A LIFE LIVED -
COMPANION TO “YOU ARE ME”
Everyone has their story. We should not assume we know of someone's past. only because their present is what it is. With that in mind, A Life Lived is presented.
A man once had a very difficult childhood
He pulled himself out
And made himself into someone strong and reliable
He found love
Which manifested into a beautiful baby
One day
His love and his son died
Drunk driver
The man fell
And fell
Society kept rolling
The man was stuck
Heart broken
But bills are bills
Forgiveness lasts until the money runs out
The Man hates living on the streets
Waking up from nightmares
Waking up from dreams of his love’s face
He finds a way
To remove the pain
If only for hours
Relief, though
Is powerful
He lives
Within hallucination
Delirious from terror
That the pain may return
Years pass
The man
Finds places
He knew not existed
In the world
Within himself
The man
Wants to change
Become who he once was
Step by Step
He gets closer
Memories of better times
Both blessing and curse
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YOU ARE ME - MARY
A child’s breath has a distinct sound. It is without the burden and weight of history. For a child, not yet reaching the crest of their time on this planet, infuses their breath with a resolution aimed toward courage and curiosity. Each day is a balance between inherited nature and nurtured discovery; children of course joyfully unaware of any social restraints or expectations. A child’s world is not sliced into categories; for them, we are all here without borders and there is no boundary to one’s life.
A child’s wonder should remain unspoiled. It should be celebrated and sustained, if possible, into adulthood. For without wonder, one’s life devolves into a tedious march in search of false achievements and dubious notions of self-worth. It is not necessarily the lack of results that brings an adult to their knees, praying for resolution. What pushes a person towards collapse, is the knowledge that they bent without a fight to the shoulds of those around them. Rather than living through their wonder and working to leave a legacy of fellowship and integrity, they hide themselves amongst the crowds. Wanting nothing more than the narrow path that has been given to them.
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There are some children in this world, that when one sets their eyes upon them, a smile and a sigh of relief is the spontaneous reaction. If one believes in reincarnation, then surely the existence of such a child is an indication of great deeds performed in a past life; a just reward. Mary was a child with dark blonde hair, soft cheeks and big, laurel colored eyes. Her favorite outfit, a floor length navy blue cotton dress with a daisy sewn onto the left shoulder. When Ruth, Mary’s mother made the first dress, Mary requested that two more be made so that she never had to wear anything else. Depending on the time of year, the dress was accompanied by jeans, a sweater or a down jacket. Mary liked things a certain way. Toast with butter before the jam. Quiet time after dinner, “please and thank you”.
“Mary lives inside her mind”, her father, Mike would tell Ruth when she would worry about Mary playing by herself. Mary’s imagination was far more interesting than the other kids who would tell her she was weird. Mary would spend hours lengthening the trails of her imagination, bringing back her discoveries to the “real world”; making each day more interesting and dammit, fun. As time flowed however, Mary tried reduce her imagination and its strength, wanting to fit in and make friends. No matter what she tried Mary could never escape her mind; the waves of each thought too strong, too high for her to not be fully consumed. She was her, and trying to be anyone else was nothing but a path to unhappiness.
As Mary grew up, she learned to appreciate and even understand her mind, though it meant isolation and at times internal battling between the brain’s two factions. One wanting her to get with the program-the status quo, the other wanting to be left alone - wild and passionate. The line between daily life and her dream world had always been faint, with Mary recalling dreams as memories and often mistaking the “real world” as a fantasy. After she turned thirty-one though, her dreams began to assert themselves more and more, until she found herself on a pendulum traveling between ecstasy and terror at the thought of sleep. Her mind had decided that a change needed to be made and had taken the reins, leading Mary towards where it thought she needed to go.
Each night, towards the end of her sleep, Mary appeared face to face with a large Oak tree, tall and wide. She would stand in front of the Oak for ten minutes or so, looking; her breath quiet, tufted. A dim light would emerge from behind the tree and begin to brighten, slowly at first then quicker and quicker. Just as the light would become too much for her eyes Mary would wake with a start, electricity pulsing through her limbs, and her face hot to the touch. Regardless of any other dreams that were screened in her mind, Mary ended her nights with the Oak tree and the emanating light. Though completely consumed by the dream, Mary kept the tree to herself, trying to figure out its meaning. She felt no one was going to understand her, just another mark of strangeness to add to the list.
