by Reem Faruqi
I guess it’s not just Ammi—
Baba worries too . . .
The First Day of School
The leaves still haven’t changed colors.
I knew I was short at school,
but I didn’t realize
how short I really was
until I saw Jason Flynn
the tallest boy in the school
and as I followed him
down the hallway
my head reached the bottom
of his book bag.
I knew I was brown,
but didn’t realize
how brown I really was
until I saw so many
who were white and pink,
pink and white,
and only a handful of dark brown.
And although school just started,
and the bell rang only 7 minutes ago
(420 seconds to be exact),
I already feel like I don’t belong.
Language Arts
Is a class
where I don’t know where to sit.
So I stand by the classroom door
and double numbers
inside my head
to calm me.
1 + 1 = 2
2 + 2 = 4
4 + 4 = 8
8 + 8 = 16
16 + 16 = 32
32 + 32 = 64
64 + 64 = 128
I reach the number
1,024
when the teacher shows me
where to sit.
Language arts
is a lie.
There is no art
in here.
Just lots of punctuation
, . ! — . . . ; ?
And confusing questions
that can have
more than one answer.
Science Class
Relief.
Because we have
assigned seats.
Relief.
Because there is
a math problem
on the board.
Relief.
Because math problems
are safe
and have only
one
answer.
Hands
I am already solving
the math problem
in my head . . .
when Hi, I’m Aidan,
his arm reaches out.
Hi, I’m Brittany,
her hand shakes his.
This time he looks at me.
Hi, I’m Aidan,
his hand is out.
His hands waits.
I am so surprised
for a second
I don’t know what to do.
I don’t want to explain,
so instead my hand
reaches out slowly.
He smiles.
My fingers—always cold—
touch his.
His fingers
are warm
like his smile.
I forget to say my name.
It’s Nurah.
But they don’t ask.
I hope no more boys
try to shake my hand.
I’m Muslim,
I’m not supposed to touch boys
who aren’t related to me.
Guys who aren’t my brother,
father,
grandfather,
mother’s or father’s brother.
Aidan isn’t any of those.
What would Nana say
if she saw me
shaking a boy’s hand?
Math Class Decisions
The numbers draw me
into their world
inviting me with a wink
of + - ÷÷ and ×.
The numbers almost distract me from
seeing a girl
with a fat braid
who reminds me of Asna.
Coloring 101
In geography class,
there is a teacher,
brown-ponytailed,
with a too-big smile.
Welcome to geography.
Otherwise known as
Coloring 101.
Baba,
You lied.
I thought the schools
here in America
are supposed to be better?
Lunchtime
At lunchtime,
the girl with the fat braid
is sitting at a table
loud with laughter,
full of friends.
I realize
that I need her,
but she doesn’t need me.
I button my lips,
keep walking past her table,
past all the tables,
and slink near the stairs.
Second Day of School
What did you say your name was again?
Aidan asks.
Nurah.
My name is Nurah.
I sneeze.
God bless you.
I don’t know if
I’m supposed to say thank you,
so I say nothing.
To be safe.
Aidan
His skin is golden brown,
like smooth sand.
His eyes much lighter
than mine,
soft toffee brown,
and much kinder
when he offers me a
crooked smile.
Isn’t he cute? whispers Brittany
when he gets up
to go to the restroom.
And when Brittany asks
that question,
Brittany Walker with her
blond hair and blue eyes,
I don’t know why,
but I feel smaller than I am
and sad.
I don’t feel like I,
Nurah Haqq,
with black hair and dark-brown eyes
am enough
enough for Aidan?
And if I ever will be.
Lab Partner
For some reason
when it’s time
to choose a lab partner,
Aidan smiles
his crooked smile
and chooses me,
not Brittany.
And I feel better than
I’ve felt
in quite a while.
Clothes
Nana has tailored
my clothes
for me.
Red piping.
3 buttons.
2 pockets even.
Floral print.
Colors bright
and happy.
Aqua blue
paired with
eggplant purple.
Ripe-mango yellow
paired with
unripe-mango green.
Rosy pink
paired with
bright orange.
Cloth so soft
it feels like tissue.
But then I hear the whispers
that scratch like nails.
Even though
I pair the kurtas
with stiff jeans, not shalwars . . .
Why does she wear clothes
like that
every day?
Why doesn’t she wear anything
different?
I don’t know how some people
go through middle school
dressed like that.
The colors of my clothes
are no longer happy.
In Walmart, the only
long-sleeve shirts
that are loose
that I like
are in the women’s section.
No pockets.
No floral print.
No red piping.
Shirts rough like towels.
Dull like
the colors of
crumpled litter on the beach.
Ugly faded brick.
Faded purple marker.
But I buy th
em anyway.
Autumn
The leaves have finally
changed into
a glory
of spices.
And our moods
have cooled
with the weather.
But even though Asna
emails and calls
and I
email and call,
she is far,
too far
away.
I am still
alone.
So alone,
even when we 4 are all
together
in 1 little hotel room.
Sweet in Comfort Suites
Baba has booked us
an extended stay hotel
called Comfort Suites,
but I don’t feel the comfort
(the sofa bed sags and groans)
and it’s not sweet.
Baba plans for us to be here
for no more than
a couple of months
(60 days or less)
while we look for a house,
maybe a home?
