Page 32 of Twenty-Three Years of Longing

“My grandmother raised me and my brother. When I was only almost six, my mother...my mother...left. She never said goodbye or explained why she was leaving us.” I find it difficult to talk about. I wonder what she would think of her son now. Vice President. I had no idea if she would ever know.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. That was a lot to deal with at such a young age,” she said.

“It was. I remember thinking that something had happened to her and would sneak out of my grandmother's house and search the woods looking for her. One day my grandmother caught me and asked what I was doing. When I told her, she started crying. I asked her if my mother was dead. She told me no. That she left because she wanted to be able to live the life she wanted. Not the one that was forced on her,” I said, as the pain of the past came rushing back.

“You mean....” she stated, then stopped.

I knew why. None of us wanted to talk about it, but the truth was, that hiding it only made things worse. That was how things had gone on for so long. Fear of addressing what was wrong with our country. Reesa thankfully put things in place so people could feel comfortable talking, even if only in small groups.

“Yes. My mother had been a victim back then. I don’t know who my father is, and I don’t ever want to. The man can rot in hell for all I care. Any person who would pay money to have sex by force with a young eighteen-year-old is pure evil. Hell, no woman, or person should ever have to experience such cruelty at any age.” I knew my disgust was coming through clearly in my tone. There was no hiding it. “I might love my country, but there are parts of our past that have damaged so many of us. It’s going to take generations for us to heal.”

She gripped my hand more tightly. “We will. Together. And it is the leaders of this country that could speed up the process. Reesa has been doing so with her programs and counseling for victims and their families. You have been doing so by working with the youth. Education is such a powerful thing, and many take it for granted. But Orion, I’m sorry that your mother had to go through that. I am sure her leaving didn’t have anything to do with you. Thirty plus years ago, women had to hold all their pain inside. For some, it became unbearable.”

“I know that firsthand,” I said, thinking back to Kody’s sister.

“You mean with your mom leaving?” she asked. I shook my head and she prodded, “Did you want to talk about it?”

Never want to think about it, never mind talk about it.

“It’s difficult,” I admitted.

“Orion, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Just know that I am always here for you.”

“Is that your psychology training talking?” I questioned. I didn’t want her to analyze me. I knew myself pretty well. Just some parts of my life I preferred not thinking about.

“No. This is strictly coming from my heart. I mean it. I’m here to listen just like I know you would do so for me,” she replied.

“That I would.” We pulled into my driveway, and I put the car in park, turned off the engine and just sat there for a moment. Not wanting to meet her eyes, I just stared forward, and said, “My best friend, Kody, had a sister who took her own life. He and I were around Joey’s age and had been out playing. She was older than us and was supposed to be watching us while his parents ran a small fresh vegetable stand. We had gotten hungry and went inside to look for her. She wasn’t answering. The bathroom door was locked and back then we had no way of reaching our parents. So, Kody and I banged until we broke the lock. When we finally got inside the bathroom, she was in the tub. Dead.” An image I would never forget. And I have tried.

I heard her gasp and when I turned, Raya had covered her mouth with her hand.

“Oh, my goodness. That’s...that’s why you panicked when I didn’t answer your calls. You thought that I...I...” She unbuckled and leaned over the center console and wrapped her arms around my neck. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for yelling at you when you were only trying to be there for me.”

I felt her body shake and realized that she was crying. Damn! This wasn’t why I had told her. The last thing I wanted was to upset her. Reaching around, I stroked her back and said, “Raya, it’s okay. It was many years ago.”

“It’s not okay. You never should have gone through such things as a child. You should’ve been out playing ball with your friends and laughing and being a mischief'. Not...not carrying all this pain inside,” she sobbed.

I just held her while she sobbed. Something told me that it wasn’t just me she was crying for, but a pain from her past as well. Time seemed to have stood still while I held her close. I wished I could erase her pain, but I knew from my own experience that nothing I said was going to help.

When she loosened her grip on me and settled back in her seat, I asked, “Raya, like you said to me, you know you can talk to me about anything.”

“I do. It’s just that I never shared any of this with anyone,” she said.

“Neither have I. You are the first person I’ve ever told. Even my brother doesn’t know because he was so young when it happened. But honestly, I...I feel better having told you. I just wish it hadn’t caused you pain by doing so,” I stated, my heart still aching as I looked into her teary eyes.

“It wasn’t you that did it. But I know you don’t have all day to listen to me talk. You need to get back to work,” she said.

“I am through for today. I am yours as long as you want me,” I said. Hopefully, that will be for a very long time.

“If you're sure,” she said. I nodded and she added, “Everyone thinks that I am an only child. My parents have said so all my life. But when I turned sixteen, I went over to one of my friend's houses. Her mother looked at me and said, ‘You look just like your sister did at that age’. I went home and asked my mother about it. Begged her to tell me about my sister. My mother was so angry and slapped me across the face and told me never to speak of her again. I never did. But I knew then that I had a sister. And somehow, she was gone. I hated the fact that her existence was wiped off the planet. And even now, I don’t know why.”

“Do you know her name?” I asked. She shook her head. I did the math in my head, and Raya’s sister would’ve been older than me by about six years. I didn’t know her. At least not that I recalled. My grandmother kept us close to home and limited us to who we hung out with. Kody was my only friend back then. Still one of my best friends now.

“I think not knowing is the hardest part. Have you ever thought about looking for her now? Trying to get the answers?” I asked.

“My parents and I don’t really speak much. In fact, I’ve been in Tabiq for more than a week and they know that. I haven’t heard from them, and I haven’t wanted to reach out. I guess you could say that we’re...not close. We never were. Now as I’m older, I understand why. When they looked at me, they thought of her. And the sight of me probably caused them pain. And the only way they knew how to deal with it was by not loving me,” she said softly.

“Damn, our childhoods were fucked up, weren’t they?” I stated, wishing that it was just a joke, but it was the truth for many of us. Her age group was the first to have just slipped by the worst of it all. If she was just a few years older, that would not have been the case. The women older than her, dreaded turning eighteen. Men also hated it, but for different reasons. They were given such hard choices. Either do the work that the cruel and corrupt government ordered, or beaten, tortured, and put in jail. Then you were used as their slave labor. Only men who their families owned a business, or a farm of some sort were exempt. That God my grandmother had a hid money away so that she could send us to college overseas. We were the lucky ones. The same must have been for Raya, because she was gone at eighteen too. Just didn’t come back until twenty-nine.

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