The Oak gave away no secrets though, it stood soundly without pride – month after month. It was not until Mary visited her parents in Iowa that the mystery began to unlock. Looking through an old cook book, Mary found a pressed Oak leaf glued to a folded piece of paper. The date beneath the leaf meant that she was 4 years old when it was first found. She had never seen the leaf and no memory of ever gathering it. Why was this leaf here? Searching through all the books and photo albums, Mary could not find any other pressed leaves or even pictures of trees, she was at a complete loss. That night, the Oak tree came to her as usual, though this time, Mary would stand in front of the tree for hours – the emanating light far slower in its growth and for the first time giving off an intense heat. The heat was joined by a deep vibration that blurred Mary’s vision until it shook her awake, flushed and short of breath.
Once she was able to compose herself, Mary made her way downstairs and sat at the kitchen table next to her father, who was noodling on his guitar. Mary pushed her oatmeal around the bowl waiting to ask about the oak leaf. Halfway through her third cup of coffee, Mary said aloud “I found a leaf in grandma’s cook book”. Ruth, who was kneading bread stopped and looked at Mike, both of their eyes reddening. The mood in the kitchen sank, dragging the temperature down with it. Ruth and Mike suspended in silent conversation, realizing that this moment is the fork in the road they were hoping they would never encounter. Ruth wipes away some tears with her shaking, dough covered hand, Mike clears his throat beginning to speak, “Well”…..
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“It started when you were three”. It began with you sleeping longer than normal, nothing much, perhaps an hour, hour and a half. Doctor Williams said that it was probably signs of a growth spurt, but as time went on, that didn’t seem right. You were fine during the day, your normal self, happy and relaxed. We tried waking you up every which way, nothing worked; not sounds, not shaking, not even the dog licking your face. It was about six months after the extra sleeping began that the situation started to get worse.
The hour of extra sleep became three then four. At some point, you started sleeping on your back with your arms raised straight up, hands open to the ceiling. Once that happened we had a child psychiatrist come out to the house – he had no idea what was going on, no one did. There were a lot of theories, but with you being fine during the day, everyone was stumped. After a while it all started getting too much, we did not know what to do and had no solutions. We needed a break and thought that maybe a change of scenery would help, so we decided to take a road trip, when we asked you where you might like to go, you replied with “trees”.
We asked around and Doctor Williams’ daughter told us about the red woods out in California, you were so excited. The trip however did not stop the issues with your sleeping. Your sleep kept getting longer and you still raised your arms straight up. I think you slept all the way through Wyoming. When we got to the national park you were asleep, but once we parked I remember you started talking in your sleep, something you never did at home. It was quiet at first, kind of just rumbling. But then you got louder, until you were yelling. Words, but not in any language we knew. Then it all stopped and you woke up, asking if we could go see the trees – as excited as Christmas.
You went up to tree after tree and softly spoke to them in the same language that you had been yelling inside the van. You would place your hands on the trees and spend about three/four minutes with each one. You did that for four days, 12-14 hours each day. Most of the time you were pretty happy, but with certain trees you would you cry, though you never got angry. On the fifth day, you just sat in the middle of the trees, you didn’t speak, or touch any of them, nothing. Once the sun went down you asked if we could drive back home. After two days driving back, you had us stop at some trees that you had seen, Oak trees. You began doing the same talking and touching you had done in California, but then you asked for us to get some leaves for you. We got about 25 leaves and brought them home. After getting those leaves you stopped raising your arms when sleeping, and by the time we got back home your extra sleep was back down to only an extra hour.
