by Beth Fred
Mirriam
My cheeks were hot, and I couldn’t help but giggle. I was tucked inside Caleb’s arm, trying to focus on him. Trying not to stare, but I’d never seen belly dancers before. If Abrahem found out I was here, he would kill me. And Caleb.
“What’s so funny?” Caleb asked as I shifted from one foot to the other. He’d chosen this place—Ali Baba’s. I knew he thought I would like it, so telling him how uncomfortable it made me was out of the question.
I sealed my lips together and gave a slight shake of my head. About the same time, a middle-aged blonde dancer with a soft stomach shimmied her hips and began gyrating her body. I pressed my face firmly against Caleb’s chest in an attempt to mask the laughter, but it didn’t work.
“Okay, you have got to tell me what is so funny.”
I pointed in the direction of the dancers.
“Are they doing the dance wrong?”
I backed up from Caleb. “How should I know?”
Caleb shrugged. “Sorry, I thought you had belly dancers.”
I racked my brain for how to reply to this, tempted to ask him what kind of people he thought we were, but I noticed that the other people waiting to eat were all well dressed, some families, some ladies, some kids skipping school like us, some business men. I noticed a girl our age trying to mimic the dance. “Ahh,” I said to myself, but Caleb heard me.
“What?”
“It’s not the same here.”
“Is that’s what so funny.”
I laughed. “At home belly dancers are forbidden.”
“Forbidden?”
“Well, they exist, but I’ve never seen one. And if I know a guy who has, he never told me about it.”
“So a belly dancer is like a stripper?” he said the words slowly.
I nodded.
“Would you be more comfortable somewhere else?”
I bit down on my bottom lip. “It’s fine.”
He laughed. “M, I don’t even like Mediterranean food. You wanna grab a burger? Or Austin has a couple of really good pizza places, and I know you like pizza.”
I didn’t care what we had for lunch. Being with Caleb was enough. Although, I thought today should be different. “I’ve never had Mexican food.”
He leaned forward and pecked me on the forehead. “Awesome. That is like the theme of Austin. Let’s go.”
Caleb took a step, and when I didn’t move, he nudged me with his hand. “Won’t it be hard for you? I mean to get in and out of the car again?”
“Hey, I’m fine.”
I stared at him.
“Well, it doesn’t hurt anymore than it does at home on the couch.”
“Are you sure?”
He hesitated. “Don’t ruin this. Please?”
Against my better judgment, I followed Caleb out the door. I watched him limp to the car, wishing I’d talked him into staying home. He directed me back to the highway and across the city. This time we parked in front of a building with a wooden deck covered by a grass style hut.
“We’re eating outside here,” he said.
“Okay.”
We sat down in wrought iron chairs at a marble top table, and a Mexican guy brought us chips and two salsas, one red and one brown.
“Brown salsa?” I asked.
“It’s chipotle. It’s good.”
I dipped a chip in and took a bite. Good but hot. “What are you going to get?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Probably something with chorizo in it.”
Because I’d never had Mexican food, I ordered what Caleb was having. Waiting for the food to come, I gazed around the patio was surprised to learn only one woman was staring at us.
“Wow,” I whispered.
“What?”
“That girl is staring at us.”
Caleb shrugged. “It happens.”
I laughed. “No, you don’t get it. The only person staring at us is Muslim, and I think she’s from Iraq too. I kind of expected everyone to stare, and the one person who does is also Arabic.”
Caleb followed my eyes to a young Arabic woman in black jeans, a pastel top, and a lavender burkha. She sat across from an Arabic man.
“That’s interesting. I think if we were home, everyone would stare.”
I shrugged. “We still have arranged marriages, so I guess it is strange to see an Arabic girl with a white guy.”
“Will you have an arranged marriage?” Caleb asked.
“No. Babba promised me I wouldn’t as long as I finished graduate school before I got married.”
“Oh,” he said.
The waitress arrived with plates of tacos. “Here ya go.” She set a plate in front of each of us. “Can I get ya anything else?”
“We’re good,” Caleb said, and she walked away.
“Why are you in such a good mood that you’re dragging me into the city?” I asked.
Caleb gave me half a grin. “M, you won’t like it, and I want this to be a good day.”
“Tell me anyhow.” I might not like what you’re about to say, but I love the way your eyes are dancing right now.
“Don’t get mad. My recruiter called. The military is going to count my ROTC training for boot camp. I can enlist.”
Shock went through me. Caleb was in no shape to dodge bullets, and even though he mentioned it before, enlisting was almost a betrayal.
“Caleb, you can’t walk. How are you going to be in the military?”
“I have to agree to do logistics.”
“What about your mom?”
“My mom?”
“Your dad died. She may not want you to go.”
“She doesn’t, but I think she understands.”
“Caleb, if anything happens to you—”
“M, I’ll be fine. I promise.” He paused. “We’re cool?”
“Yeah, but God, Caleb, if you go to Iraq—how can I be okay with that?”
“Mirriam, I don’t have another option. I know this is hard for you, but I need you to understand.” I hated it, but for Caleb I would ‘understand’.
