Love from A to Z(36)

“This is what you’re going to wear to swim from now on.”

“What do you mean?”

“Try it on.” She beckoned me. “It took me a long time to dig it out of my closet—your mom left it here on her last visit.”

“Auntie Nandy, why are you giving me this burkini?” I held it up. It was almost like the one I’d worn swimming in middle school, except my old one had two rows of purple stripes running along the sides. This one had a broad blue square extending from the neck to the waist. In the middle of the square was a brown clamshell with a pair of closed, long-lashed eyes but no mouth. Slightly strange. And sad.

“Because you love swimming. And, when I left yoga this morning, Marc at the fitness desk told me that you needed a proper swimsuit to use the facilities.” She raised her eyebrows and then walked to the bedroom door. Turning around to face me before she exited, she added, “There’s your proper swimsuit. Completely fits the fabric requirements of swimwear suitable for a pool.”

I clutched the burkini to me as it dawned on me what Auntie Nandy meant.

She wanted me to challenge the fitness center’s expectation of what proper swimwear was.

She wanted me to fight?

She actually wanted me to challenge something?

A little spark ignited in me as I imagined Marc’s face.

As I imagined tattle-telling bobbing man’s face.

As I imagined the white-capped woman swimming laps who might be there again, who might high-five me for making it to the pool again.

I looked down at the burkini and saw it as a superhero outfit. One that I’d be wearing for a mission the next day.

I went into the bathroom, held it against myself, and smiled serenely at my reflection in the mirror.

“Yeah, you will do just fine,” I whispered to the sad clamshell on my superhero suit.

Kavi and Noemi had #EatThemAlive, and I had a burkini ban to take down.

But, this time, I’d do it serenely, as serenely as the smile that greeted—and accepted me—in the mirror.





ADAM


TUESDAY, MARCH 12


MARVEL: STRANGERS


IN THE MIDDLE OF THE movie at Villaggio Mall my eyes clouded over.

Like they were covered with a thick layer of jelly.

I rubbed them, sure something had gotten into them, but nothing changed.

The headache, present since this morning turned drill-like, boring into the back of my eyes as I turned them to check if it was the same peripherally.

Peripheral was worse.

Like multiple knife jabs at once.

I felt nauseous with the pain.

I got up and squeezed my way past Connor, Tsetso, Jacob, and Madison, almost stumbling in the aisle before I realized I should turn on my phone for its light. I then made it halfway before remembering Connor. He would stalk me like a tiger unless I let him know what was up.

I backed up slowly, feeling my way along the aisle seat backs—not due to the dark but to my blurred vision.

“Hey, just going to the bathroom, then sitting in the back,” I whispered in his general direction.

He nodded. Or at least I think it was him.

In the bathroom, after heaving emptiness and waiting for the nausea to ease up, I washed my face a few times, really rinsing my eyes out, examining them in the mirror.

There was nothing there, but it literally felt as though I were looking at my reflection through a thick layer of Vaseline.

I had to get home.

? ? ?

I took a taxi, one of the many assembled at the exits of the mall, praying that the door was not locked at home. That Marta, our cleaning person, had left it that way.

There was no way I could fit a key into a keyhole.

As it was, I could see shapes of things blurring by out the window, objects looming as we neared a stop, like now, at the traffic lights. I tried to concentrate on looking straight ahead, to reduce the pain that struck me every time I moved my eyes.

“Are you okay, sir?” The driver turned to look at me.

I shook my head. “I just have a headache.”

“Okay, want to stop for water? Store right here. Tea or water. They’ll have it.”

He must have meant one of the many chai stations they have around Doha.

“No, it’s okay. I just need to lie down.”

“I’ll get you home quickly, sir.”

Maybe he could help me. Maybe I could ask him.

He doesn’t know me.

“Can you wait after you drop me?” I said, hoping my voice didn’t sound desperate. “I may need help with opening my door.”

“Certainly I will.” He nodded at me. “My name is Zahid.”

“Thank you,” I said, my shoulders relaxing. “I’m Adam.”

I’ll have help.

The front door was locked. Zahid used my keys and opened it for me. I turned to thank him so he could leave, but he didn’t let me. Instead, he held on to my arm and led me into the sunken living room, easing me slowly down the steps.

I needed the help of his hands, as the tingling returned with a vengeance, running its fingers along my legs and arms as my eyes continued being assaulted by a thousand cuts.

I wondered briefly if I’d leaned too heavily on him as he brought me to the couch.

Grateful for him, for the cushioned welcome for my body, for reaching home, I lay down, afraid.