A couple of weeks after being home, you returned to normal. Normal sleep, normal behavior - it was as though nothing had happened. Every day you played and ate and napped like normal, at night would look through your book of oak leaves. We were so relieved, but I still couldn’t sleep for a couple of months - I just kept expecting… something. You were back to normal for a year and then you disappeared, along with the book of leaves. You were gone for four months, without a trace. Police, dogs, no one could find you. You were just gone. I don’t think your mother or I slept more than an hour at a time. And then one morning you were back at this table waiting for us to get up. You had on your blue dress, your hair was a lot longer and you had only one leaf left. You couldn’t tell us where you had been, you weren’t hurt or anything and nobody had done anything to you; you had no memory of what had happened. But, you also had no memory of your life before you disappeared.
You knew who we were, but no memories of birthdays or even the trip out to California, which was all you talked about before you went missing. You also asked to be called Mary. That had not been your name before… Your name was Samantha. You were named after your mom’s Grandmother; no one on either side of the families had ever been named Mary. But, you insisted and we were so happy just to have you back, we changed it, making, as you know, Samantha your middle name. We put the leaf away and kept the photos from the California trip out of the albums, we did not want to confuse or upset you, so we just went along as though everything was okay…You never showed any interest in trees again and your sleep went back to normal. The only thing is that you would stand outside for an hour once in a while just staring at the sky, but that stopped when you were twelve.
Mike heaves a dense sigh, Ruth and Mary both cry within silence. The kitchen remains cold. Slowly, the memories begin to rebuild themselves within Mary’s mind, filling in blanks that she had not even known were there. She looks at her hands and asks herself if these are the ones who held communion with all those trees. Are these hands even her own? Who was she before she disappeared?
The love and warmth between the three of them gently begins to return – the bonds that hold a family together can only be strong after being tested. The depths of trust and love remain shallow without being challenged. Ruth and Mary stop crying as all three exchange expressions of care and relief – still no one knows what happened or why, but given that they are all in the same room together now, perhaps it does not matter. The release of Mary’s childhood from the darkened corners of Ruth and Mike’s minds, sets fire to the fear and shame they both had been carrying for all this time; sending the smoke into the air to be carried away by the wind. Their breath finally smoothes, their muscles relax – they rejoin the world that they thought had abandoned them.
For the remainder of the day, Mike, Ruth and Mary stay together in the kitchen eating, talking and watching tv. No one wanting to leave, as though the lifting of the past’s heavy shroud was too good to be true. As night grew deeper though they each made their way to bed and the next day of this new life. Lying in bed, Mary thought about all that had been revealed, at times trembling slightly from shock. At last, her eyes closed and her consciousness passes the baton of her mind to the dream world.
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In a soft ivory dress, Mary walks through a field of tall grass. A tender, warm breeze carries a scent of green mixed with jasmine. Birds sing. As Mary keeps walking, a forest shows itself on the horizon. The closer she gets to the forest, the more the sun sinks – day turning to night. Standing in front of the forest, Mary waits. From within the trees, a small white object appears and slowly comes toward Mary, a young child. Mary and the child look at each other, the young child with a slight smile. It is clear to Mary that in appearance, this child is her, but when she looks into the child’s eyes she sees someone else. Though they share the same face, the person inside the child is different. “My name is Samantha”, the little girl says, outstretching her hand. Mary takes hold and Samantha gently pulls her into the forest,
Samantha leads Mary through the trees, at times on trails and other times through the undergrowth until they reach a small, illuminated clearing - the moon directly overhead. They sit and face each other, Samantha with the same slight smile. Mary waits, unsure of what will happen. Samantha raises her hands and faces her palms to Mary, nodding for Mary to do the same. Mary follows as instructed, touching Samantha’s palms gently. Samantha presses her hands into Mary’s, she has been waiting for this moment. Hands touching, eyes closed, and breathing as one, Samantha’s voice enters Mary’s mind.
We are not the same person.
I lived in your soul, but was called away.
It took a long time for me to find you. So, that you could take my place.
I did not want to leave, but had no choice.
Sometimes I visit you without you knowing, I am so pleased to finally meet.
The trees are the door for you and me.
That’s why I made you dream of the Oak Tree.
