Love from A to Z(70)

Had to hide the bin of sin quickly.

But before I tucked it into its spot on the floor, under her row of pants folded on hangers, I examined the plastic bundle by taking off the rubber bands and undoing it.

Yup, booze.

Auntie Nandy wasn’t Muslim—so why did she have to hide it?

It took me a while to reassemble everything back to its place so she wouldn’t suspect a thing, and by the time I got back, the Emmas were chewing on Twizzlers.

When I sat back on my blanket, Emma D. passed me the package, and I took one out. I looked at the shiny red twisted candy for a moment. “I want to make someone pay for my grandmother’s death.”

I didn’t need to look up to know they’d traded glances with one another.

“But does that actually make the world a better place?” Emma P. ventured. “Like, doesn’t that just make more problems?”

“Sorry not sorry to say this to you, Emma P., but that’s what people who don’t feel the pain of injustice say.” I bit into the Twizzler and gave her a stare, chewing fast. “Like, why are we supposed to just take it? Innocent people getting killed?”

This time they didn’t trade glances but shifted uncomfortably in unison. Then Emma Z. spoke. “I don’t think that’s what Emma P. was trying to say, Zayneb. I think she’s trying to say that the better people should do better. Right, Emma?”

Emma P. nodded, nibbling on her Twizzler.

“But are we better people? Is it being better just to look away? Or post a few words of outrage online? What’s so BETTER about that?” I put the rest of my Twizzler on the arm of the sofa. It was plasticky and felt like lead going down my throat. “Isn’t it better to stop it for good?”

“We went on a march before. In London. It was our junior-year trip and we were in Hyde Park and there was a march to remember the victims of war and we joined,” Emma D. said.

“And the shoes to remember Palestinian victims? In Brussels?” Emma Z. asked Emma D., sitting up. She turned to me, eagerly. “Last year, on our senior trip, we went to Belgium, and we saw all these shoes, over four thousand, laid out to remember Palestinian lives lost in the last decade. That’s the kind of better we mean.”

“But did those things make a difference? NO.” I stood up and paced, something Kavi pointed out I do when I get an energy spurt. “I’ve been reading a lot since last night about drones and war. The biggest global protest event in history occurred when we were babies, February fifteenth, 2003. People in over sixty countries, almost fifteen million people around the world, including a huge march in Rome that made the Guinness World Records, protested the invasion of Iraq. The protest was monumental. Unmatched before and since. But GUESS WHAT? The invasion still happened. And guess what? Overreach from that war, which lasts to this day, killed my grandmother!”

I slumped back into the blanket I’d shed and re-cocooned myself, including shielding my face, sure it was burning up in pain and anger.

“It’s true we have to do more. But not through violent actions.” Emma Z. spoke quietly. “Because that would just continue violence.”

I pulled the folds apart in front of my mouth so they could hear me. “I’m not a violent person. I’m not advocating violence. But I am an angry person. I’m advocating for more people to get angry. Get moved.”

“Well, I’m going to be honest,” Emma D. said. “Until I met you, I didn’t think about it much. War and justice, things like that. Now I will.”

“Same,” Emma Z. agreed.

“Me too,” Emma P. said. “I’m going back to Northwestern, and I’m going to join the antiwar club.”

I poked my head out of the blanket. “You go to Northwestern? That’s on my list. Just got rejected from UChicago, so not sure I’ll get in. My sis goes to UChicago, and I was going to live with her.”

“Oh, I hope you get in! Ill show you around, no problem. And we can hang out together.” Emma P. looked excited. Genuinely excited.

I let go of how tightly I was holding on to Binky as I felt some of myself relaxing.

I looked at their kind faces, reassessing, and I realized something.

They weren’t the enemy. Their ignorance was bothersome, but they weren’t the enemy.

“Thanks for offering to help, Emma P.” I sighed and gave away holding on to my security blanket and then undid and rewound my hair bun. “And thanks, guys, for coming. And eating Twizzlers with me. You guys have been one of the best parts of visiting Doha, you know?”

Emma Z. blew a kiss my way. “We love you, too. So much that we did a search-and-destroy mission.” She looked at Emma P. “You tell her, because it was your idea.”

“When we were at Madison’s place the other day, Emma Z. and I stole her Coachella headdress and destroyed it,” Emma P. announced proudly. She raised her eyebrows at Emma D., who looked confused. “We didn’t tell you, because we didn’t want it to be on your Hufflepuff conscience. It involved some methods we Ravenclaws and Slytherins are familiar and comfortable with.”

I beamed at the Emmas. Who . . . maybe were becoming my Emmas?

“Zayneb, you have to keep in touch with us. Emma P. and I are leaving tomorrow. She’s staying with me on the East Coast before going back to Chicago,” Emma Z. said. She smiled at Emma P. before turning to Emma D. “Wish you were coming.”