Breaking Point

17

 Chapter 17

A long, slow week passed by. Salma was more moody than usual. Nadia was uncharacteristically chirpy one day and then eerily withdrawn the next. Ian had been released from the hospital but he'd been absent from school, as he was resting at home. I hadn't heard from him since my last visit, but rumor had it that his mother was considering homeschooling him. I had no confirmation on whether this was true or not. But I hoped he would come back to school.

The weather had also changed. Autumn had approached and could be seen in the colorful leaves which drifted to the ground with each gust of bitter wind. Frost coated windows in eerie patterns and the time had come for gloves and boots to be pulled out of storage. Small children came home with runny noses and chattering teeth.

I entered the kitchen on a chilly Sunday morning and the first thing I noticed was that my mother was blank-faced, zoned out, and seated at the kitchen table. Dozens of documents were spread out before her, which I assumed were bills that needed to be paid. I stopped and shifted uneasily before her.

"Salaam, mom." I greeted her. "What's for breakfast.

She blinked her eyes at a sheet of paper that she clutched in her hands before she looked up at me. She seemed to be in deep thought because she took a moment to respond.

"Wasalam, Abdullah." She nodded, before she stood up. "I'm sorry, I haven't prepared it yet. I was...sidetracked."

"With what?"

The grip on the document tightened. "Nothing. You sit down, habibi. What do you want for breakfast?"

"I'll make it myself." I moved towards the fridge and pulled out some eggs.

My mother doesn't stop me, and instead sunk into her chair. I wanted to ask what was wrong, since clearly something was bothering her but at that moment my sister chose to enter the kitchen.

"Mum!" She all but shrieked. "Can I go out today?"

"Where?" My mother asked, looking momentarily distracted from what was worrying her. "And with whom? When will you be back home?"

"Mom!" Salma sighed in exasperation and rolled her eyes. "My friend and I just want to go see a movie. Why are you interrogating me?"

"I'm not interrogating you." My mother said, not gently. "And which friend?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, absolutely." My mother stated, firmly. "Tell me at once or else you will not be allowed to go."

Salma's eyes widened. "I'm going with Nadia."

"Call her right now, in front of me."

"What?" Salma blinked. "Why? You've never done this before...don't you believe me?"

My mother was quiet for a few seconds. And then she said: "No."

Salma stilled, and a shiver raced down my back. I was frozen at the kitchen counter, hand in the bread bag, ears perked, heart racing.

"Then leave it." Salma said in a small, squeaky voice. "I'm not going."

She spun around and left. My mother stood there for awhile, face blank before her gaze slowly drifted onto the sheet of paper she was holding. It was crumpled in her tight fist.

- - -

My father stood over me, fixing his glasses, gaze stern as I scribbled furiously in my notebook, only stopping to look up at him when he cleared his throat. It was a hot summer day and I was in the seventh grade, doodling in my notebook one boring weekend. At that time in my life, my father was healthy and well, and I knew that he could be frightening when he was upset about something.