For Ummi

I'm still not ahead of schedule, and I foolishly stayed up til 5am last night with work today. Please enjoy this short story from my senior year that I'm oddly proud of.

Gabir rises from the table with two cups as the tea kettle whistles and turns the back left burner off on the stove, his mother sitting silently with her cup before her on the table. Twisting his waist, he grabs her cup and places it next to his before pouring the boiling hot water over the tea bags. “Would you like any honey with you tea, mother?” She shakes her head, her salt and pepper hairs slipping out of its loose braid – he would have to remind younger brother Fadi to touch it up soon – exposing more and more split ends. “I’m sure Iskandar will want honey. That man has a sweet tooth like a spoiled child.” After squeezing the bottle bone dry between the first two cups, Gabir returns to the table as he smiles at his mother, placing her cup down first.

“It’s nice of you and your older brother to visit your dear old ummu,” she finally breaks her silence. “I know how much of a bother it must be.”

“Please, we’ve wanted to come see you for the past five months. We just have busy lives with our wives and all.”

“Yes. I imagine you do.” Her eyelids slide shut as she raises the cup to her mouth, parting her lips to whistle into the simmering tea before letting it lightly scorch her tongue just as it had the skin on her left arm when she was still a newlywed in Lebanon. “I’m happy women were lucky enough to pick you two out as suitable gentlemen to marry. If only I were so lucky as to have that opportunity.”

“You’re not too old to remarry, yourself,” Gabir says. “You’ve been in America for 37 years now. You think you would have gotten used to it by now.”

“Not when you’re married to a man like your father for 32 of them. And I have no need to remarry. Fadi still sticks by his mother’s side. Just the other day, a girl stopped him while he was in the market with me in the produce section. He hooked my arm and said he already had a woman to serve and protect.”

Gabir’s little brother, a slender boy with eyes that perpetually burned with curiosity and a mind fixated on those he held dear, graduated college three years ago with a bachelor’s in engineering and stayed at home with her – having commuted the entirety of his undergraduate career – to help their mother make ends meet, since she was never allowed to hold a job herself, though Gabir and Iskandar often sent her checks for each season that passed since their father’s departure – enough to keep her comfortable in the only American home she had known. Iskandar often speculated to him that Fadi was a momma’s boy, but Gabir defended him as just acting as the baby of the bunch. When will he move on?

Gabir remains lost in his thoughts until his mother mutters something. “What?” he asks.

“I thought you turned the kettle off,” she repeates. He quickly realizes that a whistling sound has filled the whole house. Before he can respond, a loud bang replaces it.

“It sounds like it came from upstairs.” Almost falling out of his chair in a hurry, Gabir rushes out of the kitchen and up the stairs to see Iskandar standing in the doorway to Fadi’s room, smoke crawling along the floor out of the room. “Is he alright? What was he doing in there?”

“I can’t really answer either one of those questions, I’m afraid,” his brother replies. “I don’t see him. There’s just that.” Gabir follows Iskandar’s gaze to a cylinder shaped tin can that stretches from the floor to the ceiling in the corner across from a bed; the smoke seems to originate from its opening. On the desk to the right side of the tin can is a rectangular box, connected by a coiled wire, that displays a date and place in florescent orange lights: July 22, 1971, Tyre, Lebanon.

“He didn’t…” Gabir drags his brother with him and stuffs him into the machine. “We have to follow him,” he says in response to Iskandar’s perplexed look as he searches feverously inside the cylinder for a button that reads “Go” or “Launch” to no avail before stomping his foot down. Suddenly the floor of the machine glows, beginning from the middle until it reaches the side panels, and a flash of light engulfs the two brothers.

*~

The Shiite temple’s white exterior shines beautifully in front of them with pure elegance that would rival any bride on her wedding day, and fifteen year old Mariam dressed in a radiant white grab with gold laces outlining its hem was no exception as Gabir and Iskandar could see from behind an abandoned fruit stand as she walked between her parents into the temple. As the last of her party enters the temple, the brothers emerge from hiding place.

“Ummu really looks beautiful, even at this young age,” says Iskandar as he brushes sand off himself.

“I know.” Out of the corner of his eye, Gabir catches a man in a brilliant burnt sienna jacket with golden yellow wrists and collar walking with confidence along the side of the building and turns to his brother to say, “I think that’s Ibrahim.”

