Two Stories
Amani
Amani hops out of the small concrete house they’ve been staying in for the last few days. She rolls up the thin mattress from underneath the huge tree. Then she tries to straighten the two wooden window frames on the side of the house. Her mother has been making thyme pastry in a small metal oven. The ten-year-old turns it off and splits a piece with her baby brother.
This place is nothing like the brick house they had back in their village. She can’t run next door where her grandmother and cousins lived. She has heard her parents saying they’re in a different country now. She has heard them trying to call their family in the village with no response.
The family have already explored one side of their surroundings. There’s a garden on the left side of the house. Amani has watched children riding their bikes, mothers pushing sleepy babies in strollers. She often wonders if these children have ever slept to the sound of crickets instead of lullabies.
The rain has flooded their beds and the smell of soil follows them everywhere. Amani’s father and sister Raghida are spreading a thick plastic on top of the house to keep the rain out. Raghida points to the right side of the house and rushes down the rusty ladder, “Come with me!” She drags Amani across the sand.
With wide eyes Amani stares at the sun, it looks huge. Maybe, if she reaches out her hand and extends her fingers she could catch it. She stands on a rock unassisted, watching one side of the sky getting darker.
Water crashes at her feet and she hides behind her older sister. Raghida crouches down to look her in the eyes, “That was a wave; Amani. This is the beach! Remember you wanted to see it!”
The sound of the waves reminds her of how terrified she was when her family left their home in the middle of the night. Even in the darkness she was able to see the thick crack in the wall right behind her bed.
The beach doesn’t look like a block of blue like it did from their village. Huge rocks tower over her as they step forward again. Her grandmother told her that a long time ago, they were allowed to go to the beach without crossing any army checkpoints.
Amani could almost hear her grandmother’s words, “Your name is very special. It means that you’re full of wishes. Close your eyes sweetheart. Make a wish to see the beach!”
The night they left a rocket hit a house in their neighborhood. They walked up big mountains while the sound of gunshots roared through the valleys. Her father hid her baby brother under a jacket. Even when their shoes got worn out and their feet got tired, they couldn’t stop walking. They watched dawn creeping in as they reached the border.
Amani’s mother sits between the girls, “The family just answered the phone, they’re safe!”
The colors change from pink to a bright orange in the sky. Raghida shows Amani how to sleep on the sand. The children that met at the border are throwing sand at each other, and playing with ropes that are tied up to sticks. Raghida has told her stories about these children arriving here on a boat.
Amani leans her elbows on the sand, watching silhouettes jump into the water. She focuses on the horizon, overcome by a feeling that nothing will ever be the same again. Then she closes her eyes and makes a wish, hoping her grandmother and cousins will appear on the next boat.
The Forbidden Bedroom
Silence rules the house as tiny feet approach the forbidden bedroom. The door squeaks open and five-year-old Liv rushes inside the dim room. Her hands barely reach the curtain cord, but she manages to open a quarter of it allowing some light to seep in. Her eyes scan the room landing on the forbidden drawer, then her face lights up when she finds makeup. She grabs the lipstick and starts outlining her little lips.
The adults had explained not to touch anything. However, Liv often scuttles through her mother’s belongings, trying out her clothes, putting on her makeup. From the corner of her eyes, she spots the open closet door so she grabs a jumper and wears it. The sleeves are huge and it looks more like a dress, she loves the way it wraps around her like a security blanket. She starts chanting the rhyme she had learned at school earlier, “A,B,C,D E..:” Her soft voice trails off as she climbs on a chair to get a closer look at pictures. They’re glimpses of a life she doesn’t remember.
The darkness in her midnight blue eyes shuts away the whispers about how unfortunate she is, and how much her mother would’ve loved to watch her grow. She slips her feet into her mother’s huge shoes and stands on her tiptoes trying to spot her reflection in the mirror. Then she sprays some of her mother’s perfume allowing the scent to haunt the room.
As the years roll by, there’s a void in Liv’s heart that she’s afraid to show. She creates imaginary stories, which are often about her mother. They live in their own world where no one else existed. Inside that world, her mother takes her to dance practice and she cheers her at school recitals. In that world, her mother is proud when the little girl gets an “A” on her exams.
Another decade rolls by; right before Liv goes to college, she wheels her suitcase into the forbidden room. She reaches for the cord, managing to open the curtains entirely. The room lights up brighter than she had ever seen before.
Liv’s gaze moves to the stack of straight “A” papers she had left on the bed. Her friends had warned about the heavy reality of saying goodbye to their parents, so she looks around wishing she could forge a touching memory to carry into her adulthood. She proceeds to the drawer and takes out her mother’s lipstick. Her eyes glisten as she looks in the mirror while outlining her lips. Her reflection reminds her of a million questions she never dared to ask. Then she slips into her mother’s shoes, which perfectly fit.
The jumper is exactly where she had left it in the closet, she wears it while grinning at the fact that her arms are big enough to fit, “So this is goodbye?” She mumbles to herself, wondering if her mother was proud.
In a heartbeat, her mother’s scent fills the room.
Zeina Abi Ghosn is a Lebanese writer and photographer. Inspired by the events of Lebanon and its surroundings, she’s working on a novella that’s dedicated to the victims of the Beirut blast, while finishing her first novel. Her work appears at Alien Buddha press as part of the cease fire series and Valiant Scribe. Three of her short stories have been shortlisted in several contests.