Page 55 of Like a Love Story
REZA!
I am standing again. The police have yanked me back up as fast as they took me down. I have no control over my body anymore. No control over my emotions. I feel fear but also excitement. Maybe even relief. Is my life over, or is it finally beginning?
“Reza!” Art yells as he is pulled away by one of the cops.
“Art!” I scream. “I came here for you.”
“It’ll be okay, Reza,” he says. “They always release protesters. Don’t resist. That’s the most important thing, okay?”
I hold Art’s gaze as long as I can, my eyes fixed on his. I wish I could read his expression.
When he’s out of view, I close my eyes. I go limp, letting the police lead me. But the irony is, I have never felt more in control. This is not the Iranian Revolution. I’m not a kid who is afraid of his father, desperate to please his mother, living in the shadow of his sister. That is not me anymore.
I’m seventeen, and yes, I still have fear in me, but I have strength too.
I am the chaos now.
Art
I replay his words in my mind. I hear them ringing in my head as the police take me to the station. “Art, I came here for you.” They echo inside me as I am released. “Art, I came here for you.” Those words inhabit me. They fill a void in me I never knew existed until I heard them. What did he mean? Did he come to the protest because he was inspired by me? Or did he come because... I don’t even let myself think it. I can’t set myself up for disappointment.
The words still reverberate in my head when I leave the police station and go back into the winter freeze, where Stephen waits for me, leaning against a newspaper stand. “Hey,” he says.
“Well, that was an adventure,” I say with a smile, still giddy from Reza sitting next to me in that church, from the feeling of his hot breath in my hands.
“You okay?” He places his palm tenderly on mycheek. The gesture immediately makes me think of how my own dad never touches me, never hugs me.
“Has Reza been released yet?” I ask.
He shakes his head. Stephen must catch the worry in my eyes, because he says, “He’ll be okay. They always release us.”
“He’s not like us, though,” I say. “He hasn’t been through civil disobedience training. And he’s not thick-skinned. I just...” What I want to say is that I want to protect Reza from all this. I want to go out and fight so that he won’t need to.
Stephen looks at me and asks, “Art, where’s Judy in all this?”
Judy. What about Judy? I hate myself right now. It’s like all the shame I’ve worked to push below the surface has risen and multiplied and created a tsunami of self-loathing. I can feel her next to me, her hatred, her disappointment.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t know why Reza showed up. I don’t know what happened between them.”
“You haven’t spoken to her?” Stephen asks, with just enough judgment to make me feel even guiltier.
“I haven’t called her this weekend, but she hasn’t called me either,” I say, realizing how defensive I sound.
Then I hear Reza’s voice. “You should go be with Judy,” he says. I don’t know if he’s talking to me or to Stephen.
“Reza, are you okay?” I ask. I want to approach him, to hold him, but Stephen’s presence stops me. All myfeelings for Reza are a betrayal of Judy, and Stephen is a harsh reminder of that.
“I’m okay,” he says, his voice shaky, his eyes welling. “I think I’m okay.”
“Reza, what happened with Judy?” Stephen asks.
Now Reza’s tears start to roll down his beautiful cheeks. “I told her I couldn’t be with her. I told her everything. That I think I’m...” He stops for a long beat before he says the word, “gay.” Then he takes a breath and adds, “And that there was something between me and Art.” My heart swells hearing him say that out loud. Then my mind instantly goes to Judy.
I think back to last night, to that hang-up phone call I got. It was Judy, it must have been. She was calling to tell me off, and I deserved it. Fuck. I should have called her back. I should have checked in on her. We talk at least once a day. And I knew she had a date with Reza last night. Fuck.
“Oh my God,” Stephen says. I search his eyes for what he’s thinking. I can see him pulled between an impulse to be there for Reza, who had the courage to come out, and to lash out at Reza, for betraying his beloved Judy. “I’m sorry,” Stephen says. “I have to go.”
“Stephen, please!” I call after him as he walks away from us.