“Father?” Iskandar hides behind the fruit stand once again, looking in the direction that his brother points before rising up once again. “Where? I don’t see him.”

Before Gabir can clarify, he turns to find their young father is missing from the side street. As quickly as he ran up to Fadi’s room, he runs toward the last intersection he last spotted his father with Iskandar steps behind him, panting from the extra weight he’s put on over the years – a sound that nearly drowned out the moans of a man in an alley being struck repeatedly by a blunt object. Gabir stops at the mouth of an alley to see his younger brother standing menacing over Ibrahim with a dented garbage can tightly grasped in his left hand.

“Fadi! What do you think you doing?” Gabir calls out walking slowly towards him.

Fadi peers over his shoulder. “Oh. It’s you. Come. Help me finish off this fiend.”

“Be reasonable, Fadi,” Iskandar wheezes as he stumbles into the alley. “What do you think will happen if you kill him?”

“I will relieve ummi of all the suffering she’s ever had to endure,” he replies somberly.

“And you’ll erase us. If he dies now, then we can never be. None of us will be there to provide for her. How will she survive?”

“Maybe another suitor is lined up for her to marry,” Gabir joins in. “Maybe he’s even worse than Ibrahim. There’s no way of knowing. Then she’ll be in even more pain.”

“I can’t imagine anyone worse than him,” Fadi turns back to his father. “But if there be a worse man, I pray that there is another like me to travel through time and bring him down.” When he lifts the trashcan over his head, Gabir and Iskandar sprint into action as the can flies towards their father’s head ready to splatter it.

~

Sitting alone on a carpet in front of her home, Mariam’s salt and pepper hair flows with the Lebanese air of a summer breeze.  She closes her eyes, but images of her broken and bloody husband-to-be on that faithful night – it seemed like night to her – fill her mind as three men seem to fade away into a successful escape from the scene of the crime. The anniversary of her fiancé’s death still haunts her to this day as well as the lust for a family to call her own.  To care for. To love.

The Service

Community service isn’t just about enriching your neighborhood but yourself, as well. But what if I’m not ready to better myself, and why should I subject strangers to being part of my process?

It was my last summer before I graduated from J.H.U. I should have been spending those three months getting as drunk and high as possible with my high school friends back home and sleeping until one in the afternoon, but my parents raised me to plan for the future, so I decided to take on an internship: a nice mailroom job at one of the local businesses around town that would look great on my resume.

Much to my disbelief, no one was looking for anymore free labor. They all told me if they took me on, it would just be me in the other kids having too much free time on our hands and goofing off. I didn’t see the problem with that, but I understood they had a business model to uphold.

Being forced back to the drawing board, I turned to Craigslist to see what else was out there. Apparently I had waited too long; all that was left were three positions at an adult daycare center. I figured that’d show my caring and nurturing side in case anyone was put off by my resting-douchebag-face. I applied, received a phone interview, and was accepted the next day. Something smelled of desperation, but I reeked of it, too.

It didn’t fully hit me until I showed up the first day what was going to be expected of me. This was an adult day care, as in a day care for adults with - how can I say it - special needs. I don’t know how it didn’t come up during the interview. I acquired zero experience in interacting with people of this variety in my 21 years of living. In fact, shamefully, I avoided them. It’s bad enough I naturally come off as a jerk; I didn’t want to inadvertently say the wrong thing or stare too long and justify people thinking I’m a terrible person. I almost turned around after checking in at the front desk, but I knew this challenge had presented itself to me for a reason. I decided to stay for the duration of the day, and if I made an ass of myself, then and only then could I banish myself to a night of drinking away the embarrassment. Besides, everyone on staff appreciated me applying for the position; I couldn’t let them down already.

After receiving about three hours of training - which seemed pretty hasty to me - they paired me with Bernardette. Everyone called her Ms. Peters. As we walked through the hospitality room, I tried my best not to flinch as the adults in the room stared blankly or talked with one another. I thought someone tried to touch me, but he was just reaching for a book that happened to be on the floor behind me. Ms. Peters stopped at a young woman in a wheelchair parked in front of the T.V. She might have been my age, maybe a little older.

Ms. Peters introduced me to Janel; I stuck out my hand to shake hers, but she looked at it in disgust. I pulled my hand back I had just touched a hot stove as Ms. Peters explained that Janel had cerebral palsy that affected her motor skills as well as some of her congentive thinking, but for the most part she was there. Her parents just didn’t know what to do with her. I immediately felt a ping in my heart, but I didn’t recognize the feeling.

