m not going to tell them that.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I should’ve been smarter, more careful. I… I just miss David so much.” My voice cracks when I speak.
“We know, beta,” my mom says. “I’m sorry I raised my voice. We’re terrified of something happening to you. There are people who—”
“Mom, I know. You don’t have to tiptoe around it. Some people disappear. And no one knows where. I was there with you at the orientation, remember? Don’t worry. I’m not going to do something stupid. I’m mostly hanging out with Ayesha, listening to her talk about Star Wars.”
“Obviously, Ayesha has refined cultural taste, and I totally approve of this friendship,” my dad says, and chuckles a bit.
“Hah. I already told her you and Mom are total Star Wars nerds.”
My mom gives me a wistful smile. “I’m telling you: Young Luke Skywalker, he was my first crush. And first love is one you never forget.”
“I thought I made you forget all your past loves.” My dad kisses my mom on the cheek.
“Of course, jaan. I only have eyes for you now. And young Luke.”
We laugh.
First love is one you never forget.
I have to talk to David again. I know I said I wouldn’t take any more risks, and I hate lying to my parents. But lies are a part of life in Mobius. It’s how we survive.
My parents head off to their “jobs.” I clean up the dishes and wipe up the tea I spilled on my floor. Normally I’d go find Ayesha right now, and we’d hang by the rock garden. Soheil has been showing up a lot, too. And last night when we were in line for dinner at the Mess, Soheil whispered something to Ayesha. Later she asked if we could skip our normal meet-up. I guess she’s getting bolder now; she’s dropping me as her chaperone. I’m happy for her. We all need distractions in this place.
My mom’s words sti
ll ring in my ears: First love is one you never forget. David said he’d get here, and I believe him. But I have to talk to him again because it’s not like he can randomly show up at the front gate. I pull on the hem of the vintage X-Files tee I liberated from my mom’s closet years ago. I rub my sweaty palms against my well-worn jeans. There’s only one way to get a phone.
I step outside. After talking to my parents, I know that the drones and the guards aren’t the only eyes that are on me. I look around. Now that a lot of the adults have “jobs,” most of them are occupied during the day. There’s a kind of day care where the grandparents take care of little kids. The block is pretty quiet.
The guards patrol in shifts. Corporal Reynolds is on our block duty today. Carpe diem.
I don’t run, or try to walk in a hurry. I don’t do anything that might seem unusual. I casually stroll toward the guards like I’m going to pass them. There are no drones above. Now is as good a time as any to take a stupid chance. I trip. “Ow!” I yell out, louder than necessary. The guards turn to look at me. Corporal Reynolds says something to the other guard on duty with him and then walks to me. I’m on the ground, rubbing my ankle.
“Are you okay?” he asks, kneeling next to me.
“Yes. I wanted to get your attention but wasn’t sure how.”
He shakes his head. “You have to stop doing dumb, risky stuff like this.”
I don’t have time to take offense. “I need to talk to David. Can you get me a phone again, maybe?”
“Jesus.” Corporal Reynolds rubs his forehead. He sighs. “Get up. And pretend it hurts to walk.”
I slowly push myself up. He takes my elbow and escorts me back to my Mercury Home. I do my best to feign a limp. And I think I’m pretty good at it because I’ve totally sprained my ankle before while playing tennis, so I know how it feels. Not that I’m winning any Oscars, but good enough. When we get to my door, he whispers, “Go inside. Stay there. For once, please listen. I’ll be back.” I nod and walk in.
I wait inside, like I was told. Minutes pass. I pace the room a little, remembering to limp for the camera. Then I sit down at the table, lifting my leg to let it rest on the chair next to me. I try to forget that any minute I could be talking to David. So I let my mind drift elsewhere. I wonder what Ayesha and Soheil are doing right now. Actually, no, I don’t wonder. I hope she’s maybe sneaking her first kiss. I hope she’s smiling. Soheil is a good guy, I think; I pray my instinct about him isn’t wrong.
The knock at the door makes me jump, even though I was expecting it. My startle reflex is a lot more sensitive these days.
I fake-hobble to the door and open it slowly, ever conscious of the camera in here.
Corporal Reynolds looks at me and allows a small smile to crack his normally serious veneer. He hands me multiple ice packs. “For your ankle,” he says. “You should probably lie down with your leg propped on a pillow. That’s what the nurse told me.”
I take the ice packs, thank him, and shut the door. I want to run into my room, but I don’t. I take my time, reminding myself to limp. Once I’m safely in my room, door shut, I pull the top ice pack off the bottom one. A black flip phone is in a small plastic bag, along with a note:
IN THIRTY MINUTES, THERE WILL BE A SHIFT CHANGE. THE GUARD I’M WITH WILL TALK TO THE NEW GUYS. BRING THE PHONE BACK TO ME, BETWEEN THE ICE PACKS. SAY THANK YOU. WALK AWAY. DON’T BE LATE. RUN WATER ON THIS NOTE UNTIL THE INK RUNS. THEN RIP IT UP, PULP IT, AND FLUSH IT.
I dial David’s number. Let the phone ring once, hang up, then dial again, like he told me. It rings three times before he picks up.
“Layla?” He whispers. “Sorry, I had to grab the bathroom pass to walk out of class.”
Hearing his voice makes me feel like a boulder has been lifted from my chest, letting me breathe again. “David.” I start crying softly but wipe away my tears. I quickly clear my throat. “David, can you get here? I need you to help me figure some way to get out of here.”
