One Small Miracle In Gaza

Past

We all pour out of the classroom like bees attacking from a hive. I keep well in the back, making sure Amir is far in front of me, but my eyes are locked on him.

The crowd thins within a minute. Some mothers collect their children and drag them off in their respective directions, while others run down the trash-filled streets whooping and hollering, no one to hold us back nor direct us homeward.

I am in neither of the groups. I am loitering at the entrance of the school, waiting.

I look up and the black-headscarf headmistress who smokes is looming over me.

"Get out, scat," she says, waving her hand toward me like I'm a gutter cat. Her big eyes seem to pop out of her head as they focus, laser-like on mine.

I nod, swallow, then turn to walk away from the school.

But a step later I freeze.

There, on the other side of the street, is Yasser. His hands are balled into fists and he is punching at Amir, who is dodging him and laughing. There's a group of four around them, and without turning back to the black hijab woman for help, I run to the other side of the street, dodging a swerving car in the process.

"Stop it!" I yell. I pull Yasser away from the boys, but just as I do a hard kick lands to his back and he screams and falls flat on his stomach.

I whirl around to see who it's coming from: Amir.

I yell, pull back my arm and am about to punch him in the face, when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

I jump, trying to twist around at the same time.

But I can't. It's holding me firm.

"I already said enough," says the man. His grip tightens. My heartbeat quickens.

I can feel something metallic hitting against my shoulder. My skin goes cold.

"He started it," says Yasser, too stupid to keep his mouth shut. He's pointing at Amir, and Amir has a strange "gotcha" look on his face. Something doesn't feel right.

Just then, Yasser receives a cuff to his ear, and he goes sprawling to the ground. He screams out in pain, but when he looks up I can see real fear in his eyes. That is something not common to my little brother.

"No fighting," repeats the man. "If I see you again in the middle of this, Amir, I will speak to your father."

And at that, all Amir's confidence drains from his face, and he nods as if swallowing a giant ball.

"And you two," continues the man, turning me around so he is looking me and Yasser straight in the face. "Take care you don't end up like your father." And then he spits on the ground and hoists himself up to his full height. "Now leave, all of you."

And even with my reddened face, I grab Yasser and run to our left, opposite of the way Amir and his friends run.

When we get around the corner I stop and yank Yasser up against the wall, holding him by both of his shoulders as he kicks and screams.

"Shhh," I whisper, kicking him in the shins.

He screams louder.

"Shut up!" I hiss again.

But he protests even more.

"Shut up I said!" I repeat, and I lift my hand to smack him, and this time, his cries die down to whimpers, and I keep my hand raised, but I bend down even with him, looking him straight in the eyes.

"You want to be a big boy starting fights?" I whisper, leaning in. "You want to come slobbering home with half your teeth gone and a big black eye?"

Yasser just looks at me, defiant.

Then, I get an idea.

"OK," I say, grabbing his arm tight. "If that's the way you want it."

And I pull him forward as he protests.