I apologized to Janel and sat next to her on the sofa. She didn’t seem to want anything to do with me, probably smelling the fear on me. I asked her what she was watching, attempting to break the ice. “Jeopardy. Everybody knows Jeopardy. You don’t know Jeopardy?” I laughed and told her I did; I just hadn’t seen it in years or known it was still a thing. “This is how I learn. Since my parents won’t seen me to school.” I asked if it was because she couldn’t hold a pen steady enough to take notes. “You don’t get to make jokes yet. ...but that wasn’t terrible.” I felt for her; her parents putting her up in here everyday instead of paying for tuition and a note taker didn’t make sense. Plenty of kids on campus had jobs like that.

“Stop being nervous. I don’t bite.” I snapped out of my deep thought and smiled. I opened my mouth but stopped. “Yes, because I can’t hold still eno--” She experienced a tremor, my first time seeing one. I reached out for her, but she put her hand up. After a few seconds, it dissipated. “--still enough.” She smirked. Maybe this summer wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Three's Company

He watches Roger walk down the hallway to his locker, stares at him as he opens it. There are pictures of a girl on the inside of the door. Looks like his girlfriend, he thinks. It has to be, with that stupid blonde streak in her red hair. A smaller image sits under the collage, one of a guy that Tony can’t make out, mostly because Roger’s broad shoulders keep getting in his way. He closes his locker as Tony remains hidden around the corner. As Roger walks to class, Tony creeps to his locker on the other side of the hallway and extracts a book identical to the one his friend held in his hands.

*~

She listens to Kathleen complain as she tosses her salad around in the bowl. She doesn’t hear every word that her friend says, only the key points. Single. Love. Desperate. Hunk. Piece of ass. “Sounds like you want to get banged,” Lena says as she finally lifts a slice of tomato to her mouth. Kathleen looks at her with a blank stare and then continues. Romance. Dreamy eyes. Six pack. Chivalry. “Oh, like opening the door to your bedroom and letting you in first so he can bang you.” Picking up her tray, Kathleen leaves Lena alone at the table where she can eat her salad in peace as she daydreams about being pleasured herself. The way it’s supposed to happen.

*~

Roger decided to hang with his friends at the convenience store after school. They gather around the magazine rack and criticize the girly magazines. “‘How to Please Your Man in 5 Steps,’ huh?  I got one: just blow me!” Kyle says as everyone laughs. After composing himself, Roger walks down the snack aisle to the Slurpee machine. As he fills a medium sized cup with red ice, Kyle pokes his butt with a magazine. He jumps, tipping his cup over and spilling the contents. “Easy there, big guy. Just figured you’d like a gander at this.” He pushes the magazine into Roger’s chest and walks away as it falls into his hands. The girl’s breasts stare up from the magazine at him, her red hair draped over them stopping just over her nipples. When he was sure no one was looking, he used it to wipe up his mess.

*~

The hallway is busy with students as they scurry to class, Tony being an active participant in the scene. He’s too concerned with making it to class on time to see Roger pass him. Roger turns around and watches as Tony turns into a classroom, concerned about the patch over his black eye.

*~

He slides his lanky body coyly onto the bed as Lena pulls the sheets back. He gently places his hand on her cold stomach and glides it down to her hip. A hand lands on top of his; it’s warm. He touches her shoulder with his other hand and hurdles over her landing across Roger next to her. Wiggling, he manages to find himself between the couple. The person on each side of him shifts their weight until they can look directly into one of his eyes. He lifts his arms and places it around them, pulling them in to kiss each other. Once their lip lock is through, he cuts in to kiss the guy as he pushes the girl away with a free hand and foot until she falls out of the bed.

*~

In chemistry class, the teacher stands with her back to the class explaining the bond between protons, electrons, and neutrons. Roger and Tony sit in the back of the class together. As Tony doodles in his notebook, Roger stretches his neck to catch a peek. Circles in different arrangements, like the Olympics symbol and Cheerios in a bowl and clusters of bubbles. When Tony picks his head up, Roger pretends to take notes. They both chuckle. “Quiet down back there.”

