Bourbon on the rocks

Page 3

05.march 1993

Dear Leila,

Yesterday, Danial and I shared a moment. It is the longest we have interacted with each other since the funeral. He has not spoken a word to me or anyone for that matter since the funeral. He refuses to go to school. He is cooped up in his room like a bird in a cage. It pains me, I cannot say anything he will not respond, and frankly, I am not going to make him abide. He is grieving, and he needs some space, and I have accepted that.

I do want to talk to him more, but he refuses to speak, and I must accept it even though it hurts me deeply. I wish you were here to offer me your righteous advice that always somehow magically worked. I found your Armani scarf and held it close to my chest as my fingers traced over the bristles of your silver hairbrush as my fingers found one of your hairs and found myself crying over that one hair strand. I will never find your hairs around our bed or in our trash and on my face. I miss when you used to lay your little head all cutely and perfectly on my pecks as if your head meld into my body. Like it was a missing piece that now found its partner.

Love,

Your angel, Mustafa.

-

Mustafa had started cooking a roast for the two as bulgur filled the room with its tasty aroma. It was their favorite meal shared as a family. Mustafa had not quite hit the spot with the spices Leila used to use. Nevertheless, he patted himself on the shoulder as he tasted the spice mix with his pinky.

He heard the frail and distant steps of Danial leaving the bathroom. He had been there a while showering. Mustafa has not seen his shower since the funeral, which is odd for Danial since he showers every day as he dunks himself in his favorite perfumes and aftershaves. He has a designated cupboard in the bathroom for those that no one dares touch or, else they will get sentences to hell in Danial's mind as they must wait for hell to freeze over.

-baba, I made food! Mustafa shouted as he cheekily smiled to himself in success. Danial walked to the chicken leaning on the silver double fridge eyeing his father's swift moves smiling to himself and shrugged his shoulders, not showing any sign of reaction his face and body still like a frozen icicle.

Mustafa placed his hand on Danial's shoulder as his son skimmed through the fridge and exhaled loudly.

-You know, I did not kill your mother for you to be so angry with me, baba. He felt Danial get warmer under his touch, and almost a loud growling escaped his thin plump colored lips.

Mustafa smiled and felt a bit better with himself, finally some reaction out of the precious Danial, who acts as if he is colder than ice. Suddenly the boy becomes puddy and sinks to the floor like a water puddle.

Mustafa squats down, breathing heavily, shaking as he squatted placing his hand on his son's stomach. The boy looked up with blank eyes like a lamb ready for halal-slaughter he only had to recite the Surat, and they would be ready. Mustafa placed his hand on his pulse and felt a weak heartbeat. His sweaty hands searched for his phone in his back pocket, trying to catch it but, it kept slipping off, damn the sharp edges of these modern flip-phones, the old ones were so big and heavy it was impossible to drop even if you had sweaty hands because you could break a toe or two.

Finally flipping it open and frantically rushing his large pinky to press the three holy numbers, 911, as he was praying to Allah that his son would not die in the arms of his father just like his father had died in his lap back in Lebanon.