Carried by the Wind

Chapter 3

The apartment was empty when I arrived. She always arrived ahead of me with the car, but then the fridge was pretty empty so maybe she did go grocery shopping. Her room had a double bed with floral sheets. I used to sleep beside her often until I was thirteen. Now I just listened to music in earbuds and thrashed under the covers all night. I sat on her bed and ran my hands over the blanket. The darkness, the black ether clawing out of the walls threatened to suffocate me. It wasn't right to go through her things, but I needed to know.

At the bottom of her closet, under a carefully assembled pile of shoeboxes, was a hard, brown suitcase in an outdated leather imitation style with a combination lock. My fingers slipped over the smooth numbers. 5645 is where I stopped last time and it was untouched. It had been almost three months since I had found the suitcase, since I started going through the digits. She had never shown it to me. It had to have something in it, something she didn't want me to see, something about her past, something about mine. It would have something in it that explained all the times she avoided my gaze, my presence, my existence. It would have something that explained why I was always so alone. All of my Iranian documents were hidden, and I had a strong suspicion they hid in that suitcase. I went through two hundred more digits before giving up and putting it back in the closet. I clicked my tongue in frustration and sighed. My neck was stiff from the concentrated effort.

It was odd that Mom wasn't home yet. All the lights in the apartment were still off except for Mom's room. The lines of car beams licked their way up the walls, the shadow of raindrops on the window glass magnifying. It would be suspicious if she came in now. I turned on all the lights in the kitchen, living room and hallway on my way to the window. There was a car parked outside with the headlights on. A two door beetle. Mom's car. It just stood there in the heavy rain with the engine off. No one got in or out. I couldn't see if she was in there. There was no answer on the cellphone when I called. I bit my cuticles, tried to blink away the raindrops from the glass in confusion.

It was a forever before they stepped out of the car. Mom wasn't alone. I smeared chapstick on my cracked lips, my eyebrows knotted in apprehension. A dark figure in a black hooded sweater stepped out of the passenger's seat. Mom went ahead of him and opened the port door below. I could hear them speaking in the corridor outside. Mom was laughing, but I couldn't hear his reply. I stepped away from the window and turned on the TV and threw myself into the couch just as the door opened. My head shot up from the back of the couch. Mom came in first, groceries in hand, with the other figure behind her like a shadow.

"Salam Elika", Mom said.

"Salam", I murmured and rose to my knees in the sofa.

They took their shoes off, and Mom took off her coat and hung her umbrella by the door. "This is Farid", she said. "He will stay with us for some time. We were childhood friends in Rasht."

Farid was a young man dressed in black jeans and a black hooded sweater, with raindrops glistening on his shoulders and hooded head. His hair jet black, porcelain skin, smiling blue lips, eyes shaded by the hood, hands in his pockets, subtle. The fuzz on my back stood en-garde. He was my own reflection. A wave of nausea hit. I turned my gaze away.

Mom went on her merry way to the kitchen. "Elika, I need to talk to you about something", she said as she put the groceries on the counter. She stopped and looked at me, waiting for me to follow her to the kitchen. I trotted over to her with one last look at Farid making his way to the remote control. He sat down and zapping through the channels.

Mom turned to the fridge. "Mrs. Ali had some complaints about you."

"What?!" I spat. I was expecting an explanation on this mysterious hooded figure that had just invaded my life, but the mention of Mrs. Ali having the nerve to complain about me made my blood boil. I felt my face flush hot with rage.

"Why is your cheek red?" Mom touched the offended cheek. The touch was innocent, but it made me shudder. I shrugged her hand off.

"Because she hit me," I mumbled.

"Mrs. Ali hit you?" Mom's eyebrows knotted in concern.

I shrugged. "It's fine. I think I touched a wound on her neck."

It was Mom's turn to stop dead in her tracks. Her shoulders stiffened. She had her back to me as she washed the vegetables for dinner, but I saw her throwing a glance to the sofa. "What wound?"

"It was just a wound. I don't know," I said and looked away. Farid had perked up at my words. It was peculiar, his presence. I didn't quite know what to think of him. "I'm just gonna change my clothes." At least Mom had forgotten about our argument earlier. I shut the door behind me in the bedroom and changed into a sweatshirt and pajama pants.

There was something about Farid; I didn't want to see him again. Anxiety rose in me as I pressed my back against the bedroom door. My hands became clammy. My nerves tingled at the thought of seeing him, my reflection. He couldn't be more than eighteen or nineteen, younger than I was. Where had he come from? Where had he been all along? Mom had managed to derail me again. My breath picked pace. She paraded her secrets in front of me.

I opened the door, resolute in shaking all the answers out of Mom, when I saw them standing a breath apart in the kitchen. Farid looked at her as if they were of the same dust, like lovers. "I've done it," he said, gentle voice, begging eyes. "I did it right this time."

A/N: Since this chapter is so short, I'm posting chapter 4 too. Super exciting! Things just get worse and worse for Elika. I almost feel bad for her.