“None of your fucking business!” slurred Deni.
The cop cuffed Deni’s wrists behind his back. “Again, wrong answer. I’d suspect a college student to be a little smarter.” He opened the back door of the cop car and pushed Deni inside.
Deni slumped in the back seat as the cop pulled away from the curb. “Fuck,” he muttered.
Deni sighed and glanced across the desk at Marsha “It’s the same old shit, but different town. The police go after the brothers and even some sisters if you know what I mean.”
Marsha glanced at Deni’s file. “Underage drinking and drunken disorderly charge.”
“Sure, I guess I was drunk; disorderly was questionable. I think the cop was being disorderly. I was expressing my public outrage.” Deni sat forward, leaning on his elbows. “So many real crimes committed, but the cops target a poor man, a black man for an ounce of pot. It’s all a joke. No one cares for crimes; they care for filling prisons like this one. Someone is making big bucks on my solitary confinement, yet the idiot Americans believe they are paying for it with their taxes. They’re paying for the profits of the corporate prison CEO’s. ”
Marsha sighed. “Okay. Let me explain this to you, I’m trying to build a defense. You have a shining high school report, but things seem to fall apart during college. Your angst and angers can be used against you, so it’s important for us to give it some context. The reason you are here is not the media, or government injustice. You are in here because you committed a crime. You can’t keep hiding behind these idealistic and intellectual walls you build.”
Deni shrugged and sighed deeply. “Marsha, if I knew that, I wouldn’t be here.”
Marsha quietly read Deni’s police report. “Tell me what happened afterward?”
“Afterward?” Deni questioned.
“Yes, at the precinct,” she repeated.
Deni leaned against the wall with his hands folded. “I don’t quite remember. I was stoned drunk.” He laughed. “I don’t even remember how I got home.”
Deni paced around the Philadelphia’s 15th precinct holding cell, trying to avoid the other drunks and derelicts. One old guy smacked his lips at him and another kept muttering, “White boy.” He kept his back to the bars and slid down to a seated position with his hands in his head.
“Daudov!” yelled a cop. He opened the bars for Deni. “Bail is posted; you’re free to go.”
Shuffling to the waiting room, Deni paused and then lifted his head and gave a big smile. “Thanks for coming.”
“Two hours in the middle of the night is asking a hell of a lot,” Heather said. She looked exhausted and strung out.
“What did you tell your parents?” he asked.
“That a friend was in trouble,” she replied. “What the hell happened? Does this have something to do with Hector?”
Deni stared at her. “You know?”
“Deni, all of Reading knows. It sucks; Hector was a good guy. He was always lots of fun. I can’t believe someone would shoot him like that. I can’t wrap my head around him.” She put her arm around Deni’s waist. “And now you; is that why you were drinking, because of Hector?”
“Yes,” Deni replied, but it was only part of the answer. The truth, he thought. He couldn’t even tell Heather and he trusted her above all others.
When they arrived at Heather’s car parked outside the precinct, she handed Deni a bag filled with homemade chocolate sandwich cookies neatly folded in festive colored paper. “I made these for you; I was hoping to see you over the holidays. I didn’t expect it to be under these circumstances.”
Deni unwrapped a cookie and took a bite. He was still a bit drunk and even though the cookie tasted like paradise; it didn’t go down well. On the drive back to Temple campus, Deni admired Heather. She had let her hair grow long—real long, almost down to her mid back. Looking rather plain and natural, she could not have been more beautiful.
Once they returned to his dormitory room, he couldn’t help himself. He had to have her and have now. He kissed her hard and pushed her back down on the bed. She put up a slight fight, concerned by his recent incarceration, but gave in rather quickly.
For the first time since they were together, Deni made love to her like she was a clandestine, forbidden mistress. He wondered when their last time would be together. Would it be tonight? Would they have other times yet to come? Regardless, all his pain, fears, and resentments came out. Heather hardly had a clue; she assumed it had to do with Hector, so she let it be.
Deni glanced at Marsha quickly and then darted his gaze away. He thought of Heather and where she was now and who she was making love to. Most likely some well-established American guy, he thought. “I can’t imagine what they are saying about me?”
“Who?” asked Marsha.
“The media,” he said.
“Why?” questioned Marsha.
Deni shrugged. “Well, you don’t know whose watching. I don’t want the media to say something wrong and people get the wrong idea.”
“You’re under investigation for terrorism charges; what exactly don’t you want people to get the wrong idea about? It’s a little late to be concerned about your reputation, don’t you think?” asked Marsha.
He rested his head against the wall. “They’re not spreading lies about me, are they?”
“What lies are you concerned they are spreading?”
“I don’t hate,” he said. “I really don’t. I’ve known many assholes in my life, but I never hated any of them. I always just felt sorry for their ignorance. I don’t hate people. I don’t judge people.”
Marsha sat back in her chair. “What are you saying?”
“Everywhere I have gone, people have made judgments about me. I’ve had people assume I was a Christian American just like them. I even had someone ask what I felt about the uprisings in Egypt, believing I was Egyptian. People found out I am Muslim, they assumed I hate Christians and Jews. They assume I devalue women. I have been taken for a punk, for a wimp, for a jock, a druggie, for a loser, and a player. All these people assumed, but never bothered to get to know me,” explained Deni.