“I’ll be there tomorrow. It’s not a far drive.”
“What will you say to your parents?”
“Fuck them. I asked my dad if he could use his State Department contacts to help get your family out, and he said that’s not how it works. That they’ll only let people out who are useful to them. I hate him for going along with all of this. And my mom… I don’t know how she can stay silent about what’s happening. I know they’re scared, but it’s like they’ve forgotten everything they taught me.”
I barely register David’s words. Hearing his voice is thrilling and heartbreaking at the same time. Then I’m slapped with the realization of what I’ve done—the ridiculous risk I’ve asked him to take by coming here. It’s not worth it. I don’t know what I was thinking. “David. I love you so much. But I was wrong to ask you. You can’t come. It’s dangerous. Impossible. We don’t have visitors.”
“Layla, we’ll figure out a way. Remember when I said this wasn’t going to be the end of you and me? I meant it. I’m with you. Always. Is there someplace we can meet without anyone knowing?”
“David, I don’t know. There are guards and cameras everywhere. There are drones flying patterns above the camp. There’s no place they can’t see us.”
“Is there anyone on your side who could help?”
I hesitate. “I’m not sure. Maybe I could ask Corporal Reynolds.”
“Corporal Reynolds?”
“Don’t freak out. He’s a guard here. He’s the one who got me the phones to call you. He’s helping me.”
“Layla, that seems dangerous. Are you sure he’s not trying to trap you?”
“I don’t think he’d go to all this trouble to turn me in. I mean, they don’t need reasons to take you away in this place.”
“Jesus. Fuck. I can’t believe this is the world now.”
“Tell me about it. I trust him, David. I mean, as much as it’s possible to trust a stranger in the camp—a guard. I think my gut is right about him.”
“If you trust him, I do, too. Please be careful. I love you, Layla.”
I hear a bell ring in the background. I would do anything to be at school right now, back to the way things were. To the Before. Not now, in the endlessly painful After.
“I’ll figure something out. I’ll call you, or maybe I can ask him to. Either way, see you tomorrow? Maybe? I hope?”
“I love you forever. And I will see you tomorrow.”
This might be the dumbest idea I’ve ever had; it’s definitely the chanciest. But we’ve made the choice. The only direction now is forward.
My hands shake as I pull on my black hoodie. I guess it’s my official sneak-out uniform now. David is here. Close. So close. I pray that nothing goes wrong. Corporal Reynolds agreed to help me. To help us. I’m pretty sure he feels bad about all this. He should. And on the outside, I might care that I’m using his sympathy or guilt to get him to conspire with me, but what other choice do I have?
I tiptoe out of the trailer. It’s a little past midnight. I have to get to the rock garden on my own. There are no guards outside, like Corporal Reynolds told me. I stick close to the Mercury Homes, avoiding the searchlights. They travel across the camp in a pattern. So I count the seconds and run from shadow to shadow. My heart races, pounding in my ears. And my skin is covered in goose bumps. The logical part of my brain is screaming at me to stop, to go back to the trailer. But I don’t stop. I can’t.
Corporal Reynolds is waiting for me at the garden. When he sees me, he puts his hand up, telling me to wait. A beam of light passes inches from where he is. Then he beckons to me to hurry.
“I sent the guards at this end away. And a buddy rerouted the drones, but you have five minutes. Tops. You hear me?” His voice is tight. Strained. And his face looks stricken, but I’m not sure by what. “The Director is off-site today. That’s why I was able to redirect a few things. But don’t think you’re safe. Not even with me by your side. Not for a second. Do you understand?”
I nod. I hear the weight of
his words—how serious he is about what he’s saying. But I can’t feel them. My only emotion right now is a giddy elation because David is here. Here. In this place. Where I thought everyone had forgotten us. But Corporal Reynolds is staring at me with expectant eyes. My halfhearted nod isn’t enough. “I get it, Corporal Reynolds. I’m in danger all the time.”
“Yes. You are. And like I said before, call me Jake. I think it’s fair to say I’ve crossed the guard line, here.”
“Jake? Thank you,” I whisper. Before I realize what I’m doing, I put my hand on his arm, a tiny spontaneous gesture of thanks that startles both of us. I pull my hand away.
Jake points across the Midway to a red metal toolshed at the back. There’s a jeep parked next to it. We hurry toward it, not saying a word, but I’m utterly certain the drumming of my heart is echoing through the canyon.
Jake stops me at the door and hands me a flashlight. “Remember what I said: five minutes. Keep your ears open. If you hear my voice at all, don’t move. Don’t make a sound. Don’t come out. I’ll open the door when it’s safe. Got it?”
I nod. And put my hand on the doorknob.
“Layla,” Jake whispers, “there are no cameras in there. But speak softly.”
I push open the door. It’s so dark inside.
“Layla.” It’s him. It’s his voice.
I turn on the flashlight, and David steps toward me and wraps me in his arms. I cry into his shirt, and he holds me tighter. It feels so good to be held by him. Is it possible to miss something even more while you’re experiencing it? Then we kiss. It’s slow and soft and lovely, and makes me want to cry and laugh at the same time. For one perfect moment, the entire world disappears.
David gently pulls me down to the ground. He turns so his back is against the door and draws me to him. He folds his right arm around my shoulders and knits my fingers through his.