After lunch, he directed me to Highway 360, which loops around Austin. He had me pull off the road at a hill. It was an overlook. As we walked closer to the edge, I noticed Caleb’s movements had become slower and sloppier.
“Caleb, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
I sat down in the dirt and grass. It was so hot even the ground was warm. Caleb sat down beside me. Silently, we gazed out at the city and the lake. We could see it all—downtown Austin, the lake, everything—from our spot on the hill.
Caleb’s fingers tickled the skin at the base of my neck. By the time I looked down, his hands were behind my neck and under my hair. I wanted to lean in and kiss him. I would have, but I was caught off guard by the gold chain that rested where his fingers had been seconds ago. He’d clasped a necklace around me. A delicate cursive M in gold with four tiny diamonds embedded in one side.
“Wow. Why?”
“It was supposed to be a thank you for pulling me out of the street that night. I was going to put it in a card and send it to your house.” His voice cracked into a tone I’d never heard from him before. “But after that kiss—this seemed like the way to go.”
I was happier in this moment than I had been in my whole life. Yet there was so much to fear. Caleb was enlisting, and I knew nothing good came from war. Abrahem would kill him and lock me in a tower somewhere if he found out about this, but these were all worries for another day.
Chapter 18
Caleb
My legs and back throbbed. This ride and all the getting up and down were not a good idea, but it was worth it.
Mirriam noticed my stiff awkward movements, and we headed home. I told her I was fine, but she said she had homework. She was lying, and I knew it. But I couldn’t take much more moving around, and it was better to have her say she had homework than the truth.
As we approached our street I said, “Try not to drive all crazy.”
>
“Okay. We’ll roll the windows up and park in your garage. Maybe, no one will see us.”
“Maybe.” I wasn’t worried about it. I agreed to hide our relationship, so Mirriam wouldn’t have to fight with her family, but I had no problem with standing up to her brother.
“Can I hang out at your place until they leave, so no one sees me coming out of the house?”
“You don’t have to ask to hang out at my place.”
She smiled.
When I tried to pull myself from the car, my leg gave out on me. Mirriam screamed as I hit the concrete floor of the garage. Before I opened my eyes, she stood over me, her hands clasped around my arms, pulling me off the ground. She carried most of my weight as I attempted to stand again. She wrapped my arms around her waist. “It’s okay. Lean on me.” Her voice so soothing, I almost forgot about the pain.
Mirriam helped me get comfortable on the couch and sat down beside me. “Is that your father?” She turned her head toward a picture of me with my parents hanging over the fireplace.
“Yeah.”
She let out a little laugh. “As many times as I’ve been in this room, I’ve never noticed that picture.” She shook her head. “He looks really familiar.”
“Probably because he looks like me.”
“Maybe,” she said unconvinced.
“Hey, there’s a shoebox under my bed. Can you get it for me? I want to show you some things.”
“Sure. Where’s your room?”
“Upstairs. Last door on your left.”
A few minutes later, Mirriam returned with my box. It wasn’t much, some of his awards, some of mine, and some old pictures. I never talked about my dad much, other than mentioning him in passing, but I knew Mirriam understood. The first thing I took out of the box was a picture of him in cammies.
Mirriam gasped. She grabbed the picture from my hand, stared it down, and screamed. She trailed her eyes from the picture of my dad in his helmet and cammies with his gun to the picture on the wall. She gasped for air, struggling to breathe. Her movements were uncontrolled.
Seeing anyone like this would be scary, but for Mirriam to be this out of control I thought she was having a seizure. She fell off the couch screaming, “Oh my God!”
“Are you okay?”
She still clutched the photograph. “It’s your dad. Oh my God!”
I fought through the pain and tried to move myself off the couch. I needed to get her off of the floor. She would do the same for me, but I couldn’t stand up. We had been out too long today. My legs were like mush from being crammed in the car.
“M, it’s okay. Sweetheart, calm down. You’re okay.” I canted it like a mantra, but it made no difference.
Ten minutes passed before Mirriam finally stood. She wasn’t steady on her feet, but at least she was vertical. “I should go,” she called, running out the door.
Chapter 19
Mirriam
The room spun. Twisted and turned and spun. The air was being squeezed out of me, and I fought for it. Grasped at it to keep it inside of me. Keep air in my lungs. Keep breathing.
The world—my world—had gone berserk.
At some point, I became aware that I was flopping around on the floor.
Some part of me knew I was on the floor in Caleb’s house. I kept telling myself, it’s over. It’s already done. You can’t change it, but it can’t hurt you. You survived. It didn’t matter though, because most of me was being pulled somewhere else. Another place. Another time.
I’d left so fast I didn’t remember saying goodbye. I ran to my house and threw myself on my bed. Thank God no one was home. I couldn’t deal with anyone.
I was back in Iraq.
“How did you even get here?” Baba asked.
I stared down at the cold floor. “I rode with some workers.”
“Mirriam, are you crazy? Do you know what’s going on out there? Does your mother even know you’re here? They’re probably looking for you. If your brother gets hurt looking for you…”
“I’m sorry.”
“What’s so important you had to truck to Baghdad?”
