Love from A to Z(13)

I peered more and noticed there was a lot of construction happening. Within a kilometer of Auntie Nandy’s apartment, I counted ten cranes.

Maybe I was kind of a weird person, because I liked the old-looking stuff more than the new. There was something inviting and even comforting about the round domes we passed by.

Maybe I was done with dealing with coldness.

Cold people in particular.

I wanted to be surrounded by warmth.

I lowered the window and let the warm air touch my face. Then I leaned back, closed my eyes, and listened to Auntie Nandy singing along to a song asking if I’ve ever seen the rain.





MARVEL: SEVENTIES MUSIC


Exhibit A: “Have You Ever Seen the Rain.”

When the song ended, she started it again, turning the music up this time.

After the third time, I found myself singing along to the refrain, asking about the rain out the window as we paused at a stoplight. Three men in an SUV beside us, with shemaghs rimmed by black cords on their heads, the traditional Gulf Arab headdress, thought I was asking them a question. The driver lowered his window to check.

Auntie Nandy started laughing, which made me sing “Have you ever seen the rain?” out the window again. The men looked perplexed and then, laughing themselves, rolled up their window.

Realizing I’d asked them about the rain in a dry, desert country, I began giggling, pausing only to catch my breath and yell the word “RAIN!” whenever the band said it.

I was so giddy and happy and felt free to be away from scrutiny, to be around people who didn’t look at me weird for the way I dressed, for how Muslim I looked, but only for how weird I acted.

And that’s how I arrived at the party, with a big smile capping the happiness beginning to percolate within.

And that’s how the cute guy from the plane opened the door to me.

The cute guy from the plane was the cute guy from the airport was the cute guy at the door at this party I hadn’t wanted to go to.

I floated into the house on the giddy bubbling inside.

Maybe this party is going to be all right after all?

Maybe I can finally not be on guard and just be happy and FREE?





ADAM


FRIDAY, MARCH 8


MARVEL: COINCIDENCES


OR, IN THIS CASE, MAYBE I’d call it serendipity?

Though if I did, I’d be saying it was a happy thing that the girl from the plane yesterday was standing on the front steps of my home.

Let’s call it serendipity, then.

Of the infinite number of occurrences possible, this was the one happening: The person who I’d thought about last night when I’d unpacked and threw my journal in a dresser drawer, wondering how and when she’d begun her journal, that person was standing here looking at me, the hugest of grins on her face, surprise in her eyes.

Standing beside her was Ms. Raymond. I’m pretty sure this made my welcome smile falter a bit.

I knew she’d be coming over today, so it wasn’t as bad as seeing her yesterday at the airport. But still, it felt like my heart skipped a beat.

Just even a glimpse of her reminded me of Mom’s passing.

“Adam! How wonderful to see you!” Ms. Raymond took a step into the foyer and threw out both arms to me. “How’s university?”

“It’s good. Thanks for asking, Ms. Raymond. It’s great to see you.” I held a hand out for her shawl.

“No, I’ll keep this with me. We’re sitting outside, right? It’s a bit nippy.” She looked at the girl who had stepped in behind her, that dazzlingly big smile still on her face, cheeks flushed. “That’s the thing about Doha—it can get cool at night at this time of the year, especially near the water. Adam, this is my niece, Zayneb, my sister’s daughter. She’s visiting from Indiana on her spring break. Zayneb, this is Adam, son of the head of my school. I used to be his teacher when he was a wee little one.”

For a second I wondered if I should say we’ve met before. Zayneb and me.

Or was that between us?

“You wouldn’t believe it, Auntie Nandy. We kinda met each other on the plane here,” Zayneb said, beaming.

“No, really?” Ms. Raymond tilted her head back. “That’s awesome. How serendipitous!”

Ms. Raymond would say that.

“Yeah,” I said, nodding at them, wondering why things got weird for me. A minute ago it was like a bright light went on inside when I opened the door.

Now I was standing in my foyer in Doha in front of a girl I’d first noticed a continent away in London, wondering what to say next.

I couldn’t believe it: I’d tried so many times to talk to her yesterday—even at the airport, before she got away—and now she was right here in my house.

But nothing came out of my mouth.

Butler. Doorman.

That was my job tonight.

Yes. Stick to the script, Adam.

And then . . . later . . . you can talk to her . . . Zayneb.

“Everyone’s either in the kitchen or on the patio.” I led the way down the hall. “There are some people in here, as well,” I added, pointing to the sunken living room on the right.

“Not me. I go to where the food’s at,” Ms. Raymond said, continuing ahead. “Zayneb, have fun.”

“What do you mean?” Zayneb stopped at the entrance to our large kitchen, buzzing with guests. “Are you saying I can’t follow you?”