I had to wait for you to be ready, I’m sorry it took so long.
Trees share their mind – like you and me.
That is why we use them as our door.
They are linked, closer than people.
You and I have can feel the energy inside the trees.
We can feel their language.
The trees let us feel that we are more than people.
You and me are humans.
We belong to the world and the land.
We belong to all that exists, not just what is in front of us.
When you breathe, I breathe.
What you see, is in my eyes.
We are all connected.
When you need to speak with me, go to the trees.
I am always here, in this forest.
Mary wakes in her silent room, moon shining through the window. Her palms feel hot and her eyes are tired and sore. She knows now. She knows her place, understanding why she has lived her life in her mind. Mary can feel that her imagination was not a false world, but the place where her and Samantha could live at the same time, without divide. The line between her physical world and her dreams was only ever drawn by her own limitations and misguided desire for acceptance. Mary knows that her life from this moment will be lived within both worlds; in a state of wonder that allows a person see their life as a place for discovery and joy.
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Nine Years Old - Said
It’s colder than it’s ever been here. When he wakes up in the middle of the night, Said can see his breath; he can see everyone’s breath rising from underneath their blankets. Even with twenty children in one room, it’s cold. Everyone folded into shapes attempting to hold onto any kind of warmth. Each child here is labelled, Lost. Lost, from their families, their former lives and in some cases from the futures that were once placed in front of them.
Said is nine. Before being in this room he would hold his mother’s hand when they went shopping; not old enough yet to find his parents embarrassing. He slept with an alligator stuffed toy, annoyed his sister and hated school. He would play soccer with his friends every afternoon and bury his face in a cushion when movies got too scary. Said smiled his way out of lots of trouble, the other person could never stay angry long enough. It has been a year and half since Said has seen his parents. Six months since the people took his sister away. Said does not know how long it has been, there are no calendars here. To mark the movement of time would be pointless really. Said only knows, Lost and Before Lost.
Said’s parents were both doctors, his father, Sahib, an Oncologist, his mother, Iman, a Professor of Pediatrics. Both Said and his sister, Rima, were content to follow in their parent’s footsteps, though Said still held onto a glimmer of hope of becoming a world-famous soccer player. They had seen how much good their parents had done for people. Being in service was virtually the family credo, from the time his ancestors were farmers to his grandparents’ restaurant. Helping wherever possible was always expected and a cornerstone of the family. Not doing so meant a life of self-congratulatory, solitary ambition, or simply put; living without being of use.
The war had begun six months earlier. It was two o’clock in the morning when Said’s parents came and woke him up. They told him to go the bathroom, get dressed and come downstairs as quickly as he could. Said could hear his sister crying in her room as their parents raced around, stuffing clothing in bags, yelling “quick, quick” at steady intervals. The four of them rushed into a black car that sped through the streets, from what Said could make out, “they, were coming”. Said did not know who “they” were, but he knew that this was bad. The driver abruptly stopped outside of the city, saying he could not go any further. Said’s father and the man argue, but to no use, from this point their journey was to be on foot.
The family walk in the direction of the rising sun, until it bears down directly overhead. The whole time, Sahib surveys the horizon, muttering, “Where are they?”. By mid-afternoon, he family come upon a group of tents, men with guns huddled here and there. Sahib motions for his family to stop; standing 100 yards from the tents, the family wait until 6 men come out to them. Said had never seen a gun so close, he had never seen people like this; glistening from the sun and madness in their eyes. Sahib and the men talk, hushed, covering their mouths until finally the men gesture for everyone to come towards the tents.
Inside the largest tent is cool and sweet smelling, there are more men inside, but unlike the first men they met these are elegant and soft in their gestures. They seem unconcerned to have unexpected visitors. When they motion for the family to sit, the men address each family member by name. These men are without worry because they already know. They know who Said and his family are, why they are here and where they are wanting to go. Sahib’s eyes widen, not knowing whether their knowledge of the situation is a positive or negative for him and his family. Food and drink is served, Sahib and Iman seeing that each child has their favorite food; they realize their arrival had been planned for, they had been played.
