If You Could Be Mine

by Sara Farizan

  “Baleh, salam. It’s very nice to meet you.” The two men shake hands, and I notice one of the other doctors in the group looks nervous. Ali notices, too. When he lets go of Reza’s hand, he addresses the doctor.

  “Hello, Nasser. Haven’t seen you in ages!” The young doctor blushes and politely nods. I’d rather not think about how they know each other. Nasser mentions something about getting some water and leaves the group. The other physicians continue to chatter about doctor things, and I hope I never sound as elitist as they do. Nasrin finally glances at me. She looks miserable. She has a smile and too much makeup plastered on her face. Her unhappiness is in her eyes. There are tomes of stories resting there if anyone cared to see them.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Sahar,” Doctor Superman says to me, and I try not to cringe. It feels like there is a mouse jumping on a trampoline inside my stomach.

  “Congratulations,” I say, taking my eyes off Nasrin, and reminding myself to stop staring at her.

  “Sahar, I know this is a difficult time for you,” Reza says, and I panic. I look at Ali, who wears a This-should-be-interesting face. Does Reza know . . . Did Nasrin tell him? I glance over at Nasrin, but she still has a saccharine smile on her face.

  “What do you mean, sir?” I add the sir not out of respect but because he is so much older than I am.

  “I know Nasrin is like a sister to you. You two have done everything together, and I am taking her away from you. But I want you to know that we aren’t moving far, and you are always welcome in our home. If anything, I hope you and I can be friends, too.” He actually looks sympathetic and sincere.

  “I, um . . . I appreciate that. I’m going to miss her. So very much.” I make direct eye contact with Nasrin. She looks away. She can’t keep up the charade otherwise. Reza and Nasrin don’t touch each other, but they stand close, and they look like they fit together. Even when I change, I will never be as tall as Reza.

  “So you’re a doctor?” Ali asks Reza, drawing me out of my own head for a moment.

  “I’m just an intern. I’m just starting, but I enjoy it, helping patients. It’s very rewarding.”

  “What a coincidence! Did you know that all Sahar dreams about is being a surgeon?” I could kill Ali. Reza looks at me with great enthusiasm, and again he seems so sincere. It makes me feel wretched.

  “That’s wonderful! Have you decided what kind of surgery interests you?” I shake my head. The more I talk with him the worse I feel. How can Nasrin be with him but think of me? I shudder to think about the rest of their life together.

  “You two have so much in common,” Ali says. My eyes bug out of my face, but Nasrin coughs and I relax my expression. I want to wipe that roguish grin off Ali’s face. Particularly when Ali looks in Nasrin’s direction. “You two must be so excited for the big day!” Nasrin’s nostrils flare despite the exaggerated smile she still manages to wear. I don’t think she realizes how long she will have to play the part of adoring wife. “How did you two meet, anyway?”

  Ali is unbelievable. People never ask these questions, because it’s no one’s business. We all know he came to the Mehdis’ house and asked for their daughter’s hand in marriage. He probably figured he needed someone to cook and clean for him, maybe pop out some heirs. This is usually how these things go. It’s an arrangement.

  “Well, Dariush and I are friends. When I came over to visit, Nasrin would be home sometimes. She always managed to put a smile on my face, but at first I didn’t think anything of it.” I want to slam my head against a wall. He actually has feelings for her? This wasn’t supposed to happen! He was supposed to be a creepy older man who couldn’t find anyone his own age. He was supposed to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “But then as I went about my rounds, all I could think about was something funny Nasrin had said or how well she imitated her brother. I hadn’t laughed so much in a very long time. I knew I had to have her as my wife. I came back to visit with Nasrin and her family over a period of a few weeks, and eventually they graciously accepted my proposal. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.” Reza looks at Nasrin the same way I do.

  “That’s a lovely story,” I say, and Nasrin stares at me in fear. She thinks I’m going to expose her. Expose us. I should. Reza just beams at me, and I want to smash his teeth in with a crowbar.

  “Will you excuse me?” Nasrin asks. “I have to use the ladies’ room.” She bolts for the back of the house. Reza looks shocked, and Ali just grins. He notices Nasser from earlier and excuses himself. This leaves Reza and me alone in a room full of people.

