Jamie:this needs to be on a huge huge painting
Jamie:bà ngoa·i took a lot of pictures
Jamie:I saw a whole crowd standing in line beside the macy’s in times square
Jamie:it reminds me of klimt
#WomanInRed trends on social media, and I see so many close-ups of the mural online. There’s one with just Mama’s eyes, the brownin them darker, the slight shift of her eyebrows. It’s wonderful, and I feel like the world isn’t tilting on its axis like it was before. For some reason, things make sense a bit right now. There’s a clarity I didn’t have before. It’s not the light at the end of the tunnel, but I can see the tunnel.
Peachy Red
Amal and Ikeep missing each other with the time difference. Our conversations soon become late-night text messages.
One day after the holidays when I’m walking with Jamie at school, we run into Mason and Adrian. And just behind them, I see Alexis and her friends.
“Oh, hey, nearly walked into you,” Mason says to Jamie, holding his hands up.
“It’s all right,” Jamie answers, though his eyes are on Adrian. I’ve never seen them this devoid of warmth. The colors around us shiver, and the tension can be cut with a knife.
Mason glances between Jamie and me. “You two sure are friends.”
Jamie snaps his eyes to him.
“Or more?” Mason asks with an easy smile.
Nicole stiffens beside Jenny, who holds her hand.
“Or maybe it’s none of your business,” Jamie answers in his own nonchalant tone.
“Damn, she feels that good?” Mason says. “Weird, because I heard she’s been giving it away for fifty cents.”
I tamp down the humiliation burning my blood, snuffing it out before it hurts me.
“Is that the best you can do?” I say in a bored voice that I hope doesn’t sound brittle. “Am I supposed to sit down and cry right now?”
Mason’s smirk doesn’t break. “It’s just nice to know you’re such a progressive Muslim.”
“I know you love the sound of your own voice, Mason,” Jamie says, “but you really need to learn how to shut up.”
Even with the nonchalance everyone is affecting, it’s clear that one wrong move could strike a match. The only thing keeping the fire at bay is the few teachers walking along the hallway.
I move past Mason and his friends, staring at Alexis, but she refuses to meet my gaze. Jamie follows, and when we’re out of earshot, he turns to me and asks, “Are you okay?”
I press a hand to my stomach, trying to drown out the words Mason said that my ears latched on to. “Yes.”
“You don’t have to be.”
I straighten my back. “I know. But honestly, who cares what Mason thinks?”
Jamie’s brow furrows, but he nods.
When Ramadan arrives in February, Jamie takes it upon himself to wake me up with a torrent of messages every single day.
Jamie:wake up it’s feeding time
Me:I’m not a sheep
Jamie:you might not be but I am. All warm and squishy. That’s me.