“We believe that we can help you”, begins a young man seated to the left of the family. “Of course, that depends…on whether you can help us”. Said and Rima continue to eat, excited to each have their favorite meal, not involving themselves in the conversation and its direction. “What do you mean?” asks Sahib. The young man continues, “We know where you are trying to go, but what if you came to work for us? We can ensure that you and your family will be safe and make you very rich. And when the war in this country comes to an end, you will be considered true patriots”. Sahib and Iman glance at each other, they know they must to get out, to begin a new life; anywhere but here. “Think about it”, the young man drinks his tea, stands and leaves the tent along with the other inside men, leaving Said and family alone.
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These inside men are connected to those who want this country to have a future based in its past. A country where one’s opinion and desire for a life outside of the predetermined generally ends in death. Sahib and Iman were taking their family away from these very people; for them, it was these “Inside Men” and their craving for legacy that had drowned this country in a civil war. If their children were to have any future that was not mired in a swamp of antiquity, they had to go. Safety though, especially when children are involved becomes an intoxicating possibility. How much freedom does one need to find a good life? Can any good be born from ensuring one’s own benefit, without consideration to the greater community?
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Sahib knows that taking the Inside Men’s offer would lead to a life of controlled outcome, but one that would place his family in the awful position of watching their country burn to the ground. It was obvious that the guarantees offered were pure manipulation, nothing else. By the following morning, Sahib and Iman decide to continue with their journey and leave their country – the future of their children of the utmost importance. When they tell the Inside Men of their choice they are told to reconsider, but Sahib and Iman must go forward; they can see their desired horizon within themselves. The Inside Men tell them that they will drive the family to the next checkpoint, “after-all it’s not safe for a family out there in the desert” they say. These men already knew everything about them, their names, their jobs; to push back too hard against them would be a mistake.
Before dawn, the family is driven three hours towards the border before another outcropping of tents appears in the distance. They’re instructed to exit the van and wait while the two groups of men talk. This new group of men are rougher, more volatile. They’re quick to anger even with apparent comrades, the way they look at the children is more akin to a predator’s gaze on a weak animal. Though nervous, Sahib and Iman are resolute in their goal; if these people were to be a part of their greater purpose, so be it. After twenty minutes of bickering, the new men direct the family into their own large tent, but this time there were no elegant men inside, no favorite dish. These men were not as connected as the Inside Men, these were people who were told what to do.
The family was kept in the tent for two days, men with guns always present. Food and water was kept at a minimum and going outside prohibited. On the third day, the family was woken at 3am and hurriedly put into the back of a pickup truck. They drive for two hours through the cold with a faint mist falling. They stop in the middle of nowhere next to a black sedan, from which the young Inside Man emerges. Sahib is pulled off the pickup truck to speak with him. This time, the elegance that once graced the young man’s face had now been replaced with an urgency that comes from a mixture of anger and anxiety. Though he is not in control of the outcome that will befall Sahib and his family, this young man knows the consequences of rebuking his offers.
Sahib reiterates to the young man that he and his family must leave the country as soon as they can, there is no deal to be made. The men shake hands and say goodbye, both wishing each other good fortune. Sahib returns to the pickup and they continue their trip. The truck travels high into the mountains, only suggestions of roads to be followed until they come upon two vehicles. The men waiting there casually stand up and gather their weapons.
The family is instructed to exit their truck. Without need for direction, four men come and cover each family member’s face with chloroform soaked rags. In silence the men separate the family from each other, parents in one vehicle, children in another. There is a practiced poetry to the efficiency of their actions, they have done this before. This is the last time the family will share the same air, the same sky. When they wake, Sahib and Iman have been returned to the city from which they just fled. In front of them is a man they do not recognize, though he knows them of course. He tells them they are not leaving and that their children are being held and will be held until they both do as they’re told. There are no riches to be had and they will not be patriots, “you are owned by us now” the man tells them, and if they want to see their children ever again, they are advised to shut up and follow instructions.