  “Is she all right?” Reza asks me. His eyes are full of worry and regret, as though he may have said something wrong.

  “No, she gets easily embarrassed sometimes. You wouldn’t think it, because she loves attention so much.” He takes a deep breath, and I can’t decide whether to wish he were dead or to sympathize. It’s not easy being in love with Nasrin.

  “We’re still learning things about one another. I’m actually jealous of you. You know practically everything about her.” Yes, Reza, I do know everything about her. I know she cries when she sees stray dogs, while most other Iranians couldn’t care less. All we have in Iran is stray dogs. Hardly anyone has a dog as a pet. If it were up to Nasrin, she would adopt all of them and have them ruin the Mehdis’ house. I know Nasrin hates cooking, and all she can make is eggs, though she hates the smell. I know Nasrin moans when I bite at her earlobe. She almost always whispers my name afterward.

  “Sometimes I feel like she is keeping something from me,” Reza continues. “I know, it’s foolish to expect to know someone so quickly, but I want her to trust me.” I don’t know where this sensitive male thing is coming from, but it’s making me steadily more uncomfortable.

  “You actually love her, don’t you?” It surprises me that I ask it. He grins and I don’t do the same back. If anything, his love just makes me angry.

  “She’s the one for me.” No. She’s mine. She’s been mine and always will be, you son of a bitch. My face feels hot, and I hope I haven’t broken out in a sweat. “Are you all right, Sahar? You look flushed.” Oh, you want to be the doctor now?

  “It’s just so hot in here.” Before I know it, he’s gone and grabbed a chair for me. While I’m seated, trying to calm down, he has come back from the kitchen with a cool washcloth. He offers it to me, and I want to swat it out of his hand and then bite him like a crazed lioness. Instead I accept his gesture and pat my forehead with the offending cloth. “Thank you.”

  “Khahesh mikonam—you’re welcome. Would you like some water?” I shake my head and try to give him some friendly facial gesture. All I manage is a grimace. Now he’s just standing in front of me, looking worried. Like I’m some silly girl to be pitied. I shouldn’t be angry with him. He isn’t the problem. I am.

  “Is everything all right?” Mrs. Mehdi asks us as she walks over to me. She instinctively rubs my back in circles like my maman did.

  “I’m fine. Reza was kind enough to look after me,” I say politely.

  “Do you need some water?” Mrs. Mehdi asks.

  “No. I’m fine, thank you.” Keep it together. Steady your breathing. Smile.

  “He’s a sweet man, isn’t he? Definitely good enough for our Nasrin,” Mrs. Mehdi says, and Reza blushes like he’s a damn woman. I breathe steadily to cool down. “Where is Nasrin?” Mrs. Mehdi asks, searching the expansive room for her prized jewel.

  “She ran off to the bathroom. She seems a bit . . . Well it’s been a lot of parties lately. She might be overwhelmed,” Prince Charming says.

  “I was just in the bathroom. I didn’t see her anywhere near there,” Mrs. Mehdi says, looking at me.

  “I’ll find her,” I volunteer, and I stand and then walk through the crowd. Ali is chatting up Cyrus Mehdi, and the poor fool doesn’t realize that Ali is hitting on him in the suave, masculine way he has learned over the years. Dariush Mehdi and Sima are talking, close to each other but far enough apart that they won’t
create a scandal. Dariush ducks his head in embarrassment while Sima laughs over some joke I am sure they are sharing. I don’t know if Mrs. Mehdi would approve of either of her sons’ company for the evening.

  I exit through the kitchen and into the backyard. Nasrin sits by the swimming pool, her face illuminated like she is some divine creature from the ocean. There is a giant fence surrounding the yard, so no prying eyes can see Nasrin tan in her bikini during the summer. I take off my high heels and sit down next to her, dipping my feet into the pool.

  “I don’t know how you wear high heels so often. My feet are in agony.” It isn’t a funny statement, but it’s all I can do to make her feel a little better. “He’s . . . well, he’s nice. He loves you, too, which is interesting.” I don’t know why I am comforting her. Someone should be comforting me.

  “He’s very nice. I am a lucky woman.”

