Stories in Amman: Her Birthday

He reminds her of her birthday. Is very weewaa, rate 90!

"Your birthday’s coming up,” he informed her nonchalantly, like it was the next episode of friends.

 

“I know,” she replied, without looking at him. Whatever was on the floor exactly between her swinging feet was apparently far more interesting than him. He chose not to say anything, because he knew that was one of the I knows that precedes a speech. Only it wasn’t.

 

“I’m not really that excited about it. I feel lonely.”

“Lonely? Why lonely?”

“Because I am lonely.”

 

Something was stuck in his throat. Words tend to do that to him at times like these. By all means, he did want to reassure her. So he gulped those words that won’t come out and blurted out instead, “Don’t be lonely, now I’ll feel lonely too.”

 

“My best friend needed my help today, but I let her down. I don’t deserve anything.”

 

Life sometimes is funny like that. He had trouble helping her through her trouble helping her friend. But he was never the type to give up easily. He stood up from beside her, off the ledge they were sat at and faced her.

“I’m sure you could have helped her if you could. Maybe God meant it that way.”

She kept staring at the ground, until she suddenly jumped up too and looked him in the eye.

“Look, I have the solution to your problem.”

“My problem?” he asked bewilderedly.

“Yes.”

“What’s that?”

“With your family.”

“I meant what’s the solution.”

“Run away.”

 

He didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t the most original of solutions, but to be fair, he thought about it over and over. But that solution was problem in itself. It was actually many little problems that didn’t have solutions, but she solved one of them.

 

“I’ll go with you.”

“Where to?” he asked, like it mattered to him. He was more intimidated by the proposal than interested.

“Anywhere!”

“We still have to live, how will we manage ourselves?”

“We can find jobs, we’re adults now, and it’s up to us to make something out of it.”

“Real life is difficult.”

“But it’s better than what we’re living at the moment.”

“I know,” he said, and turned away from here. She chose not to say anything, because she knew that was one of the I knows that precedes a speech.

 

“Actually, no it’s not. We have a chance to be independent a few years from now, why hurry and ruin our chances? I’m trying to get through this, but I don’t know if I ever will.”

 

She didn’t answer. She crawled back onto the ledge and occupied herself again with the floor.

“I have to go, I feel bad.”

 

 

“Don’t go,” he pleaded, but at no avail. She was gone again.