The Easiest Target

It's Safer

Athan quietly serves the large table in the kitchen, stopping when he sees my look of bewilderment. They don't eat on the floor all together from one giant plate like us? What makes it even worse is that his male and female relatives come into the kitchen together when he calls them. You'd never think they were family. You have Yemeni, Mexican, white, black, and even an Asian woman without hijab comes in, all giving me a variety of handshakes, hugs and kisses. When a white man Athan's age comes at me, Athan's mother swats him behind the head and turns him towards the table. Most of them are men.

They invite me to sit but Athan's already sitting, talking to the beautiful Asian woman in a low voice, no seat for me next to him. My stomach swims with discomfort. Is this a joke of some sort? He says he's Yemeni. He talks in a Yemeni dialect — they all do. Am I just old-school Yemeni?

A door clicks in the foyer. "Privet vsem," a familiar voice says. I swing around and step away from the devil uncle coming straight at me with a bottle of — is that wine in his hand? He offers it to me, the room going dead silent, his smile gnawing at my consciousness.

"What is that?" I force out, stepping back.

"A welcome gift."

"What is it?" I take another step back, clenching my fists, reminding myself I'm not wrong.

"Is your toy illiterate, nephew? Or deaf?" he asks Athan. I glance over and see everyone's gone dead silent and stiff as stale bread. So this guy's the family's ring-leader.

Athan gets up slow and wary but doesn't make a move to come towards me. My eyes burn indignantly: he's too scared to defend me.

I snatch the bottle from him. "Would you like a cup?"

"Good toy," he smirks. "It's better you know your place early on." He goes to the last seat open at the table and makes himself comfortable.

I go around to the sink, smash the bottle, watching until every drop makes it down the drain. I look up at the horror plastered on everyone's faces — the shock on Athan's uncle's face.

"Oops. Guess this ugly, illiterate, deaf toy is clumsy, too. How about some bitter coffee? Maybe to knock the Yemeni back into your psychopathic ass?"

He stares at me from the corner of his eyes, his face quickly reddening. He turns to look at Athan. "Are you going to teach it manners or should I?"

Athan looks at me, pale and afraid. More afraid than I knew he could look. I grimace at him then at his uncle. "Hadeel," Athan warns when I open my mouth. "That was a very expensive bottle. He just brought it as a gift."

I walk around the counter slowly and look at his smirking uncle. "Then let me repay it with a priceless observation that clearly no one's been able to voice." I spit in his direction. "You're an fugly human being."

Chaos erupts.

"Hilal," Athan's mother screams when he gets up all of a sudden.

Athan runs at me so fast I cover my head with my arms and wait for the beating. His arm scoops around my thighs and I'm flying out the door over his shoulder the next second. He drives off without looking back, strapping in or letting me go. I sit and blink away my tears quietly, unwilling to fight the firm arm he has wrapped around my back. His heart hammers against my cheek, his breathing unsteady. His fear matters more than my safety. No more crying, Hadeel. I know my place here now. I'm alone. As usual.

Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding ....

The seatbelt alarm continues until we're back in the parking lot at the apartment complex.