However, something the presenter said got my attention: “Temperatures are as much as five degrees colder than it should be this time of year. The kingdom is experiencing a first-time phenomenon in recorded history. This is not isolated to the Middle East, but it is appearing worldwide. Scientists are still trying to discover why. This suggests a big change…”
I heard a thump, and turned down the volume. What was that? Sixty seconds of sheer silence passed. Nothing. I turned the volume back up and the sound came again—thump—louder this time. I muted the TV and listened carefully. Was the sound coming from the second floor? No one was in the house. Maybe Malak forgot something and came back. It sounded like things being tossed around and dropped. I started to the circular staircase, the cool handrail brushing the palm of my hand as I went up one step at a time. The sound became louder, closer. A shape stood at the top, and my body refused to move.
“Sara,” a voice said.
"Mary!" I shouted her name as if my brain recognized her, yet still was unsure. She stood stood motionless, cast in shadow. "You scared me.”
“Sorry.” Her eyes locked on mine as she moved a few inches into the light. In her arms rested a dull generic brown box, small enough to be held with one hand.
It’s only Mary. Calm down, I told myself. “Mary," I surveyed down the stairs to the living room windows, "if you’re here, who's outside?"
"Your dad hire someone to drain and clean pool," she said in a soft Asian accent.
"Okay," I said, my hand still shaky, heart struggling to return to its natural pace. She took a step down, standing a shiber away from me. A shiber is a unit of measurement used in ancient Egypt, later picked up by a few other countries, such as Russia as a piad or palm. It is about a hand span, the distance between the ends of a spread thumb and index finger. Most countries abandoned this unit of measurement. However, is it still used today in Saudi Arabia to give an approximation and it is not used as an accurate, official one.
"You want me wash your clothes, I throw in a load now," Mary said. Her face became clear and the dark bags under her eyes were visible, bringing forward her dilated pupils which sat in a red pool. I squinted my eyes, staring at her. Something was wrong.
"Yeah…" I said, unable to look away "I… I left some clothes in the laundry basket."
"Okay." She took a few steps down.
"Mary, are you okay?"
"Yes, one fish bite me. I was moving fish out of tank to put them in box. I will take them out to bury now."
I shifted my attention to her exposed hand, which had a small cut along the index finger, probably from the bite. It didn’t look serious.
"Does it hurt?"
"No, no a small scratch." She waved her other hand in the air and rushed down the stairs. I thought I heard something moving inside the box, but the only thing within were the dead fish. Mary didn’t look well, but she was out of sight before I could ask any more questions. What has gotten into Mom’s goldfish? How did they die and why were they trying to bite us? Well, rest in peace Cumin, Sushi, Wave, and Pumpkin.
My phone vibrated in my hand, breaking my train of thoughts. It was Raj. I hurried down the stairs, tripping on the last one but regaining my balance before flattening out my facial features. I grabbed my purse and leaped to the door, the heat greeting me.
Following my daily routine, I passed by a coffee shop on my way to work. Raj went down to get the coffee while I checked my phone in the back seat. Although, I knew I would soon drop this routine since I would be the one driving and would lose my quality morning time with my electronic device. Soon after I was preoccupied, lost in the digital sea, replying to all the messages I received while I was sleeping. It felt like the phone was my only means of connection to the world. I dipped my head downward, giving the device my full attention. I tuned out the gentle sound of air blowing from the AC and the smell of the heated leather seats. It didn’t last long. The silence was broken by a screeching tire, collapsing metal, and glass shattering. Finally, a man’s agonizing scream pierced the air. It happened quickly—faster than I could process—then silence fell over the busy street. I heard nothing but my heart sink and my breaths thicken. My fingers released the firm clutch I had on the phone, and I turned around and saw a red truck in the middle of the street. It was parked horizontally with a broken windshield blocking the lane on the right. There was a dent in the center of the grill and debris and glass particles were all over the red hood. A man ran out of the truck and stood over something—I couldn’t see what it was. I thought it was a blanket at first, but it became clear. It was a person. The man threw both his arms behind his head in defeat. The front door of my own car opened, and Raj poked his head in and asked if I was okay. I was uncertain. Unnerved. I didn't know what to say, but I nodded.
"It’s an accident," Raj explained.
He handed me the cup of coffee and a blueberry doughnut I was accustomed to having every morning and left the car and went to the scene of the accident. It was too early in the morning for a crowd to gather, otherwise, this would have been an assembly point. However, the few early birds milled about, from the employee working at the boofiya (a shop that sells fresh-made sandwiches all day. A favorite spot among locals), and the people stopping for coffee or breakfast flooding to the truck. I tried to remain calm. I heard voices, people talking. From their tones, I knew things were bad. My nerves were rattled. Is he okay? Deep breaths. Will he be okay? My limbs went numb. I placed the coffee in the cup holder and the doughnut on the passenger seat. My appetite abandoned me. I rotated all the way around to see what was happening. A man screamed, "He's dead!" The person on the ground was now a body, lifeless, limbs awkwardly splayed. Is he really dead? Are they sure? I’d never seen a dead body before that second. I’d never seen anyone die in front of me before. I turned back around looking away. Please don’t be dead.
