“She was divorced by the time we met. Where she’s from, people like her can be put to death, and that’s why she wanted to leave her homeland.”
Her brow furrows in confusion as she shifts on the bed. “People like her? Women?”
“Women who love other women.”
She looks at me unblinking, her brows raised. “She’s gay?”
I nod. “When we met that day, she told me all about how she fell in love with her best friend Samira. Mary had felt pressured by her parents to marry a man and she obeyed, but she was never truly happy, and the man she married was not a kind one. He suspected something was going on and divorced her, threatening to go to the authorities if she didn’t leave quietly. But she’s lived in fear of him ever since. The day we met, he’d just threatened her again. She was confident thatnothing would come of it since he didn’t have any proof, but I could tell she was terrified.”
“What would’ve happened if the authorities found out?”
“She could’ve been thrown in prison or stoned to death.”
Silence stretches between us for several minutes. The clock’s ticking growing louder with each second that passes as she processes my words.
I hesitate to say more, knowing I haven’t shared these details with anyone but Mary. It’s important that she hears my truth, so I take a deep breath and pull her legs onto my lap as I work up the courage to continue. “There’s a reason why I felt called to help her.”
“Why?”
“Because I couldn’t save him.”
“Couldn’t save who?”
“My brother Michael. I knew how much he was struggling. My brother Robert may not have known what was going on with him, but I did. Michael told me he was gay. He was going to come out to our parents. I told him it was a bad idea. That there was no way our mom and dad would handle it well. I was too much of a coward, and I hid in my room while he did it. And I knew he was being bullied at school, and I didn’t do anything. He was a year behind me, and he was weird and different, and I was a stupid middle school boy that just wanted to blend in, and being around him at school forced us to stand out. So I ignored him. I didn’t stand up for him when I knew he was being picked on.”
“Oh, John,” she says, placing a hand on my shoulder. When she squeezes it, I feel instantly grounded.
“I have seen firsthand the power of hateful words in the mouths of bigoted people. I know what that hate is capable of, and I’d be damned if I ever stood by and watched that happen again, not when I could do something about it. Not with Maryam, and not when I felt like I had a second chance to help.”
I take a breath and continue. “I was the one who found him.” The admission feels like a lead weight in my chest. “When I didn’t see him at the parent pick-up line, I went looking for him, knowing how mad our mom would get when we were late. He wasn’t at his locker, and I ran through the school, searching every place I could think of when I saw a group of kids huddled in the back of the gym in this alcove behind the bleachers next to a door that led to the football field. The way I burst through the door must have scared them, and they took off.”
It’s a struggle to speak as emotion clogs my throat at the memory still as vivid in my mind as the day it happened. “I almost didn’t see him. He was lying so still. Too still. At first, I thought the guys that ran off had left behind a pile of clothes. Something told me I needed to go over there. And when I got closer, I recogni— I rec— it was his shirt. His stupid One Direction shirt that he wore practically every day. I’d know that shirt anywhere. But it was covered in his blood. They’d?—”
Swallowing, I summon the courage to continue as her hand strokes along my arm. “They’d beaten him to death. I didn’t even recognize his face,” I say through tears, willing the rising emotions to abate. “But I knew it was him.”
“Because of the shirt?”
I nod. “Because of that stupid shirt that I used to tease him about relentlessly. And because of his shoes. He had this pair of Vans that he’d drawn rainbows on. I couldn’t stand those shoes. It used to bug the crap out of me. Not because he drew rainbows on them, but because they didn’t match. His left shoe had a thin rainbow while the right had a thicker one that disappeared into a cloud. It made my eye twitch. I remember wanting to grab some sharpies and make both rainbows even. He used to give me shit about that.” I smile briefly at the memory. “But I knew it was him because of those stupid fucking shoes and that shirt. I shouldn’t have ignored him even if he did bug the shit out of me. Ishould’ve stood up for him even if it put the spotlight on me. And now I’d give anything to get my annoying baby brother back.”
She leans over and pulls me into a hug. It’s stiff and awkward with the way we’re sitting. I’m turned at an odd angle, but I lean into her as much as I can, finally relieved to have someone else to share this burden with as I cry on her shoulder.
“I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like for you. And I’ll say this, because you need to hear it and I’m not sure anyone has ever said this to you, but none of that was your fault. You’re not to blame. Not for his death. Not for the way he came out, or the fact that he did, and certainly not for your parents’ reaction to it.”
My eyes blur with tears at her words and I blow out a breath as I wipe my face.
“It explains a lot, though, if I’m honest.”
I blink at her in confusion. “What does?”
“Your need to help others. To save people. You have a soft spot for LGBTQIA+ causes. The friendship you’ve struck up with Alyx at the club. It makes sense why you would offer to help Maryam.”
“Holy fuck,” I say as I process her assessment.
“You said you were a white knight dom. You like protecting others and solving their problems,” she says like she’s piecing together the puzzle of who I am.
“You’re totally right. I couldn’t ignore the woman in front of me that needed actual help and just go back to serving soup in foreign countries. Here was an opportunity to do actual good, so I took it. We established a long-distance relationship through letters, emails, and texts. I even made a couple of trips over there so we had more evidence. There was enough proof that she could refute her ex’s claims that she was gay, and enough to establish credibility so we could apply for a K1 visa. It took two years to get it, and we got married a few days aftershe made it to the States. Then she had to apply for a green card.”
“You didn’t push me away because you didn’t want me.”
