Page 84 of Kiss Her Goodbye
Night after night after night.I stand guard.You, me, and the endless quiet.
As your whimpers grow fainter and my breasts turn red and hard.
Then, I start to hear all the sounds thrumming through the stillness.
The murmur of Jamil’s voice, whispering in my ear, followed too soon by the crack of a rifle down a crowded street.
Farshid calling to me as we race through orchards bursting with bright red fruit.Two halves of one whole.As we should be, would be, could be for the rest of our lives, except we are not.
The rustle of paper as I flip through my mother’s notes, reading entries I don’t understand, piecing together puzzles I didn’t know existed, poring over maps that hide secrets I never thought the world to have.
Two halves of one whole.
In the end you will be allowed nothing…
Nothing.
Nothing.
I gaze upon the baby swaddled upon my chest…
I must keep you safe.I must hold vigil.The silence wants you.I can hear it now, a buzz of gnashing teeth, so impossibly hungry.How had I never realized?
Then one afternoon, walking back from the latrine, my chest a hard wall of fire, my footsteps stumbling, I spy him, clear as day.
My cousin, Habib, standing across the way.Recovered and now openly smirking at me.
I start to run, knowing what he’ll do a second before he knows it himself.I push, shove, bulldoze.The camp is so cramped, there are no clear walkways.I can already spy him moving out of the corner of my eye.His line is more direct, he’s going to win, he’s going to get to you first.Habib had threatened revenge, and no one knows as well as family how to inflict pain.
I careen forward, faster and faster.
But he’s ahead of me.I can just catch sight of the flap of his shirt.
I won’t make it in time.
I will not be able to beat him.
Your little chest rising, falling, never to rise again.
Babies should cry.Babies should wail.
I never deserved you in the first place.
And the silence tells me so.
“What is wrong with her?”
“Off the top of my head, mastitis, postpartum depression, failure to thrive.”
“You must fix her.”
“Sure.I’ll just order up a regimen of antidepressants, antipsychotics, and talk therapy.And while I’m at it, how about some fresh fruit, yogurt, and non-spoiled goat meat to make everyone happy?”
“You cannot let her suffer like this!”
“I have Prozac, Prozac, and more Prozac.It was never intended to be the be-all and end-all, yet in a place like this…” A drop in his tone.“I’m doing the best I can.”
They are shadows to me.Figments of a dream scurrying along the edges of my mind.They want things, do things.I haven’t the heart to tell them they’re too late.I doomed myself years ago with small choices made, then larger ambitions attempted.