“Deni, how open have you been with people in your life? You’re a hard shell to crack. If you haven’t been open in your life, people are automatically going to assume things about you and most often they will assume the worst. People who know you, who truly know you, will always assume the best,” said Marsha. “Your solitary isolation began way before your incarceration and it was self-inflicted.”
Deni glanced at the floor and noticed dust, pieces of paper, and stains that most likely were blood and urine. It was true; despite his friendships he was always reclusive with his feelings. Oh damn Dr. Sodhi and all this talk of feelings, he thought. They always seem to come back and haunt.
“The media is so biased in their reporting. They care nothing for the truth, only for creating a story. They like to create heroes; they like to create villains, and it is the media who decides who is what. A hero can be a villain and a villain can be a real hero and to all those people who watch and read the paper, will they ever know or care about the real truth? What has the media said about me?”
“Is this what you’re in it for—attention, celebrity, notoriety?” Marsha questioned.
“No, I don’t go in for that vanity crap. It’s the truth; it’s enlightenment of the injustices in the world.”
Marsha leaned forward. “No one gives a crap for your cause. People’s attention span isn’t that long. They don’t want to think of things that are unpleasant. You’re just a picture on a wanted poster and most want you dead.”
Deni chuckled sarcastically. “See. No one cares for the truth. No one cares for anything rather than the sensation of it all. It’s all just such bullshit. Marsha,” he pleaded, “if no one pays attention to words, nor actions what chance do we all have? What do you have to do if you drop a bomb on people’s heads and they still have no fucking clue? What’s left of all of us? Good God!” he shouted, “the Japane
se got the hint after Hiroshima and Nagasaki.”
“Deni, they were much bigger bombs,” said Marsha.
“But you get my point. What does it take for people to stop the atrocities? What does it take for people to pay attention?” Deni asked.
“Sit down!” she yelled and Deni obeyed. “The problems of the world are not your burden to carry. Your brother’s troubles were not yours. You are not responsible for everyone’s pain.” Marsha stood up and stared down at Deni slumped in his seat. “You had the means to make a real difference; a positive difference and that’s a damned shame. Imagine what the world could have been if Deni Daudov used his talents for good instead of evil. Sadly the world will never know.”
Marsha gestured for the guard to get Deni. Deni shuffled back to his cell in his shackles. Just inside his door, he was freed of the cuffs and then the steel door was closed on him. It was an uncomfortable sensation realizing that he was being dragged through the media without having the opportunity to defend himself, or even to know what they were saying. He sat down on his bed and dropped his face in his hands. “The whole world seems to know more about me than I know about myself,” he muttered.
He stood up and paced around. “How can that be? How can they know so much, when I know so little about myself? It doesn’t matter now, does it? I am a nobody.” He looked around the confines of his cell. “What purpose does a man in solitary have to find his soul? What is the point of defining oneself if never to be a part of normal existence?”
Deni chuckled. “I don’t even like the spot light. I never did.”
His body felt completely discombobulated from last night’s hit. It was his senior year and the opening home game against their biggest county rival—Wilson High School. Sure he caught the game-winning touchdown, but it came at a price. He hit the ground on his tailbone and his entire back compressed. This morning he was laid out on the trainer’s table with rotating hot and cold compresses.
“Hey Daudov, did you see this morning’s Reading Eagle?” said the trainer.
“I don’t read that shit,” said Deni with his cheek resting on his palm.
The trainer held the paper for Deni. “You should. You’re on the cover of the sports page. You’re a real cover boy.”
“Put that away,” said Deni. “Game’s over, time to move on.”
“Spectacular catch and worthy of a little pride, Deni,” said the trainer.
Deni turned his head to the opposite side. “It’s a team sport; it was a great throw. Where is Alex’s picture?”
The trainer curled up the paper and smacked Deni on the butt. “I’m sure Montoya is asking the same question this morning.”
That damned picture haunted Deni through his entire senior year. It was hung in the front trophy case at the entrance of the school for months, and Heather had it taped inside her locker all year long. One day, Heather made a photocopy and covered his history book with the copy. It was amusing for about two seconds and then Deni ripped it off. Football is a game, I did what I was supposed to do—score a touchdown and that’s all there is to it. He certainly was not comfortable with the glory that came with being a star athlete. Let that be for the T-Bone’s of the game, he thought.
Chapter 22
Memories of Hector filled Deni’s mind. It must be horrible dying in the winter, the ground is so hard and cold. Looks like the police finally caught up with me, or maybe I died and this is my hell. Who could tell in this light? It was Hector who introduced Deni to America, by being his first buddy and it was his mother who welcomed his family into her home. He simply couldn’t imagine the pain and sorrow he caused Hector’s mother; she was always so kind.
Nine-year-old Deni and Hector, sat side-by-side in front of the Ramirez’s couch playing a race car video game. Neither Deni or Hector spoke a word to one another. They just laughed, cheered, and groaned with every turn of the game.