The children are not being held. These people do not run a daycare center. Rima and Said are left outside a makeshift orphanage just across the border, the border that their father had been so hell bent on reaching. By the time they wake up, they are inside sharing a cot of heavy canvas strapped across some wood. This is the place where children come when there is no one to claim them, when they’re considered nothing more than an irritant. As their eyes adjust, Said and Rima scan the room for their parents, but nothing. All they see are sleeping children, some thrashing in silence, others speaking and moaning from underneath their covers. Rima holds Said tighter and tighter, they both begin to cry, softly at first.
Sahib and Iman are driven blindfolded to a house where they are put in front of an old man. Behind them is the man they woke to upon their return to the city. Measured in his speech and actions, the old man is clearly the one in command. The thuggish nature of those around him pales in comparison to the power of his presence. The elegance of the young man is sourced from this old man, emanating from the knowledge that no matter what happens, he and those around him will be safe. They are the ones who decide what happens, when and to whom.
Sahib and Iman are told that this house will be their new home. The old man was recently diagnosed with cancer and wants Sahib to manage his condition, Iman is told that she will look after his children and grandchildren, also the women. If Sahib and Iman want to see their children ever again, they will do as they are told. After this meeting Sahib and Iman are separated. Only allowed to be together for one hour a day, supervised. The old man slowly deteriorates, Sahib doing what he can to hold him from dropping off the edge. Iman looks after the old man’s children and grandchildren some of them the same age. There are 43 women within this compound; wives, sisters, mothers. The women look at Iman as a person who achieved what they were not able to from inside these walls. To have one’s own career, own thoughts and agency to decide exactly what a life worth living is.
Four months to the day of being presented to the old man, a bullet is put in the back of Iman’s head. One of the women had been passing notes from Iman to someone on the outside. Iman was lined up alongside the woman helping her in the central courtyard and though in tremendous terror, felt no pain. Sahib is told nothing, only that Iman can no longer attend their single hour meetings. Outside of these walls, Iman owned her life, but once inside her life was no longer hers. Her life transformed into something that was given to her by these men and therefore something that could be taken.
For six months Said and Rima live together in the orphanage. It takes them both three months before they stop crying whilst falling asleep, even longer for Said to stop waking in soft screams. Slowly, Said begins to construct an existence within the orphanage; playing soccer with some boys around his age, but Rima never plays with anyone. She only sits on the same set of stairs outside every day. Within her, a solid bar of desperation and anguish holds her down. Rima can still feel the warmth of her parent’s affection, making her feel chilled to the bone without it. She watches Said play soccer and wonders if her parents can see him through her eyes.
After six months, the men who dumped Said and Rima return – they are here for her. Rima will become a bride for a nephew of the cancer riddled old man. The beauty inherited from her mother had not gone unnoticed. She is taken quickly and silently, no one notices until Said does not see her on the steps. She is moved to the old man’s compound, not 50 yards from her father. These men delight in the knowledge that father and daughter will never set eyes on each other, though they are physically so close. As far as they are concerned, Sahib is responsible for the fate of his family. He was given a choice, but he thought himself greater than those with power – a classic mistake.
For Said, Rima’s disappearance demolishes his mind to rubble. He stops playing soccer, stops going outside. He only wants to be in his bed. There are no more tears to shed – there’s no emotion that can communicate what is inside of him. We are taught that being the last one standing means that you are the winner, the gold medalist. There are times however, when being the one remaining means that you have outlived those who made your existence a life. Without them, what do you have?
The saving grace for Said is the one dream he has every time he sleeps. Said is back in his old neighborhood, walking the half mile to the end of his long street.
He takes a left and continues underneath the canopy of trees that form a tunnel overhead. The air is hot with a touch of humidity, making Said feel slightly compressed. He approaches an empty lot which has been for sale for a long time, hearing carnival music and a low steady hum. The lot is no longer empty, instead there is a white bungalow wrapped in a tropical garden. Said stands outside and searches his memory to ensure that he hadn’t just missed this house all along.
