As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow (100)

“The captain is trying to signal them right now,” Kenan says. “Even if they come, it’ll be hours. We’ll already be in the water.”

I press my hand against his forehead. Warm.

“The water’s freezing. You’re exhausted and maybe even feverish. If you go in, I don’t know what it’ll do to your system.” He’ll get hypothermia. My heart beats painfully against my chest.

He shakes his head. “We don’t have a choice.”

“Life rafts?”

“Salama, this is a fishing boat. It isn’t meant to survive more than a few hours offshore. There are no life rafts.”

I must be showing signs of distress because Kenan cups my cheek with one hand and draws me closer to him.

“Have faith,” he whispers. “We’ll make it. Stay close to me and have faith.”

I nod, squeezing a few tears out. He straightens up and eyes his siblings, who are so petrified they can’t move.

“All right, you guys,” he says, and I’m astounded at how calm he is. “I need you to stick together, and once we’re in the water, kick your legs just a little to stay up, okay? Your life jackets will do the rest. It’s important you don’t panic. Take deep breaths, and insh’Allah we’ll be fine.”

Lama clings to Yusuf and they both nod. I strap my backpack inside my life jacket and my heart sinks—I know that when we go underwater my passport and certificate won’t survive. The sky looks near, as if promising to drown us in its dark gray as well.

Most of the people are already standing, so Kenan tells us to do the same. The boat tilts dangerously to the left, and we lose our footing, stumbling to the floor. People scream. One mother is in hysterics, holding her baby to her chest, and I look away. I can’t help anyone. My head sways with each motion the boat takes, and the water drenches us whole as the threat of tipping over increases. I grip Kenan’s hand, and Lama and Yusuf crowd against him as the boat lurches and other people push against us.

We wait, not knowing what to do. Should we jump? Or stay on the boat until it goes down? Think, Salama, think!

Suddenly one voice, cutting like glass, rings in my head, warning me not to jump.

Don’t do it, Khawf’s voice resounds in my mind. It’s suicidal. You don’t know what’s waiting for you in the water. The boat is safer. The more people jump, the more likely it won’t sink. Don’t jump.

I close my eyes and breathe through my nose, visualizing my daisies. Khawf isn’t here, but he lives in my head, always making me second-guess every decision. But that’s no way to survive—no way to live.

“Kenan,” I say. Tears begin streaming down my face. The end is near. “We need to jump. When the boat goes down, it’ll create a current we won’t be able to swim against.”

He looks at me and nods solemnly. The waves lapping at the sides of the boat promise violence. Perhaps a bomb would have been the better choice.

Suddenly, one man carrying his daughter jumps out of the boat and into the water. She clings to his back, sobbing, and he’s using all of his energy to get away. It takes everyone exactly five seconds to follow suit.

Kenan grasps my hand tightly. We both nod.

“Now,” he says.





THE COLD REMINDS ME OF LAST DECEMBER, WHEN I came back from the hospital dripping with snow and sleet. Layla was on the couch, wearing all her clothes. I had huddled up beside my hallucination and fallen asleep, thinking I was warming myself, but the cold just continued to coat my bones, forcing itself inside.

But despite its familiarity, this cold doesn’t lull me to sleep. Instead, it sends shock wave after shock wave through my body. I sink under the sea, opening my eyes to the dark blue-black that stretches on for miles.

Fear grapples with me. My heart seizes, my trachea constricts, and my extremities are so cold they burn. Before I can scream, my life jacket shoots me out of the water.

“Mama,” I cry without thinking. “Mama, save me!”

I kick my legs in the water, the fear dissolving into hysteria. It chokes out of me in broken sobs when I remember there are sharks in the Mediterranean.

“Mama,” I chant, holding on to that one word and letting it expand and wash over me. “Mama. Mama. Please, please save me. Please. I can’t do this anymore!”

At this moment, I’m half crazed, kicking my legs to keep sharks at bay—as if it would be of any help against their razor teeth and soulless eyes. Every thought disappears. I’m forgetting my name and who I was with. Who I’m supposed to be with. All I can think of is how I’m going to be dragged down.

“Salama!” A voice cuts through the hysteria and I clumsily try to turn around, hot tears streaming down my cheeks. The cold sears right to my ribs. It hurts to breathe.

Blurry figures become sharp and I see a bobbing person with terrified eyes. Yusuf. And just behind him is Lama.

My heart resets. Yes. I can’t lose myself. My family is here. Yusuf. Lama. And Kenan.

Kenan.

Where is he?

“Lama! Yusuf!” The pressure of the water must have wrenched my hand out of Kenan’s. All around, people are swimming, looking for their loved ones, and familiar screams rise on the frigid wind. My bag is still trapped under my life jacket. “Where’s Kenan?”

“I don’t know,” Lama sobs.