A Friend in Need, Part 1

Amy heard her mom’s voice through her bedroom door, then a soft knock and a creak as the door slowly opened.

“Amy? Amy, dinner’s – Baby, what’s wrong? Are you feeling alright?”

Amy didn’t lift her face from her pillow. Instead, she shook her head and mumbled, “Not hungry.”

The covers sank away from her side as her mom sat down at the edge of the bed. She felt her mom’s hand at her cheek, warm and soft. “Are you feeling alright? You don’t feel too warm.”

Amy shook her head again, and, still not moving from her position face-down on her bed, mumbled that no, she wasn’t feeling alright at all. It wasn’t a lie, not really. She wasn’t sick, but she felt like she might as well have been, the way her stomach twisted itself into knots and her chest felt so heavy it made her want to cry.

“Well, if you’re not feeling well, would you like some tea or milk? Wait, are you crying?” Worry weaved its way into her mother’s voice. “Amy, please tell me what’s wrong. Sit up. Look at me. Please.”

She briefly contemplated curling into a ball and hoping to disappear, but she hated making her mother worry. She sat up, sniffling and trying to stifle her tears, wiping at her nose and eyes with her sleeves. Her mother’s eyes went wide, and before she could say anything to explain she was grabbed up into her mother’s arms.

“What’s wrong, baby? What’s wrong?” Her mother kept repeating as she stroke Amy’s hair. Amy didn’t say anything immediately, not wanting to ruin her mother’s comforting embrace by saying anything. Instead she buried her face into her mother’s shoulder like a baby, not the eleven-year-old she was, and tried to swallow the lump in throat.

“Was it something at school?” her mother asked.

Still not sure if she could talk without crying, Amy nodded.

“Did someone tease you? Were you bullied?”

Amy shook her head. “N-n-not me,” she said.

“Not you?”

“Not me,” Amy said. Amy sat up right and looked up at her mother’s face for the first time since she came into the room. Her mom’s blue eyes were still wide and intense, and red patches dotted her pale cheeks. Her mom’s cheek always turned red whenever she was happy or sad or angry, and that’s why her dad always called her mom “Apple.” Her dad’s color never changed much. His skin was always dark, much darker than her mom’s or even Amy’s, but Amy thought maybe her dad was just much calmer than everyone else. He must still be downstairs, Amy realized, wondering where she and her mom were. “Not me,” she repeated. “Another girl at school.”

“You saw another girl at school getting bullied? What happened?”

Amy took a breath and it all came out in a rush. “She was at recess sitting on a swing all by herself. Then Karen and Milly came up and started asking her all sorts of questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“They kept asking her about the scarf-thing she wears over her head.”

“A bandana?”

“No, the teacher said it was a hi…a hijeb, or something.”

“A hijab?”

“Yeah, that’s it! They kept asking her about it. Then she – the hijab-girl – started to get a little mad, and then Karen started to call her names.”

“What kind of names?”

“Karen said…” Amy stopped, not sure of what her mom would say if she kept going, but the shadowy look over her mom’s eyes convinced her she had to finish her story. “Karen said her mom said all Arabs are terrorists, and they shouldn’t be allowed in the country, and that if she – the girl – was going to be rude then she should go back to where she came from.”

“And you heard this yourself?”

“I..me and Lacey were playing hopscotch near the swings.” Amy hung her head. “We were going to tell Karen to stop, I promise. But the girl ran away before we could say anything.”

Her mom was silent for a minute, and Amy had the terrible feeling that maybe her mom was disappointed in her. She could of run after the girl, after all. Maybe find her and tell her that Karen always says stupid things when she doesn’t get her way. But instead, she watched her run off and disappear back into the school building, and Lacey just wanted to start their game again. The girl didn’t come back to class after lunch, either. All day, Amy had seen the girl’s tear-streaked face in her mind. It made her sick to her stomach and her heart heavy.

When her mom finally started speaking again, she stretched out her hand and wiped away the tears still lingering at the corners of Amy’s eyes. “Alright, baby, this is what I’m going to do. I’m going to make some calls. I want you to write down your classmate’s name, and see if I can get a hold of her mom. And Amy?”

“Yeah?”

“I think that girl could really use a friend right now. What do you say?”

Running – Part I

“It’s happening again,” he said. He was down on his hands and knees, panting, sweat dripping from his head like he had just walked in from the rain. He was shivering.

I stood in place for a moment, unable to move, or unwilling. My thoughts were taken over by the memories of last time. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to run until my legs gave out. I wanted to put a bullet in his head and just get over with. And then mine

“It’s okay,” I said instinctively. I felt my legs buckle in time enough to make it look like I was kneeling on purpose. I lifted his head up. His pupils were dilating and contracting with each breath he took and released. “Calm down, just… breathe slow.”

“She found me, I can’t believe it. I don’t know how-”

“Did she see you,” I said, cutting him off.

“No, I don’t think so.”

I sighed in relief. If she saw him, it would be over. At least now, we had some time. I grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet, “Come on, we gotta hurry.” We walked quickly through the park. The weather was nice and warm without being too humid or bright and the park was full people walking dogs, playing soccer, or just lounging in the sun. He kept looking around anxiously, making sure she wasn’t following us. He did this all the way out of the park and through downtown back to our apartment. I’m sure everyone looking at us thought he was high on something. I didn’t even try to calm him down though, there was no use.

As soon as we were back at the apartment, he check all the rooms and close the blinds.  “How did she find me,” he asked frantically.

“I don’t know,” I said, despite knowing that the question was mostly rhetorical. We never know how she finds us, just that she always does. “Get your things together, we need to be out in ten.”

He was jumpy and jittery, but he moved like a man with purpose. He zipped around the apartment like a ricocheting rocket. Then he stopped to look at me. His body shook like it was buzzing with electricity, though he stood still. My legs buckled again. He was by my side before I felt my knees hit the floor. The mint green walls of our apartment vibrated like someone was playing loud music. Perhaps he wasn’t moving fast. I was moving slow. “Come on, sis, we need to go.” He looked at me, his pupils still exploding and imploding like they were dancing to his heartbeat.

“I… I,” I tried to speak. To tell him I was fine, just out of breath from rushing through the city. But I wasn’t fine, and I was out of breath for a different reason. “I can’t do this again, Evan.” He wiped his hand across my face and I realized my cheeks were wet. I smacked his hand away and wiped my own tears. I was supposed to be the strong one. “It’s been so long,” I said, “so long, I thought we were gonna be okay.”

“Come on, sis,” he said. He was trying to keep the panic out of his voice, but his eyes were darting back and forth to every entrance and exit. “We gotta go, come on.”

“I can’t. I can’t run anymore. We’re always running.” My face was wet again.

My body moved like it got caught in an earthquake. I didn’t feel his hands on my shoulders, but I saw him shaking me. “We have to run. We can’t do anything else.”

I blinked. Then I took a deep breath and blinked again. The room was spinning a bit, but it stopped buzzing. “Yeah,” I said slowly. “Yeah.” Faster that time. “Get the rest of your stuff.” He darted off to his room. I rushed to mine and grabbed my emergency bag. Then I took the gun out of my purse and tucked it into the back of my pants. “You need help,” I yelled at him as I walked back into the living room, but he was walking back at the same time, his backpack strapped on his shoulders and the big duffle bag in his hand. “Did you get a good look at her,” I asked in the hall as we made our way to the car.

“Not really. Her hair’s longer, and it’s back red again. Other than that, she looks the same. Same old mom.”

I have the car doing sixty towards the interstate before Evan even buckles his seatbelt.