and my need to spread my wings.
More than that, though,
he recognizes that our time in America
is brief, temporary, transitory.
Being with her may be a sin,
but our expiration date is fixed.
Therefore, a shared lunch
gives him little reason for concern.
Mama, however, is contrary.
“Girls are temptation, Matihullah.
She will lead you to wrongdoing.
She will bring you shame.”
No.Secretsbring me shame.
“Let the boy have fun while he can,” Baba says.
And then he coughs,
a ferocious fit that shakes our cottage.
Mama brings water.
After he drinks, he says,
“When summer is over,
there will be no time for fun.”
When summer is over,
we will know whether he will live or die.
When summer is over,
we will make the long journey back to Afghanistan.
When summer is over…
I will say goodbye to her.
elise
This morning I met Mati at the beach in yoga pants and a tattered sweatshirt because whatever, but choosing an outfit for lunch is no joke. Shorts won’t do, and most of my dresses are scant in the fabric department. Jeans seem like a safe enough option, but finding a pair that doesn’t fit super-skinny or have intentionally shredded holes is a challenge.
I finally manage to dig a dark-rinsed pair from the depths of my closet, which I top with a pale pink cardigan. I weave my hair into a French braid, then pack lip gloss, my wallet, and my Canon pocket camera (just in case) into a shoulder bag.
Good enough, I hope.