Next to the front gate is a small sign reading “Utopia”. He hesitates for a moment, before opening the gate and entering the garden, whose temperature is twenty degrees higher than the street’s. There is a warm light softly spilling from the windows, Said can hear quiet laughter. He enters the house to face a large window that looks onto a central courtyard, filled with thirteen model Ferris wheels of various sizes. Some of the wheels are moving, others not. Some are modest, others are ornate with lights illuminating rich golds and reds. From behind, a man greets Said with a quiet and kind voice. Said feels comfortable with him immediately, he feels as though he knows the man though he does not recognize him.
The man tells Said that this house travels to various places in the world, welcoming people that wish to live in Utopia. The house is in one place for thirteen days and will only return in thirteen months, to collect new members and to drop off those who are moving on. Within this house, people fully experience the entire spectrum of emotions and experiences, emerging with the knowledge of what a life well lived looks like. Here, you can immerse yourself in the life that you have dreamt of, every corner of your mind’s eye open for exploration. He continues to tell Said that the one condition is that he cannot return to his home until the house returns in thirteen months; Said must remain in Utopia the whole time. He can let Said experience the house for a single night to help with the decision, but once a choice has been made, it is final.
Said is shown around the house where people, mostly adults, are having a dinner party whilst others are playing horseshoes outside. He is shown to a door and told that his experience is on the other side. Said opens the door and enters the dark space, once the door closes though daylight appears. He is standing at the edge of a river, water flowing gently left to right. The air smells sweet and hot. He hears his name being called, his mother, father and sister are in a row boat waiting for him thirty yards away. Said runs over, unsure if they are a mirage. He gets in the boat, not knowing if they are real, but when his mother caresses his face with the back of her hand, he knows that this is his real family. The man at the oars of the boat begins to row and the family take in the scenery that stretches far beyond banks of the river. They laugh at Sahib almost falling in the water whilst he tries to photograph some ducks. Rima hopelessly striving to teach Said Patty Cake; but, there’s no Patty Cake in soccer.
The oarsman glides the boat to dock in front of a field where a picnic has been set up. The family thank the man as he rows away and set about enjoying their afternoon. There are foods that delight each family member and stories that make them each cry with laughter. The children cuddle with their parents as they nap under the afternoon sun. Sahib and Said play soccer with Iman joining in from time to time. They finish their picnic with vanilla ice cream topped with chocolate fudge, everyone’s favorite. The man returns with the boat to pick them up and they make their way back home in twilight. At home the kids share ghost stories, trying to scare each other more and more. Iman and Sahib sit outside under a half moon listening to the leaves chime against each other in the breeze. Said is carried to bed by his father and kissed goodnight by both parents, his bedroom door left a little open, just as he likes.
******
Without fail, Said has this dream each time he sleeps. When he wakes, he is still wrapped in the warmth of his parents love and affection. The dream though cannot prevent the momentum of reality; Said can see in the cold how weak his breath has become. His joints ache, his body has been clenched since Rima was taken - being Lost pales in comparison to not being with her. It takes Said’s friends months to get him outside and even more time to play soccer again. On the second day of his return, gunshots begin fill the air, getting louder every second. Said and his friends run and huddle against one building. The shots increase in volume and get closer to the boys from behind, prompting them to run to the next building over. They do this two more times, shouting and terrified.
On moving the third-time, Said is shot in his torso two times. One of his friends crawls out and drags him next to the building, the other boys yelling for Said to be okay. No amount of yelling or wishful action can help. Said is on his way to the other side. He looks at his friend’s faces, they begin to blur and meld together. He can hear the gentle left to right water of the river in his dream, he feels the same sun on his face. As his eyes, close for the final time, Said hears his name being called from thirty yards away, family waiting for him in the row boat. Said was nine, before lying on this ground, he would hold his mother’s hand when they went shopping. Not old enough yet to find his parents embarrassing. He slept with an alligator stuffed toy, annoyed his sister and hated school. He would play soccer with his friends every afternoon and bury his face when movies got too scary. Said smiled his way out of lots of trouble, the other person could never stay angry long enough. Said is now gone, but no longer Lost.