Are you married?

She was a math teacher. Her day was like any other teacher in the whole world. Wake up, make a cup of coffee and drink it while driving to her school, and listening to the boring morning chit chat on Egyptian radio. Such programs as “an hour for your heart” weren’t her favorite.

 

She would usually listen to the laughs of those comedians and their stale jokes and wonder what was so special about them? What made them laugh so much? And how did they find such happiness so easily? May be they were all fakes, she told herself. May be all those happy people on the planet were just fakes trying to hide their daily anguish behind a veil of ecstasy; may be, it was her favorite word.

 

During the few minutes between her daily three lessons, she’d have a cup of tea at the teacher’s room. Her desk looked over the playground of the school, and she liked it a lot. She wouldn’t have to talk to any of her teacher friends and she’d usually place her headphones and gaze through the iron bars of the window at the children playing.

 

As she sipped at her tea, she wished she could take off her white head veil, her constricting leather jacket, and dash down the stairs and join those kids in a small game.

 

She wished she could detach herself from her thoughts for a moment, as if she had no mind; as if she never thought of anything or planned anything; just as if she was newly born.

 

The bell rang and the time for her two consecutive lessons arrived. She held her books and headed to the class. After the first half of the first lesson, she sat down at her desk, giving her students sometime to answer some geometry exercises.

 

Right in front of her chalk smitten desk, a 15 years old boy bowed forward over his notebook with the exercise book, resting at his enclosed thighs. He smiled at his teacher the moment he realized she was watching him.

 

“How are you?” He said, smiling

 

“I’m fine,” Dalia said with this sleepy smile of hers. “I love watching you work. You seem to love what you do.”

 

The boy nodded and went on answering his exercises. After finishing, he handed her the notebook and waited for her to finish correcting.

 

“Well done,” She said, raising her head towards him, “You finished the first one and all the answers are correct. I’m impressed.”

 

The boy sat back at his desk, watching Dalia correct the other students’ notebooks. By the time she finished correcting, there was still about half an hour free from the second lesson. She felt bored so she took out a small book from her purse, rested her elbows against the desk and started reading.

 

The boy sitting at the desk in front of her raised his knuckle and knocked once at his teacher’s desk, “what are you reading?”

 

“Milton,” She said, “Do you like poetry?”

 

“I never liked reading,” the boy said, “I work better with numbers.”

 

“I can see that,” She said, “you’re a natural talent with numbers.”

 

He took a bottle of water from his bag and drank. After placing the bottle back, he raised his head to face Dalia once again.

 

He smiled at her and said, “ how old are your kids?”

 

Dalia raised her eyebrows and pressed her lips.

 

Why did he suppose that she had kids? Is it a fact that all women who look like they were forty years old should have kids? Dalia couldn’t understand.

 

But away from social norms, she wished she could be a mother; she wished she could have kids. However, what the heck with what she wished. God didn’t care what you wished for. He usually took your wishes and smashed them right in front of you.

 

 

“I’m not married, Peter,” Dalia said, “I’m not married.”

 

“Oh,” peter said, lowering his head, as if he committed a terrible crime. “Can I go to the bathroom, please?”

 

She waved at him with her hand and off he went to the bathroom.

 

The sentence resounded in her head as she drove back home. “I’m not married,” Why didn’t she marry? What stopped her from marrying? Was it falling in love with the wrong guy? Or was it simply a wish to live a solitary life?

 

It wasn’t her choice. Dalia wished that she could get married and have kids, a husband and a family. But she simply couldn’t.

 

She sat at the sofa of the living room, dressed in her sleeveless nightdress with the TV buzzing right in front of her and a plate of fried chicken resting beside her on the sofa.

 

She peered at the screen.

 

What took her so long to realize that she wasn’t made for men? What took her so long to realize that she was alone? She didn’t know the answer. Nevertheless, she felt such a deep hole right in the middle of her chest. She didn’t know for how long did this hole extend, but all she knew that this hole extended right into the essence of her life, her soul and her existence.

 

At some point, after falling in love with so many wrong women, she thought of killing herself, but she knew she didn’t have the courage to do it. She understood what it means to love someone who can never be for you. She sat the wedding of Lillian, the woman she loved when she worked at the other school, and clapped her hands together to the beat of the music, wishing that Lillian would be kissing her on the cheek and asking her not to grieve. But that never happened.

 

During the wedding, Dalia headed into the bathroom, closed the door of the cabinet and sat down at the edge of the toilet, pressing her lip as she tried to suppress her cries. She couldn’t see the one she loved for more than two years getting married.

 

She’d never care to call her or visit her. Lillian would be busy pampering her new husband and enjoying each night with him in bed, while Dalia would spend her nights all alone in bed with a C.D of Erik sati’s music rolling in the C.D player till morning.

 

 

 

  

 

 

Lillian was two years her senior and she considered Dalia her best friend. After she got married, she traveled with her husband to Norway and never came in contact with Dalia.

 

After 20 years of unrequited loved, Dalia realized that she’d spend her life in this plane of existence as a lonely being; a lost soul searching for meaning to a life devoid of love and warmth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[freelancejouster]

the repetition of the words 'teacher' sounds a little off in the first paragraph. "maybe" in the second paragraph is one word. in the fourth and fifth paragraphs, the images and ideas become wonderfully powerful. Dalia's struggle is so painful to watch, to feel through the way she feels... my soul hurts, reading this. you have such a way with words... you use such simple ones; they carry such meaning... an incredible read.

[cartera]

The story was well told, until the last few paragraphs where, in my view, it fell away into . . . it just fell away. there is more to come from the exploration of this woman' feelings.
Go for it.
ATB
Alex.

[Christy Sargent]

I can imagine the lonliness of Dalia. She was very limited. I cannot help but wish the best for her. Thank you for this very revealing and heartflet piece Tarik. You write beautifully and I thoroughly enjoy reading your powerful work. Christy

[Loner]

A powerful write .....

[Quinn Blackburn]

poignant and powerful, excellent writing!

[patricia]

the story flows well, emotionally sensitive, it leads in more than one direction...e.g. the boys interest in the classroom, it will be interesting to see where it finally goes. Thankyou.

[Jurikosan]

Really good. It's not easy to watch the person you love be with someone else. As Coyote Poetry said, we live in a world of perfection. It's difficult when you feel like you don't get a fair share of that perfection.

[Coyote Poetry]

A very good story. It is hard for woman to be alone. The question of marriage can bring sadness. We live in a world of perfection. It is sad when fear and disappointment leave you alone and scare. A very interesting ending to the story. Will there be more? A outstanding story so far.
Coyote