That was when it happened. A violent boom rang through the air. Followed by another and another. Bang! Bang! Each noise popped like fireworks, but in Baghdad it was never fireworks.
“God have mercy. What kind of sick people bomb a hospital?” Baba said under his breath. Then to me he said, “I should be taking care of patients, and I can’t now. You don’t ever do this again.”
He took my hand, and we ran out of his office. He dragged me along at first, but as soon as I figured out we were running, I kept pace.
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know. We’ll try the back exit.”
We passed an exit, but we didn’t take it. It led to the front door, the most dangerous way to go. Clutching Baba’s hand, I ran to the back exit like he said. He pushed the door open, but smoke hit us in the face. This was a no go.
We ran back to the front exit. It would be dangerous, but we couldn’t stay here. Baba prayed Hail Marys down the stairs, and I joined in, because it seemed like the thing to do. Neither of us knew if we would come out of this. The prayer couldn’t hurt either way.
We got down the stairs one flight at a time. One. Two. Three. Baba was old. He was slowing down. I dragged him along now. We shot out of the front exit. We were out of the doors and into the emergency drive in three large strides—just in time, because most of the building collapsed into red and orange flames behind us.
American soldiers crowded the driveway. They waived guns and shouted in English. My English was good—fluent even—but I only caught parts, because the world was spinning, and my brain could only function in Arabic.
“Terrorists.” I heard the word clearly and repeated over and over. Then “He’s a terrorist.” Apparently the guns pointed in the direction of the terrorist. I looked to my left and Baba must have done the same. The man they’re talking about lay on his back in a puddle of blood. He didn’t look like a terrorist, only a dying man.
Baba’s head darted around. “Play dead, Mirriam,” and then he rushed to the dying man. He knelt beside him and stuck his hand where blood gushed from the man’s abdomen. He talked about work at home enough for me to know what he was doing. He tried to slow the bleeding.
“Terrorist!” The word continued to ring out.
Someone argued. “Civilian aid. He’s a doctor.”
Then I heard, “Aiding a terrorist is an act of terrorism. Shoot!”
My dad was not a terrorist. He was a doctor. And he wasn’t the one waiving a gun around manically. I ran for him.
His head blew off before I could close the distance between us.
I heard my own screams shrieking out as piercing as their bullets.
“Get her, too.”
An American soldier ran toward me. “What are you doing? What’s going on?” the others called out. Some of them put their guns down. Others looked to the side as if they expected someone to tell them what to do.
The soldier grabbed me at the waist. I kicked him as hard as I could. “Calm down,” he said.
Like hell. They could kill me, but I wouldn’t die without a fight.
“Miller, back down,” someone barked.
“She’s a kid,” the soldier restraining me said.
“Back down,” the order was barked again.
“I’ve got a kid her age. I’m not watchin’ this.”
“Shoot,” was the next order barked. “Truman, you have a clear shot.”
“Captain—”
“Shoot the girl. If Miller doesn’t move, his wife will get his dog tags.”
“Captain—”
“You don’t second guess the mind of a terrorist. I don’t care if she’s fifteen or five.”
My eyes stared right in front of me at the voice that kept calling, “Captain”. He was probably the same age as Abrahem, but holding a gun made him look older.
I saw the gun fo
r a millisecond. Then my whole body turned, but I wasn’t the one doing the turning. I hit the concrete on my knees, and the soldier behind me fell. He writhed in pain. His skin was white, his jaw strong, and his eyes brown. He was a typical All-American hero.
He saved my life. He turned into the bullet. I had to get out of here, now. I couldn’t help this man, and if I tried, they would shoot me.
I pulled off the necklace I wore every day—a golden cross Baba brought back from a conference in Rome—and dropped it on the wounded soldier.
And I ran.
Caleb called and texted me constantly, so when my phone vibrated again with a text, I assumed it was him. I picked it up to silence it and found I was wrong. This message was from Morgan.
U disappeared after lunch. What happened?
Sick.
It wasn’t even a lie.
Should I bring herbal tea? Itz tha bomb.
As horrible as I felt, Morgan made me smile. Her expressions were so silly, but she always had so much energy.
No.
I didn’t feel like seeing anyone.
The next time my phone vibrated it was Caleb again.
When you’re ready to talk, I’m here.
I had no idea when that would be. I thought our talking was probably done. I hated myself for what happened to both of our fathers. I couldn’t imagine what he would think.
After reliving what happened in Baghdad I remembered wondering if it would be worse to not know what happened to your dad or to watch it happen. Now I knew the answer. Caleb was better off not knowing. If I told him, it wouldn’t change anything. Except that he would hate me, and rightfully so.
Abrahem woke me up for school the next morning, which was unusual. He was usually coming through the door from work, or sleeping when I left.
“Mirr, school.”
I pulled the blankets up over my head. “I’m not going.”
“Why?”
“Sick.” Still not a lie, I felt like death.
“How was school yesterday?”
“Fine.” That was a strange question for my brother to ask.
His eyes narrowed. “How where your afternoon classes?”
Lying to Ommy was one thing. When Baba was living I could lie to him, but lying to Abrahem had always been harder. He knew I was lying.