Page 113 of Kiss Her Goodbye

It’s been so long since I’ve peered into the abyss and seen the divine.Not since my days of Haldol and antidepressants.

I try to weave the pieces together now.A stranger’s look of yearning as she gazes upon me for the first time.The feel of the searing desert air, baking my unprotected face.The fierce clutch of my child’s arms, tight around my neck.Threads, tangling and untangling, knitting together, falling apart.

And for one moment…

The click eludes me.The universe resumes its random spinning, moving too fast for my medicated mind to follow.

“She’s beautiful,” the woman, Aliah, speaks at last.“How old?”

“Four,” I manage.

The woman flashes another smile.“I think you will be very happy here.”

Isaad and the chattering housing coordinator start moving forward while Aliah and I fall in step behind.

And you, Zahra, my child of silence, murmur a single word against the crook of my neck.You have intuited what my mind couldn’t follow, like recognizing like.

You whisper, “Auntie.”

And I know in that moment you are right.

At the first sight of our living quarters, Isaad is horrified.I’m indifferent.I drift through the dingy rooms capped with water-stained ceilings while you patter along beside me, holding my hand.I don’t care where we stay.Mostly, I inspect each corner for signs of Habib’s sulking spirit or Jamil’s gentle presence.I inhale in the hallway, sniff the kitchen, hoping to catch a whiff of my mother’s perfume.

I want my ghosts to be happy.Otherwise, I will have nothing of home left.

A cockroach scurries down a wall.Ashley apologizes profusely.Isaad comments the ones in Abu Dhabi were bigger.You giggle.

Finally, Aliah leads us to the modest sitting area, where she pours cups of fragrant saffron tea and sets out dishes filled with sweets, nuts, and fruit, welcoming us to our new home.Traditional Afghan hospitality.It has been so long… I feel my eyes begin to sting, while across from me, Isaad is clearly moved.

“Auntie,” you whisper again.

I don’t know that Aliah hears you, but she once more has that look on her face.

Isaad drills Ashley on rental contracts and how to contact the landlord and who is responsible for the grounds and, oh, yes, we will need a better air conditioner.I flip through a binder Aliah has prepared with information on local halal grocery stores, mosques, and medical centers, not to mention bus lines, language classes, community events.

I pause long enough for you to scan each and every page.I know your gift for memory already.Isaad suspects.He seems delighted rather than appalled, which is promising.As for your other talent, seeing what others cannot see, knowing what others cannot know…

Neither you nor I will ever speak of such things with him.It’s our secret, such as the one I had with my mother.As she protected mine, so I will protect yours.

Then it is time for both women to depart.

The apartment immediately feels completely alien.Not a home, just a new and differently designed box.We have been in so many the past four years.

“We will make this work,” Isaad declares boldly, his immense size already dominating the space.

I don’t bother to correct him, as Habib has finally appeared, spinning his favorite knife upon his fingertip, while eyeing us both with his too-knowing gaze and triumphant grin.

I feel it again.A shimmer in the air, a clang of discordant notes.A pattern I should be able to recognize.

I’m left with a fresh shiver down my spine, while you gaze at me with open concern.

I do my best to summon a smile.

But I already think Tucson will prove a dangerous choice.

Isaad buys a car to deliver takeout food to people.I get a job cleaning rooms at a beautiful resort.Many of the other women are from Afghanistan.During breaks, their cheerful chatter in Dari and Pashto washes over me like a comforting stream.If I close my eyes and just listen, for a minute or two, I can believe I’m home.

I do my best to make friends, but I have journeyed too far from my country and myself, I can’t remember how to act or what to say.Mostly, I sit in silence.