“Oh my God,” I breathe, putting the pieces from over one year ago together. “You were—”
“I was, but life changed.”
“You were going to come to my house for that marriage talk thing!” I finally splutter out.
Khawf gasps and claps his hands.
KENAN STARES AT ME,HIS CHEEKS AND EARS GROWINGredder, and I stare right back, remembering Mama and how the beginning of the end began.
The day before my world came crashing down around me, I was on my phone scrolling through my Facebook feed. I’d just pausedPrincess Mononokeon my laptop—Layla had tagged me in a makeup tutorial video—when Mama walked in.
“Salama,” she said.
I looked up, my hair falling over my eyes. I pushed it back.
Her smile was tentative, and she brushed her fingers along the devil’s ivy leaves cascading from my bookshelf to the floor. Layla had gifted me the plant when I was accepted into pharmacy school, and I named her Urjuwan. The name was ironic, seeing as it meant purple, while my devil’s ivy’s leaves were the darkest shade of green. Still, it is a name I love. The way the U, R, J, and W all come together to create a melodic word that sounds the most Arabic. Urjuwan looked pretty beside the jars of herbs and flowers and the two scrapbooks I had made containing all the information I had gathered on medicinal flowers and herbs over many years, with dried petals glued to the heavy pages and captions scribbled on the side. Drawings by Layla when I needed a hand. I was so proud of those scrapbooks, I even showed them to my professor, who praised me in front of the whole class. That was the day I decided to specialize in pharmacology.
Mama sat beside me on the bed. “They’re coming tomorrow.”
I’m sure she didn’t think this day would arrive so soon. Especially since Hamza and Layla had gotten married not even a year ago.
“At three p.m. after Friday prayer,” I said in the voice of someone reciting the history of concrete. “I know.”
She chewed her cheek, and in the light where the sun fell on her face, she looked younger. Enough to be mistaken as my twin.
“Why are you anxious?” I laughed. “I thought that was supposed to be my job.”
She sighed. Even though I shared her facial features and the color and softness of her russet-brown hair, our eyes were where the similarities ended. While mine were a mix of hazel and brown, like the bark of our lemon trees, her eyes were deep blue, the color of the sky during twilight. And now they were filled with warmth for me.
“Well, you’re not acting anxious,” she said indignantly. “So, I’m doing it for the both of us.” After a small pause, she said, “Maybe we should postpone.”
“Why?” I had seen his picture on Facebook, and I liked what I saw. I wanted to see if his personality matched his cute face.
“After—” She stopped, took a breath, and continued in a low voice. “I’m not sure if the unrest in Dara’a won’t affect us here in Homs.”
The unrest she was talking about was the government’s kidnapping of fourteen boys—all in their early teens. They were tortured, their fingernails ripped off, and then sent back to their families—all because they’d scribbled “It’s your turn, Doctor” on a wall after the success of the revolutions in Egypt, Tunisia, and Libya. By “Doctor” they meant the president, Bashar al-Assad, who was an ophthalmologist. The irony of a man who was drenched in innocent blood taking a vow to do no harm was not lost on me.
I bit my lip, looking away. No one had spoken about it in university, but I could feel the tension in the air and in the streets. Something had changed. I saw it in the way Baba and Hamza talked at the dinner table.
“Dara’a is miles away from here,” I said quietly. “And… I don’t know.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Mama grasped my hands in hers and squeezed. “If we show even a small amount of resistance, then… I can’t let them take my babies away.”
“Mama, relax,” I said, wincing a bit when her hold got tight. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Yes you are,” she said with a sad smile. “If it works out with Kenan tomorrow, my baby girl is going to get married.”
I stared at my devil’s ivy, admiring the veins jutting through the leaves, the intricate details. “Is it really bad there are protests in Dara’a? Who would want to live under the thumb of a government like this? You’ve always told me how Jedee and his brother were taken away and you never saw them again.”
Mama was the one who winced this time, but by the time I turned toward her, there was nothing but serenity on her face.
“Yes, they took my father and uncle.” Her twilight eyes went wet. “They dragged Baba away in front of my sisters and my mother and me. I was only ten, but I’ll never forget that day. I remember hoping he died. Can you believe that?” She stopped, eyes going wide, but I didn’t feel any surprise.
I knew that for fifty years we had lived in fear, trusting no one with the rebellious thoughts in our minds. The government had taken everything from us, stripped away our freedom, and committed genocide in Hama. They’d tried to smother our spirits, tried to torture the fear into us, but we’d survived. The government was an open wound, hemorrhaging our resources for their own gain with their greed and bribery, and yet we persisted. We held our heads high and planted lemon trees in acts of defiance, praying that when they came for us, it’d be a bullet to the head. Because that was far more merciful than what awaited in the bowels of their prison system.
She took a deep breath. “Of course I want justice for my family, Salama. But I can’t lose you or your brother. Not to mention your father and Layla. You four are my world.”
Her eyes glazed over.