Owais and I long
for a house
until we realize
every Tuesday
and Thursday afternoon,
the staff bakes and serves
melty circles of joy
in the lobby:
chocolate chip cookies.
The suites are becoming
sweeter.
Comfort in Comfort Suites
We don’t know anyone.
But now we know
Miss Polly and Miss Josefina
who wear stiff blue housekeeper uniforms.
In the corner of our suite
is a small black rectangle stovetop
where Ammi cooks food
where magic happens
where the taste of home
coats my tongue.
When Miss Polly or Miss Josefina say
Something sure does smell good
(it does!)
Ammi packs them curried rice
to take home.
Even though Ammi uses
frozen bags of vegetables
and fried onions from packets
and tomato sauce from cans,
we scoop the steamy golden rice
into our mouths
over and over
again.
The Ways of Rice
Ammi shows us
the ways of rice.
In Karachi we had a cook
named Zeeshan.
Now we must help Ammi.
We put 2 teacups
of rice in a pot
(the one with the
jiggly handle).
Wash with cold water.
Measure the water up
to 1 fingertip line
and cook on bubbly high.
Once the rice
swallows up the water
and it looks like finger holes
are poked in the rice,
Owais covers the pot
and sets the timer
for 10 minutes.
We wait wait wait
until
the beeeeep!
I fluff the rice
with a fork,
coat it with ghee . . .
Cooking coats us
with togetherness.
House Hunting
We see houses that are too big.
Some houses that are too small.
One house looks “just right,”
a room for me
a room for Owais.
The “just right” house has big windows,
rectangles of sunshine that warm
my outside skin,
and black creepy shutters that chill
my inside skin.
My parents pray istikhara,
Oh God
I seek your counsel.
If you know buying this house
is good for me,
my religion
my life
then decree it for me.
If it’s bad for me,
then turn it away from me
and give me something good
and make me satisfied with it . . .
My parents pray
they talk
they sleep on it
then they say Yes.
We get the “just right” house
creepy black shutters and all.
A New House
We are in the new “just right” house
finally
with carpets the color
of teeth.
We are scurrying
like roaches
unwanted visitors
because the plumber
is coming.
Quick
wipe the counters,
Quick
wash the dishes,
Quick
vacuum the crumbs.
But why?
We wonder.
Because we don’t want the plumber
to think Muslims are dirty!
Ammi’s hands pause from washing
and find their way
to her hips.
The air puffs my hair,
floats it,
as I sigh.
The plumber comes
and goes
and he does not take
off his shoes,
leaving red footprints
of Georgia clay
on the white carpet.
And we are the ones
worried
about
dirt?
Lunchtime
The loud chattering
of friends
who are not
my friends
scrapes at my soul.
I never know
where to sit
or who with.
So I sit underneath
the stairwell
in a triangle space
that is dark and small,
just like me.
In my last school,
I always knew
where to sit
and with who.
In my last school,
my name was known.
In my last school,
my voice was loud.
In this school,
I am mute.
In this school,
I am invisible.
Skype Calls
Late nights or early mornings
when Nana and Nana Abu call
when Asna calls
Boop Boop Boop!
Boop Boop Boop!
Happy sounds.
Even though the screen is small,
the house becomes a
home
full of laughter
and loud voices.
But when we say bye,
our house becomes
too quiet
too far
a house that is
7,995 miles away
to be exact.
Walking to the Rec Center
On the walking path
golf carts speed by,
dogs pull people,
and bikers whiz by.
We hear
Hey y’all
How are you?
Hi
Owais and I
give each other a look
Who are these people?
Why are they saying hello?
People here must be really friendly
we think,
but then
Why don’t I have
a friend at school?
Rec Center
The water is bright.
The water is blue.
It says
I am here for you.
Oh Water,
do you know
that you are my only friend?
The water scoops me into a hug,
laughter bubbles at me,
and floats me gently up high.
In
the water, I’m the meaning
of my name—
Light.
Cold
Even though it’s hot outside,
I hate
feeling the horrid cold
snaking into a ball
in the pit of my stomach
at school, especially at lunchtime.
But when the weather changes
one ordinary night,
I wake up
cold inside
and freezing outside,
and it’s brutal.
I wear sweater upon sweater
5 total
just to feel warm
when I wait for the
bus.
Let’s go buy you a proper winter jacket,
Baba says,
but still
it is not strong enough
to keep out the cold.
Karachi
Back home
the weather is
hot hot hot.
But in the evenings
when the sun gets sleepy
it gets cooler
balmy
and
breezy.
A tropical hug
before bed.
American Winter
Winter:
snips
cuts
the tips
of my fingers.
I am not made
for this weather.
I am not made
for this country.
Baba’s Patience
We have a fireplace
that we are still learning—
a button to press
a switch to pull
to make a fire.
By the hungry orange licks,
Baba mends kites
and waits for
an invitation from the sky.
Birds
In Pakistan:
the birds are loud
morning
noon
night.
Here:
the birds are loud
only in the morning
only at sunset.
Here I am loud:
only in the morning
before school
only in the afternoon
after school.
After School
At the dining table
I find my voice.
With a few pencil strokes
I doodle America
away
by drawing the Karachi beach.
Angry wave
upon
angry wave.
We talk about
Nana and Nana Abu and Dadi and Asna
back home
and the world feels
smaller.
Happier.
I push away the
school day