This Is It!

The interview

Three months passed and we all got used to their presence. Mama always kept a lot of food in case there is another curfew. Ahsad , my brother who was thirteen, was not allowed to go to school any more. Mama was afraid she would lose him.

The invasion was the worst thing that had ever happened to our country. I didn't know that at first because i had not experienced it. I had seen so many dead people that i stopped freaking out every time their is shootings. We were living in a world were no one was expected to last even ten years, especially if he is a teenage boy.

Then the journalists from the Western countries started to stream in. They were asking questions, who died? How did it happen ? At first i did not even want to talk to them when they came to talk about Yazid. Mama talked me into it.

The interview was long and i didn't even get emotional. The journalist was an Arab, he had a thick British accent. He told me he was from Amman Jordan but grew up in the UK.

"I understand you were studying in London," he said

"Yes"

"Who was paying for your studies?"

"The government"

"Tell me about Yazid," he took out a note pad and looked at me. I looked at my Mama as if looking for inspiration. She smiled at me and i felt less nervous"He was handsome"

He laughed and i felt annoyed. " Am sorry, you are funny."

"Was he a member of the Islamic Militia group?"

"No" I answered coldly. He scribbled something on his note.

The questions went on and on. It was hard to describe the scene when Mama had to shout at the solders during the curfew. We all thought they were going to kill her or worse blow up our house killing the three of us. After her constant wailing and begging they finally agreed to take Yazid's body to the next town where he could be buried like the martyr he was.

Mama who could not even understand English frowned as if she understood what i was saying.

"Abu never came back. He is probably dead too or worse, they arrested him and took him to their jails." I said holding back tears.

"Are you telling me, it would be better if he died?" He looked astonished.

"Yes," His brows shot up. "At least he won't be tortured," He then looked at me as if he was taking in what i had just said.

A few days after the first curfew we had all waited for Abu to come back but he never did. The second curfew came and he was still nowhere to be seen. We later on found out that he was seen driving towards home the day the solders come and destroyed our lives forever.

Three months have passed and Abu is nowhere to be seen. Mama has already given up and considers him dead; with everything that has been happening around us, he is either dead or incarcerated.

Haytham, the journalist, gave me his number and made me promise that i would call him if my father ever shows up. I took it although i was pretty sure he was never coming back.