*~

With one man already massaging her back, she welcomes the other fellow into bed to tantalize her. He places his hand on her stomach but she grabs it and raises it to her left breast. With her other hand, she guides his head towards hers and kisses him. The first guy pulls himself closer and begins to work on her neck; she relinquishes the other pair of lips and lets out a moan of ecstasy. Suddenly, the guy’s hand reaches for the other’s shoulder, but she smacks it. He places his hand on her hip instead. A smile comes over her face. This is the way it should be.

*~

“Hey, Lena. Can I talk to you for a second?” She closed her locker and gives him her attention. “You and Roger have that date night tonight, right? Well, I was wondering if I could swing by afterwards.” Her eyebrow goes up. “Look, I happen to think you’re a good looking girl, and I think it’d be fun. It’s kinda on my list to get with a hot looking couple.” She’s a sexual girl, but she’s still a little thrown by her boyfriend’s friend’s offer. “Did I ever tell you how much I like your blonde streak?” “Yeah, sure I guess…. Did you talk to Roger yet?”

*~

Towards the end of his free period, Roger goes to his locker. He looks both ways before opening the combination. He stores his sketch book behind the notebooks and takes out a textbook for his next class. He looks down at the inside of his locker door and smiles before he closes it. As he walks to class, he peaks over his shoulder. Either the walls are eerily creepy or he needs to stop drinking coffee midday.

*~

Tony creeps in the bed behind Lena as she tries to leave a hickey on her boyfriend’s neck. Suddenly her lips aren’t trying to suck his skin of his body. He sits up on the bed and watches Tony’s arms circle around her. Tony goes for her neck and works his way down the side of her body until he disappears under the sheets. Snatching back the sheets, the observer cocks his arm back. “What are you doing?” Lena cries. But Tony isn’t down there. Suddenly, Roger feels something prick his butt and jumps. “Easy there, big guy. Just figured you’d like a gander at this.”

*~

Kathleen walks up to Lena as her conversation with Tony is coming to a close. Before Kathleen can greet them, Tony swiftly skips down the hallway. “What is he so happy about?” She explains that he wants to hang out with her and Roger after their date night. “Doesn’t he have a girlfriend of his own?” Lena shrugs. “If he wasn’t so skinny, I’d snatch him up for myself. But I like meat on my men.” What a man-eater.

*~

Roger stands on the right side of the bed, Tony on the left. “Well don’t just stand there looking dopey. Aren’t you guys gonna join me?” The boys look at each other, give a little nod, and climb into bed at the same time. Lying in silence, Lena reaches for Tony’s hand and places it on her breast. He jerks his hand back with a sorry look on his face. He catches Lena’s surprised eyes and Roger’s eyes watching intensely. Trying to act naturally, Tony decides to straddle Lena’s left side. He leans in and kisses her neck. Roger watches until she reaches for a handful of his hair and pulls him down to bite on the other side of her neck. As they devour her, she closes her eyes and points her head up as they work their way down her sides until they meet on her stomach. Then she doesn’t feel any sensation. She opens her eyes and catches the two of them making out. She jerks her knee up and catches Tony in the face. He jumps off the bed and runs into the bathroom holding his left eye. Rogers follows after him. Lena remains on the bed, rubbing her sore knee.

*~

As Roger closed his locker, Lena sees a picture under the collection of her portraits. It’s Tony.

*~

Sitting alone at a table with her salad, Lena hears a voice behind her. “There you are,” Kathleen starts. “For a minute there I was starting to feel left out of your life. Speaking of left out.” Single.

Because I’m What? Professional

INT. REGAN & WEINSTEIN ADVERTISING, MAIN OFFICE - DAY

Kimora, a 20-something, curvy Korean-American, is making copies for her presentation when her coworker Lauren, a 30-something, walks up to her. They are both dressed conservatively.

Lauren:

Hey, Kim! How was your long weekend?

Kimora:

(side-eyeing her coworker for not using her whole name) It was alright, Lauren. Yours?

Lauren:

Oh, you know, just hung with my husband and kids all weekend. Grilled out yesterday. Can you believe how warm it's been? I don't know how that Tangerine can deny global warming. (laughs)

Kimora:

Didn't you vote for him? (another side-eye)

Lauren:

(pauses) But you know, I did let my girl friend drag me out of the house Saturday night. Let Bryan take care of the kids for once. (laughs while Kimora does not) Yeah, we went over to Station North for this burlesque karaoke show. It was so. Cool.

[Kimora freezes in her tracks and tries to find the nearest fire exit]

Kim, I had no idea you were that limber; the way you just backflipped onto that woman’s lap while your partner sung that John Legend song: Ordinary Somebody's. Also, your confidence in your body, I mean, I could never.

