Falling for the Other One

T W O

At six years old, I had discovered my fear of planes. 

Though I don't remember much of my family back home, I remember that night when mama had packed our things and rushed me out of my grandparent's house.

From the moment she had woken me up, to the moment we drove to the outskirts of Amman, I felt the uneasiness settle into my chest. It was the continuation of the moment where I witnessed my cousin, Reem, lay on the cold ground where she sunk into her scarlet child's blood. From the moment Reem died, to the moment my mother buckled me into an airplane seat twice my size, I had felt the odd feeling of my chest squeezing. I felt it grow when my mother had died, and yet again, I feel my chest squeezing at the man I only knew from pictures. 

"Baba?", I ask again with wide eyes.

Though my body felt an intensifying shock all across, the uncomfortable silence he stood in was cold. 

"Sweetheart", Mr. Wayne says breaking into a forced cough. My eyes slowly follow back to my principal though my mind was still rushing in shock and confusion, running lost in thought of the man who stood before me.

"Mister Hamade was matched as your biological and legal guardian, and with a clean background, we assure you will be safe with him", my principal breaks down to me. 

A long and uncomfortable pause takes over yet again as if I were sitting in an interrogation room and all the officers were waiting for me to admit to my crimes. I breathe in through my nose and exhale slowly, then state a bold, "No."

"Sarah, I assure you if there is any misunderstandi-", my principal begins before I cut him off. "I said No."

"Misunderstanding?", I scoff while holding back the tears threatening to spill out any moment now. "A misunderstanding would be placing me into the wrong household again, Mr. Wayne", I breathe. "A misunderstanding isn't forcing me into the house of a stranger, solely based on genes", I spat.

I look up to the 'client' and glare at him. "Where were you for the past fourteen years? Why are you here now?", I ask angrily. I didn't need an introduction to identify this man. I had recognized him from the pictures mama showed me all the time, but covered in stressful wrinkles and greying hair. The beauty of his handsome face was still the same nonetheless, but my Baba, he changed from the pictures taken 14 years ago. 

There was no smile, there was no happiness in his eyes. He looked so cold.

This was the first time I'm seeing the father that I had always been curious about. That I had missed and that my heart had cried for. Yet to my dismay, my first words of exchange with him were nothing less than shouts.

"We can discuss this at home", he suggests calmly.

Is this what my father's voice sounds like?

"Home?", I scoff. "There is no home. I am not going anywhere, aside from my math classroom", I reply as I stand up from my chair, and wipe my warm tears away fast.

"I don't think we can force her Mister Hamade. If she declines, then we will have to get the police involved as she claims to still live with her only relative and uncle present at home", the social worker adds on.

"I mean", he says turning to me. "We could have the police investigate for kidnapping and manipulation of a minor as well", he begins. "Since she does claim to be living under the care of her 'uncle', which happens to be a homeless drug addict, who is already in police custody, a few other interrogations wouldn't be of harm", he says with shrugging shoulders.