Another man started yelling, "Someone call 999! Call 999!" referring to the police number. My heart skipped every other beat. It was hard to swallow, and my hands would not stay steady. People’s voice surrounded me. At first they were talking, but then each one became sharp as they started arguing. I needed to know what was happening. I needed to understand. I turned back around and sat up straight in my seat, fighting to keep the tears at bay. I felt helpless, disposable. I reached for my bag in search of my sunglasses, pulling them out of the case and covering my eyes. Not being able to hold it in any longer, I let out a sigh and tears ran down my cheeks. I prayed for the man and his loved ones. It was all I could do.
Raj came back into the car to confirm what I’d already heard. He shifted the gear into reverse and we backed out of the parking space. Don’t look at the body. Look away. I turned my head to the other side. A scream jolted through the air, causing Raj to slam the brakes, but it wasn’t a scream of anguish or anger. Joy? It was a happy scream. Raj parked the car, and we both looked out the window. At that point, I had a clearer view.
A man drenched in blood got to his feet and dusted himself off as if he only tripped and fell. He looked okay. More than okay, he didn’t look so much as hurt. A weight on my chest lifted, and from Raj's smile, I knew he felt it too. The guy was alive. The guy was alive!
We pulled out and left. No sense in staying and expanding the scene. I was filled with happiness and appreciation for life. Life is short and valuable. It truly is. We need to treasure it. I sent out texts to both my parents, Malak, Deema, and May. They read:
"I love you all and I feel blessed.”
I smiled, thinking it might freak them out since to them, it had come out of nowhere. I arrived at work, holding my cold coffee and with all the excitement, forgetting the doughnut in the car. It was a busy workday, and I was in and out of meetings all day. I finally had some time to rest during lunch, which I ended up having at my desk. I got a call from my dad, as usual, checking in on Malak and me and everything in between every few days. My parents were both in Bahrain. They had been there for the past nine months. My mom was a scho
ol principal and my dad was a consulter for a prince of the Saudi royal family. His work took him places for long periods of time, so my mom decided to quit her job and stick by his side. My dad and I caught up on all the events on both ends—the usual, but nothing about what we said next was usual.
"Today a man was run over and killed near the coffee shop you always go to," Dad said before I got the chance to mention it.
"I know. I was gonna tell you about that. I was there."
"Are you okay?" His tone became knifelike.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I was traumatized when I thought he died, but yeah…I felt much better when he got up." I exhaled.
"I think we're talking about two different accidents."
"There was another one?" I replied, alarmed. It must be all those jaywalkers and potholes.
"Yeah, this one was around seven in the morning. A red truck ran over a guy crossing the street."
"Mmm…” I hesitated. “Dad, I was there. That's the one I'm talking about."
"The man flew at least two stories in the air before hitting the ground, breaking his spine in four different places and also breaking his neck. Honey, his death was instant," he said regrettably.
There must have been a mistake. That was not what happened. I was there, I saw it myself. The guy got up. He looked fine. My dad added a proverb as he does; he has a proverb for every situation in life. He said when the reason is known, there will be no more wonder, meaning that it will no longer be a mystery when we find out the truth. But that wasn’t my truth. We changed the topic. There was no point in arguing. We discussed other strange things happening. Incidents all over the country that bombarded all social media platforms. We moved on to what he called “more important matters,” like when my sister and I were going to visit them. He had to get off the phone soon after to get back to work, as did I, but I couldn't let it go. This whole thing was getting to me for some reason, eating away at me. Like something chasing me, and I needed to know what it was. I needed to turn around and look. I went online, searching the local news websites.
"This doesn't make sense," I whispered. All of them were reporting the same thing, confirming what my dad had told me: the victim had died immediately. I paused, staring into the screen displaying articles on the incident and not knowing what to make out of it. It wasn’t totally unheard of, people moving after death. But did they walk?
"Hmm-mm." Someone cleared their throat.
"Oh God!" I released a sharp yelp, and my hands jumped to over my mouth. My coworker stood over my desk. "Rakan, you scared me," I said, waiting for the blood to return to my face.
"Didn't think you scared so easily," he said in his calm voice, a hint of a smile appearing. "I'm sorry."
"No…I…it's been a stressful, and not to mention long and creepy, day. Plus, I was clearly focused on my screen. You know, doing work stuff." I shrugged and tilted the screen at an angle that obscured his view of it.
"Uh-huh. You’re shopping online again?" he asked, fixed on me.
How did he know? I was looking at this new bag before my dad called, but I’d forgotten all about it, swept away browsing all the news. Was I that transparent?
