Internment(20)

Ayesha kneels down next to me and reads over my shoulder, “‘S.A. plus T.J.’ I mean, maybe they were, like, really advanced prehistoric peoples. Or maybe aliens?”

“Aliens who etch little hearts into stone in the middle of the California desert. Of course, Occam’s razor. Go with the hypothesis with the fewest assumptions needed. Vandalizing aliens it is.”

I look at Ayesha, who cracks a smile and then lets out a laugh. Then we both start laughing. It’s not even really funny, but my sides hurt, and tears roll down my face. Ayesha leans back against a rock and belly laughs, then covers her face with her hands and begins sobbing. Her shoulders shake. Neither of us laughs anymore.

I don’t know exactly what to do. I put my hand on her knee. “Hey, hey. It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure a way out of here.”

She sniffles and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “A way out? How? The only way out is through an electric fence.”

“I know,” I whisper. “Don’t give up hope. Not yet. It’s too soon.”

“Don’t worry.” Ayesha sniffs. “I know being scared is a superpower.”

“What?”

“It’s something my dad told me once, when I was in the district spelling bee. He said that my fear made me more alert. That I could channel my fear into focus.”

“Did you win?”

“Nah, second place. But, you know, I was up against another desi; he won state.” Ayesha grins a little. “Desis kill at the spelling bee. And my dad was right: When I’m scared, I always feel like I can fight a little harder.”

I nod at Ayesha and smile. I stand and reach out a hand to help her up. As we’re dusting off our clothes, I notice a small depression past the orange barriers, at the fence line. I squint. It looks like something has burrowed underneath. A small animal, maybe, or—?

We hear a shout. Then more shouting. We step away from the garden and see a young man yelling at a guard. His friends are holding him back. We move closer to hear. Two other guards rush over.

“You Islamophobic asshole!” the young man yells. “We were in middle school together. What the fuck is wrong with you?” He’s our age, maybe a little older, tall and wiry. Two friends pull at his arms. One is speaking to him, too low for us to hear.

“Back off, Soheil,” the guard barks. “I could have you taken away. Trust me—you don’t want that.” He motions to the other guards to keep their guns away, moving his palms down, like he’s pressing the air.

My chest tightens. The guards could do anything to Soheil in here, and who could we turn to? There’s no police for us to call. No one to protect us. We should do something. They could hurt him. I start walking closer, but Ayesha grabs my arm and pulls me back, shaking her head.

“Don’t be stupid,” she says. “They have guns.”

I want to bark at her. But I look into her wide, terrified eyes and take a breath. She’s right. I glance down at my hands; they’re trembling. I curl the right one into a fist and pound it against my thigh. I grit my teeth and nod at her.

Soheil puts his hands up, shaking his friends off him and retreating a few steps.

I can only glimpse part of the guard’s face, but I see his shoulders relax. “It’s going to be fine, Soheil. Chill. Everyone is doing their jobs here. You need to do yours.”

“What the hell is my job?” Soheil asks, and then spits on the ground in front of his feet.

“To do what you’re told,” the guard says, then joins the other guards to help them disperse the small crowd that has gathered.

Soheil shakes his head and walks away. Toward the garden. Toward us. Every moment in the short time we’ve been behind this fence has been a revelation. And in this moment, I realize that Soheil was lucky that guard did nothing but brush him off.

“Are you okay?” Ayesha asks as Soheil nears. He looks up, startled. Clearly, he hadn’t noticed us.

Soheil lets out a noise somewhere between a harrumph and a loud exhale. He looks over his shoulder. Neither the guards nor the small crowd are there anymore. No one wants to linger.

“I’m fine.” He pauses. “Actually, no. I’m not fine. Not at all. This is some next-level fascist bullshit.”

Ayesha and I simply nod. I kick a small stone, and we all watch it skitter away. We stare like it’s the most riveting thing in the world, which, in the absence of our phones, it basically is. Then we all look at one another.

“I’m Soheil,” he says, breaking the silence. “Soheil Saeed,” he adds rather formally.

“We heard,” I say. “I’m Layla.”

“Ayesha.” Ayesha grins at him. He smiles back, and it seems to release the tension he was holding in his shoulders.

“My teita would know the perfect ancient Egyptian curse to put on these assholes.”

“Like the curse of King Tut?” Ayesha asks.

Soheil chuckles a little. “He wasn’t the only pharaoh, you know. She, my grandmother, didn’t really believe in curses, but I loved hearing about them, and about all the coincidental deaths that surrounded excavations. Teita was an archaeologist and a storyteller, and, believe me, ancient curses and mummies made the best ghost stories.”

“Share,” I urge. “One of the curses, at least.”