“Oh please come in,” Hector’s mother said as she opened the door. “My name is Maria, Maria Ramirez.” She extended her hand to Kamiila and Bashir. “It’s nice to find a boy in the neighborhood for Hector to play with. Everyone is either so much older or too young. Deni is such a sweet boy. He and Hector play so well together.”
Kamiila shook Maria’s hand and then glanced around the corner to see Deni seated on the floor next to Hector. She didn’t quite trust Mrs. Ramirez and certainly did not understand the game they were playing on the television.
Deni turned around and noticed his parents. “Ma, I’m fine. You can go home,” he said in Russian.
“Deni, here we speak English,” said Bashir in English.
“I’m fine. Go home ma,” Deni said in English and then turned his attention back to Hector and the video game.
“Mom, you’re interrupting our game,” said Hector in Spanish.
“Hector, you need to respect our guests,” she replied in Spanish and then turned to Bashir and said, “It’s like a little United Nations in here, isn’t it?”
Bashir nodded and then took Kamiila’s arm. “We should be going.”
“If you’re that uncomfortable, you can stay,” Maria offered. “I have some leftover casserole from last night’s dinner if you’re hungry.”
“Thank you, but we have other children at home,” said Bashir. “Deni, I’ll be back to get you in an hour.”
Deni nodded, but didn’t look up at his father.
The food slot opened and dinner was slid through. Deni didn’t even care what it was; it was dead—a dead chicken, and corn kernels that would never sprout. He could barely eat, but focusing on eating distracted his mind from his memories.
Before he could finish choking down his dinner, his cell door opened and the guard stood rattling the shackles. “Shrink time.”
“Really, I haven’t finished eating,” he said.
“Well if you like we can wrap up your leftovers and serve them to you later,” the guard said sarcastically.
Deni shoved as much food in his mouth as he could, while the guard shackled his wrists and feet. The guard tugged Deni by the arm, guiding him through the hallway to Dr. Sodhi’s office. Deni entered and took his seat, feeling more exposed than ever. He leaned back in his chair and said, “Yeah, so? I guess Marsha told you. No doubt you two gossip like school girls.”
Dr. Sodhi crossed her legs under the table and nodded. “Yes. She had to. It is her job to defend you. You’re emotional and mental state play a big part in this case.”
“Now you know; I’m a mental case,” said Deni.
“You do realize that was not your fault?” she asked.
“How? How can you say that? It was all my fault—all of it,” he said.
“How is it your fault?” asked Dr. Sodhi.
“Because I knew my brother’s suffering. I could have helped him. I could have been a better Muslim¾a better man and then he would not have gone to such extremes to protect me,” replied Deni.
“The only person you needed to be a better Muslim for, or man for, was you. You don’t need to better yourself for anyone,” replied Dr. Sodhi. “You had everything going for you; why did you feel you needed to be better? Whose standard were you trying to live up to?”
Deni leaned back in his chair. He thought for a moment and then grinned. “Everyone. Everyone had a different standard—my parents, my brother, my friends, my professors, coaches, and the fucking world. Everyone wanted me to be something; they wanted me to be what they wanted me to be and I tried. I tried real hard. It was getting exhausting trying to live up to everyone’s expectations.”
“What about your expectations? What did you want to live to be?”
Deni laughed. “Did I have an option?”
Dr. Sodhi nodded. She understood; she had heard the same thing from so many other people struggling to find their identity in a world that wanted to peg people into specific holes. It was a great time of strife for many, especially the young.
Deni got out of his seat and shuffled around the interview room. “To Allah w
e belong and to Him do we return.” He turned to face Dr. Sodhi. “All of us are born; all of us will die. We don’t know how. We don’t know when, but it will happen. The thing is, death is not something to mourn, because we have simply been called back to God. Everyone and everything dies; it’s all a matter of time.”
He walked around the room. “Unfortunately many are called back due to some injustice, by the hand of another. Who’s to say whose life has more value—Hector, his brother, the folks at the fairgrounds, the innocent civilians of illegal wars in the Middle East? After Hector died, many said it was because they dealt drugs; it was just a matter of time. Some said he was a lowlife and deserved his demise. No one cares about the nameless civilians in the Middle East, but when Americans die, the whole world’s supposed to mourn. Who quantifies the value of someone’s death?”
“No one. We’re all equal in God’s eyes, even in death,” Dr. Sodhi replied.
Deni paced and then he stopped. “My brother came to see me at Temple shortly after Hector’s death. He carried with him these pictures, horrible pictures of mutilated children in the Middle East, children maimed by war, disfigured by chemical warfare and testing. It was horrible and who was protesting for these children? Who was standing up and defending these children?” He turned to Dr. Sodhi, “Somebody had to.”
“But murder, Deni? An eye for eye brings on more violence. It doesn’t solve anything,” said Dr. Sodhi.
Deni nodded. “Yes, that’s what I thought.”
Deni headed back to his dorm room after an afternoon of walking the streets. He found Mikail waiting for him in the lobby of his dormitory. He stopped a few feet away. Mikail was the last person he wanted to see. “What are you doing here?”
Mikail stood from his seat. “I was worried about you.”
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