  “You don’t sound lucky.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s a little boring, but he’s handsome. He has a good job, he helps people, and he even gets along with my mother. He listens to her stories like they are fascinating.”

  “Your mother should divorce your father and marry your fiancé instead.” If only. Nasrin finally looks at me and puts her hand over mine. It’s never felt so heavy before.

  “He’s a wonderful man. But I don’t feel anything for him the way I do for you. And that terrifies me.” I gulp at her admission. I will replay her saying it over and over in my head tonight.

  “Don’t marry him.” I whisper it, just in case anyone finds us in the darkness.

  “And what would you have me do? Marry you?”

  “Yes.”

  She squeezes my hand.

  “Stop living in a fantasy. You might make me start believing, and I can’t afford to do that.” I don’t say anything else after that. But I do believe we could work. Does this make me delusional? We sit together for a few moments. Then she stands up and walks back inside. I don’t follow her.

  12

  “I CAUGHT THE YOUNG man at the grocery store looking at me. It was discreet, but I could tell he liked me. And it felt so good, for him to look at me that way. Like he really wanted me. Like he knew I was a woman.” Katayoun is telling her story. She looks so hopeful, but I can’t stop looking at the clock. Time is running out. I’m politely waiting for Katayoun to finish. I don’t need emotional support—I need to figure out how to do this. How it’s going to work. How I’m going to change.

  “Is it wrong for me to feel like . . . I mean, I’m not a loose person,” Katayoun continues, and I feel selfish for wanting her to stop, but I need to get on with it already.

  “No, azizam, it’s not wrong. A woman likes to feel beautiful every so often.” Goli khanum is kind with her surrogate children. They listen to her advice because she was one of the first, a pioneer. She’s lived longer as her true self than they have. She’s lived longer as her true self than I ever will, if I ever make this change. After hearing their stories at the last meeting, I know none of their struggles have been easy. Jamshid even talks about how hard it was between him and his sister once he transitioned. His sister felt like she had lost her best friend and gained a stranger as a brother. He says she’s getting better about calling him Jamshid instead of Niloufar.

  Katayoun has unshed tears in her eyes, too embarrassed to let them spill. “I’m just tired of feeling sorry for myself. I sit in my room all day and wonder if it would have been better if I just died.”

  “Probably.”

  Everyone hisses and gasps at Maryam’s retort. It’s the only thing she’s said all meeting. Maryam is angry. I envy her sometimes. How easy it is for her anger to proudly be on display. I always feel guilty when I get angry. Baba has been working on a custom-made dining room set, but I can tell his heart isn’t in it. I shouldn’t scold him, but I do. Well, I won’t be around much longer, anyway. I doubt he will accept me once I change. I can stay with Ali. Meanwhile, I feel the wedding getting closer. I have a recurring dream about Reza and his stupid smile. He’s holding Nasrin’s hand as she stands next to him, grinning beneath fearful eyes. Nasrin keeps calling out for me, but I never come. When I get there, they vanish right before my eyes. I always wake up after that.

  “I just don’t know why Allah would do this. Why would the Merciful One create me one way when I’m supposed to be another way? Why do I always feel like I switched one prison for another? My body for my country.” Katayoun is sobbing. Parveen puts an arm around her shoulder. Emotions take up too much time. We need to hurry.

  “But isn’t it wonderful that you live in Iran?” Parveen consoles her. “Where the government recognizes your struggle? Do you know that there are places in the West that the government would never help pay for the gift of an operation?” Goli khanum told us in the last meeting that Iran has the second-highest number of sexual reassignment surgeries, after Thailand.

  “Oh yes,” Maryam says. “So wonderful to be given the ultimatum of changing your gender or dying as a sinner.” She usually offers her disdain for Goli khanum and her platitudes by way of a loud harrumph or an exaggerated eye roll. Tonight she is more verbal than usual, and part of me wants to tell her to shut up so I can have my turn to speak. They must let me speak.

  “It was just nice feeling like I could pass,” Katayoun says. “You always ruin everything, Maryam.” Maryam has no rebuttal.

  “Don’t worry, Katayoun. Maryam is just jealous because you are much prettier than she is.” Jamshid is always kind, but I’ve noticed that he’s especially kind to Katayoun. They would make a nice pair. They fit. Man and Woman. Woman and Man.