Kimora:

(snapping out of it) Alright, listen here. 1) You know my name is Kimora. And 2) (she looks around and whispers) Keep your voice down. What I do on my own time is my own business.

Lauren:

Aw, Kim, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. Everyone has their own brand of fun.

Kimora:

I didn't even see you in the crowd.

Lauren:

Oh, we stayed by the door the whole time. We didn't want to be caught in such a scandalous place. I mean, I couldn't even bring myself to Snapchat any of it. I think my friend might have, though. I wonder if she saved it. I can ask h--

Kimora:

Lauren, why are you even bringing this up right now? Don't you have a proposal to draft?

Lauren:

Oh, that can wait. Besides, I just wanted to take this opportunity to become better friends. You know, bond over secret lives: me as an adventurous seer of shows and you as an even more adventurous performer of burle--

Kimora:

Keep your voice down. Look, I’m just here to work. Sorry, but I’m not here to make friends.

Lauren:

Ok, Ms. America’s Next Super Consultant. (laughs at her own joke)

[Cèsar, a hispanic gentleman from IT, walks by them and waves]

Lauren:

What about him? I see the two of you talk all the time.

Kimora:

He doesn’t count; we knew each other before I started here.

Lauren:

Hold on a sec. (yells) Did you sleep with him to get this job? Kim, I had no idea.

Kimora:

Oh my god, Lauren, shut up and go back to your desk.

Lauren:

Alright, alright, I’m going. But you can’t tell me what to do; you’ve only been here two months longer than me.

Kimora:

(picks up the copies waiting in the tray) Girl, if you don’t.

Lauren:

Ok, bye, see you around Kim!

[Lauren leaves and Cèsar circles back around cackling]

Cèsar:

What, just cause I have a penis now I’m not your type?

Kimora:

You were watching the whole time, weren’t you?

Cèsar:

You already know. (he eats a thin cookie)

Kimora:

Cèsar, you said you’d watch out for me here, make sure I don’t blow up on anybody.

Cèsar:

Yeah, but that was too funny. Plus, she basically has it coming, Kimora. You know nobody around here likes Lauren. You’ll probably end up the hero of the office. Gotta change your stance on office friendships, tho. The whole “Say No to Coworkers” policy doesn’t suit your environment. You know it’s who you know around here, and I can only get you but so far.

Kimora:

I really wish I found I.T. interesting.

Cèsar:

But no, you like convincing people through pretty pictures and lies. It’s admirable, though. Definitely an art to it. So, what this show she was tryna embarrass you for and why wasn’t I invited?

Kimora:

Honestly, it was last minute.

[Cèsar gives Kimora a disbelieving look]

Kimora:

Ok, Hakeem and I knew about this a month ago.

Cèsar:

You invited Hakeem and not me?!

Kimora:

No… he performed, too.

Cèsar:

Oh, bitch.

Kimora:

But hey, you woulda been so proud of us; we made it to the final round and everything. Not bad for my first time stripping with flair, you know.

Cèsar:

And Hakeem has them pipes, yeah, go on. It sounds like you lost.

Kimora:

(more side-eye) I mean, yeah, we did. But it wasn’t fair. You remember Randy?

Cèsar:

Randy, Randy… oh, the lil’ latin boy that used to do drag. Ooo, that mug could move.

Kimora:

Yeah, we’ll apparently he’s a go-go dancer now.

Cèsar:

Ooo….

Kimora:

That boy might as well have had a leaf over his junk and asshole. For one number he even had a pie. We had to go up head-to-head for the last round. And Hakeem can sing but so could Randy’s partner. Basically, he danced circles around me. So I go up to him afterwards and I ask him,”Lil’ latin boy who used to do drag, why must you win everything?” And do you know what he told me?

Cèsar:

What he say?

Kimora:

He says..

Randy (V.O.):

I can’t help it if I have an ass the audience actually wants to see, darling. (tongue pops)

Cèsar:

Damn, you can take the lil latin boy outta drag...

Kimora:

But you can’t take the cunt out of his tone.

[another coworker walks by]

Cèsar:

Yeah, maybe it is best you don’t say much around here. I forgot how filthy your mouth is.

[Cèsar walks away eating more thin cookies as Kimora stands there more embarrassed than ever. The machine finishes printing her copies.]