"Yes. I mean no, I wasn't—I mean I was, but then." I took a deep breath. "Never mind that. How can I help you, Rakan?" I ended my inconsistent sentence. Thank God.
"There's this conference being held for all the team members, but I just checked, and you'll be out of the office on that day. Are you going on vacation?" he asked.
Had he checked up on me? My inner ego was pleased.
"Maybe," I said, "maybe not. I'm not sure. We planned a trip but our flight was canceled."
One of his eyebrows raised higher than the other. I think I confused him. I was not making sense. Why did he make me nervous?
"So you will be here to attend?" he repeated gently, studying my reaction. It appeared important he know.
"Things are still pending—oh, that reminds me! I’ve gotta call my friends to check where we’re meeting after work today."
"Do you always make personal calls during working hours?"
"Pretty much,” I teased. “Are you always this serious?”
"No.” He looked at me. “I bet it’s nice to get paid to shop."
"I'm not complaining. Plus, it's my lunch break," I shot back.
He smiled yet never laughed, remaining quietly mysterious.
"I'll leave you to your shoe shopping," he said. "Have a nice rest of your day." He placed something on my desk and turned around, his shoulders standing tall above me as he walked away.
"It’s a bag, not shoes.” I retorted after him, knowing he heard me. I peeked over the desk. A chocolate-peanut butter truffle sat there. He’d left me my favorite snack. "Thank you," I yelled.
I couldn’t see his face, but I could imagine his faint smile. I found the small, meaningless conversations we exchanged deliciously irresistible. As he left, something told me he knew I was watching. And he liked it.
Chapter 10
The digital clock on the desk showed it was 3:00, time to leave work. I experienced a rush of excitement that can only spark from breaking free at the end of a workday. The girls decided to meet at one of our usual spots, a restaurant wedged between a bakery and a florist on Prince Faisal Bin Fahd Road, a road known among locals as Pepsi Street, because of the old Pepsi factory on it. The drive that day was different. There were fewer people in public and fewer cars. I sat in the back seat, beneath the tinted sun rays peering out the window, trying to figure out what was different. When nothing came to mind, I tried to shake the overwhelming sensation that something bad was going to happen That feeling took a hold of me, collapsing in on my chest and making it hard to breathe as I suffocated on an unseeable grip as my lungs lost control of their own rhythm.
Something was out of place.
There was something in the air. Something dark was reflecting on all the disturbed faces in the cars driving by. After a grim and unpleasant ride, I arrived. The smell of humidity carried in the air, delivering fine gusts of fresh, salty wind and a hint of warm bread from the restaurant standing a walking distance from the water. I entered the restaurant with low music playing in the background. I surveyed the tables, looking for a familiar face. A few people ogled back at me with aggressive eyes and crossed legs.
Would it kill you to smile?
I stood stiff. A stranger passed me, making her way to the restroom. She looked at me with soft eyes and smiled. It loosened up my tension, so I smiled back and took a breath. And then I saw her.
"Malak," I whispered, spotting her warm smile.
She waved me over to the table where she sat alone with a book. She was always the first to show up. Like reverse punctuality, she was always too early.
I kissed her once on each cheek. The smell of white musk and baby powder calmed the surrounding air. I plopped down across from her, settling in my seat. Both my purse and sunglasses were placed on the table.
“What are you reading?”
“A novel set in Saudi Arabia.” She slipped the hardcover in her bag. “Did you notice there aren’t a lot of novels set here?”
"Yeah. So, I didn't tell you about this earlier, but today, on my way to work, I saw an accident. The guy was okay. He might have had some cuts and bruises, but he was walking," I said, soaring right to the topic.
"Explains the message I got." She beamed. “Great."
I told her how it was all over the news that the victim was killed. Then I ordered a pot of Arabic coffee and a sticky-date pudding while we waited for the girls to come. The sweets are to calm me down, I told her. I don't know how you don't ever gain weight, she replied.
"You know a lot of people who get into serious accidents, in fact, die of injuries that are not visible, like, internal bleeding," she explained. She always had the answers to everything. How am I older than her?
"Malak, it’s weird… the news reported he broke his neck and spine, so it would have been pretty visible. Plus, there wa
s blood everywhere. How was he able to walk around if he suffered those types of injuries?" I said, shaking my legs, waiting for my warm cake to arrive.
"Don't think too much. Mistakes happen every day and everywhere. It's not like the media is the most reliable source," she said, wrapping her caramel-colored abaya loosely around her.
"You’re a journalist," I scoffed, eyeing my coffee and pudding cake as they were carefully placed in front of me. Saliva started forming in my mouth before the plate touched the table. The smell of dates, warm butter, and vanilla mingled with Arabic coffee. I grabbed the mini dessert fork. Why are these so tiny anyway? I scarfed down my therapy, the perfect date.
"I'm just saying. I know there are so many strange things happening, but I'm sure it was a mistake." She flipped through her menu "Anyway, I'm starving. After your done with that, what are we getting?"
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