  Katayoun smiles as she wipes her eyes with her fingers. “I’m sorry. It’s probably just all the hormones I’ve been taking,” Katayoun murmurs. Hormones. I need those.

  Everyone has a story, but as I hear more I find it hard to relate. I lied when I said I was born in the wrong body. I don’t always like my body or that I have love handles. I don’t always like that as a woman I have fewer options than men, even men that aren’t as smart as I am.

  But I never feel like my body is a trap.

  If anything, I feel like my love is a trap.

  I don’t mind having to change, if that’s what it takes to be with Nasrin, but I do mind watching her live a lie.

  “Where can I get hormones?” I ask, and the eyes in the room turn to me. I suppose it was an insensitive time to ask. They don’t understand. I need this now.

  “Well, you’d have to visit a doctor for those,” Behrooz says. His suit this week fits him a little better than the sweater he wore last time. It makes him look less lumpy.

  “Not necessarily,” Shahab interjects. “You could get some from a dealer.” That sounds good. I bet Ali could get me some. I could subtly ask, though I’m not sure how one subtly asks for hormones.

  “Yes, but illegal hormones can be dangerous,” Goli khanoum says. “You can never be sure what’s actually in them. You remember poor Shahnaz and how sick she got.” Shahnaz is one of Goli khanoum’s past children.

  “It’s just, I was wondering how long it would take to have the operation. I’m ready, and how long do the surgery and recovery take?” Maryam raises an eyebrow at me in amusement, and Jamshid looks at me in the most condescending way.

  Parveen takes her arm away from Katayon’s shoulders and places her hand on mine. Her soft, and very large, hand. “Joonam, it isn’t so simple as just popping into a doctor’s office,” she says gently.

  “What do you mean?” They were supposed to be happy about this. They were supposed to let me be a part of their group. Goli khanum looks at me with mirth in her eyes, but I also see understanding there.

  “You have to visit a surgeon,” Jamshid explains. “Before they can even begin to operate, you need to have psych evaluations. It can take up to six months before they deem you as transsexual.” I feel like I am being choked.

  “But I need this soon. I need this now!” I stand up from the plush sofa, and the ro
om suffocates me. “I can’t wait that long. It will be too late.” I need to tell Nasrin before the wedding when my surgery date will be. Then she’ll call it off. She will wait for me. She must wait for me.

  “Too late for what?” Parveen asks. I need to be careful. Don’t say too much. Don’t say anything about her.

  “It’s just . . . It’s difficult not knowing where I belong.”

  Jamshid takes a sip from his teacup, and even the way he does it is so masculine, holding it from underneath. How does he know how to do that?

  “Well, after a few visits with a psychiatrist they will know that about you,” Goli khanum says. “Then you will have to prepare. Register your status with the government, take hormones, and the surgery is not easy. It’s painful, and the recovery period keeps you in bed for quite some time.” I should have thought of this earlier. Of course you cannot walk around Tehran as though you just had a nose job. Maybe if I had spent less time on school I would have thought of this plan sooner. I would have met Parveen earlier, and the seed would have been planted.

  “Plus, you aren’t quite yet an adult,” Parveen says. “You would have to have your father’s permission.” It’s the last nail in the coffin. I was naive. I wasn’t thinking. Everything has gone wrong.

  “What’s your rush?” Maryam asks. She now sits at the edge of her chair in the far corner of the living room. Her eyes are fierce with passion, and it’s the most engaged I’ve ever seen her in a meeting.

  “I’m just ready. That’s all. It’s important that I change as soon as possible.” The young men on the couch in front of me nod in understanding. They know what it’s like to be trapped. Maryam, however, is unrelenting. She eyes me, donning a vicious smirk that recognizes something in me. She’s figured me out.

  “It’s a change. Of that you can be certain. One you would never want to take lightly. Especially if you had a choice.” Maryam’s arms are folded. She’s so smug.

  “I don’t have a choice. This is all I have. I need this, whether you will help me or not.” I address the group as though I’m going to war. I am, in a way. With my body, my feelings, my circumstances—these are things I want to fight for.