Off-Clock Musings

On Her Best Friend

"You know, yesterday, she told me you're her best friend."

I don't remember how I responded, but I do remember looking at her mother and finally realizing that I couldn't give up just yet. You see, if I killed myself, the child would lose her best friend. Sure, she was only eight, but I remember being a little girl once; I didn't have a best friend, and I would have killed for one. 

My memories of her are starting to blur, but I will never forget her taking interest in her heritage, asking me to teach her Arabic. Her favorite game to play was "monkey" in which I pretended to be a monkey that wanted to eat her. She would run away, pretend to call the police, and have me "locked up." Even more so, she loved to pick out a princess book from her bookshelf so I could read to her under the covers. 

 I saw her parents a few months ago, holding hands as they walked into a Syrian dessert shop. I sat outside with my family and my sister's in-laws, staring at the little girl's parents. Her mother still had dark black hair, straightened and up to her hips; as usual, her long boots reached her knees. Her husband regrew his manbun, and it suited him. They appeared physically presentable but looked even more attractive as a couple. 

I looked at my brother and mumbled, "Look," gesturing toward the couple with my chin. "That's them. It's their parents. I haven't seen them or the kids in almost two years."

He understood. Of course, he did. They were all I ever talked about. "Go say hi."

I wished I could, but I am not one to "go say hi." I continued to stare at them as they disappeared into the store. My eyes wandered around, gazing at the group of men around me speaking Arabic. I then looked at my family, my sister's fiancé, and his parents. Finally, my eyes rested on a little girl sitting next to two men, one of them presumably her father. I remembered my little girl and what she meant to me. I yearned to see her and wished I had the confidence to speak to her parents, but. . .like I said, I am not one to "go say hi."  

Despite the violence, fear, and heartbreak they have endured, the couple interlaced their fingers together as they walked out the shop. I smiled and prayed to God to strengthen their relationship. Their children needed them, especially my little girl.

With her bedroom always locked and pupils easily dilated, it never sat well with me that her father trusted me enough to leave me alone with her. But I hope he knew I would have done what needed to be done to keep the demons from breaking her.

Not that her brother was a demon — quite the opposite. He was an angel, but even angels fall and darken sometimes. I could never tell if he liked me or not, but the boy was in pain. I wish I could have helped him, but I could not. He often times told me he wanted to be alone. I always complied. Admittedly, I wish he had scarred me so I could be reminded of him every time I looked at my body, but he preferred to scar himself instead.

Whenever his parents confided in me, I confided in them too, reminding them I did not have any answers. My little girl seemed to think I had all the answers though.

She was pretty just like her mother. Her soft brown eyes, dark hair, and smile were unmatched. I know she'll grow into a beautiful woman one day. She knew what she wanted and was cunning at times. But I had to do what I had to do, and while there was no mending the relationship between the two, I had to show her that her brother loved her. . .that he, too, was suffering, and that it was okay to trust him.

As she munched on her lunch, I sat across from her with my iPad in my hands. "How are you today?" I asked her, looking at her. Her straight hair rested behind her shoulders.

"Not happy," she said, informing me that her older brother, only eleven, made the car ride from school difficult. "He attacked mama when she was driving."

I nodded in understanding. It wasn't the first time. I bit my lip, looking down for a moment before gazing at her intently. "Well, what makes you happy?"

She put the food down and took a sip from her juice, face neutral. She then looked up and rested her eyes on mine. "Seeing you."