Perfect

Written by: Ezulie (USA) Copyright © 2006

The yellow, fluorescent light bounced off her scrawny arms as she wheeled into the drive-in an hour past midnight. She was looking forward to it every since she saw the stimulating commercial on television while she was running her troubles off and away on the everlasting treadmill. She heard her mother’s voice, “Don’t gain any more pounds. You’re perfect now.” She remembered how her mother praised and admired her cousin’s lithe figure, how she gave an unconscious, smiling nod to slender young women and a critical frown to the chunkier crowd.

“Large fries? That’ll be $1.50.”

She glanced up at her rear view mirror, studying her meager, pale face before turning her head slightly to the right to examine her prominent cheekbones.

After she guiltily snagged the greasy bag, she drove back home in silence. One by one, she slowly bit and chewed the fatty fries before spitting her mouthful back in the original paper bag.

 

The crime was done. She headed towards her faucet and quickly washed off her salty shame before she lifted up her sweater, scrutinizing her considerably protruding ribs and concave mid-section.

She sadly smiled to herself, “I guess I’m more than perfect now, aren’t I?”

Kuwait History X

Written by: Erzulie (USA) Copyright © 2006: Other Works on Kaleidoscope: Alia

Four years ago, she was sitting cross-legged by her curly-haired best friend. After chitchatting about simple-minded goings-on, they turned their attention to the television. Sara noticed the announcer’s name and suddenly turned to her friend, her wild curls wrapping around her slightly oily, adolescent features.“Dana, would you ever marry a Shiite?” she asked curiously.

The young woman looked at her quizzically, surprised by her sporadic question.

“I never thought about it. Would you?” the girl replied.

“Well, I don’t know,” she mumbled, tugging at her frizzy curls, her large dark eyes gazing aimlessly at the sparkling screen. “I don’t think I would mind because I want to marry someone I love. I don’t think one’s religion or descent has anything to do with how much you love someone.”

Dana was somewhat bewildered at her friend’s bold stance. Despite her blue-blooded upbringing, Sara seldom spoke of their society’s caste system.

“I talked to my mother about it the other day,” she went on, “but she reminded me of her second cousin who married a Shiite of Persian ancestry. The woman’s father hadn’t spoken to his daughter for more than twenty years, can you believe that?”

Dana frowned at the thought of a father cutting off his relationship with his daughter for following her heart.

“And they’re still together you know,” Sara smiled wishfully.

Last Christmas, the two high school friends reunited at Sara’s house after not seeing one another for a whole year.

“Oh Dana! You look great!” Sara chirped as she gave Dana a single, brief kiss on the cheek.

Perched on the velvet sofa, Sara filled Dana in about her amusing incidents in Kuwait University while Dana spoke about her bizarre experiences in the United States.

“So, how’s life?” Sara repeated with a devious wink.

Dana laughed and shook her head, “Nothing there actually. But the Kuwaiti guys in the States are very helpful…”

Sara poked around for a few names and Dana referred to a couple of her colleagues in her university.

“Oh my God! All the guys in your university are all Persians!” Sara snorted haughtily, “I promised myself that I would never marry someone who’s not related to me!” With that said, she pointed her finger in Dana’s direction, “Family name is the most important thing in a marriage.”

Dana’s face fell as her widened her eyes studied her friend’s flared features and upturned nose, “Who told you that?”

She wasn’t surprised when Sara carefully picked up her teacup for a sip after replying brashly, “My mother. She was right, you know. People who marry solely for love end up in a disaster.”

After dinner, Sara walked Dana to the front door, “It was great seeing you again darling.”

Dana smiled weakly and closed her sorrowful eyes as she embraced her best friend who was now a mere stranger.

Alia

Written by Erzulie Copyright © 2006

She smiled contently, “Ya3ny gelt 7ag omik?” (Did you tell your mom?)

His once serene features deepened into a stern, passionate gaze. The two were standing on the balcony of his family’s chalet on a quiet, deserted weekday. He reached out and squeezed her balmy palms onto his reassuringly, “7ayati, geltlich. Bacher bitdig 3ala Khalti.” (My dear. Tomorrow I’ll call my aunt) With that, she shyly lowered her head as he laid a gentle kiss on her forehead before enveloping her against his warm chest.

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After retreating back into the living room and exchanging their usual pecks, Alia sensed his discomfort, “Shfeek Bader?” (What’s wrong Bader?) He brushed off her concerned questions. But she pressed on, “Mani imkhaleetik! (I won’t leave you alone) Tell me what’s wrong!”

The two had been comfortably intertwined on the couch while the flickering television poured the only source of light onto their steamy faces.

He responded hesitantly, “Alia… can I love you?”

She instinctively smirked at his question, “You’re so corny.”

She slowly held his quizzical face between her hands as she thought, “You don’t know how much I love you.” She planted her soft kisses on his closed eyes, strong jaw, and cracked lips, “His mother will call tomorrow. What’s the point of waiting?” She asked herself as she felt her four year relationship caressing her breast.

But the next day, Alia’s mother did not receive the call.

And Bader’s phone number was disconnected.

Three weeks after that night, 3alia decided to call in sick for work. After her frantic drive to Sharq, she bounded out of her car and impatiently waited for the elevator. She stood alone in the arid container, blinking her stinging, worried eyes as she forcefully gulped down the lump in her throat. The doors ultimately yawned open.

She walked faintly toward his division, a vast area of shared, crowded cubicles.

And there he was, pen in hand. His three co-workers stopped talking as she stood before them, a pretty, dark-haired young woman.

Finally, Bader looked up.

“Where have you been?”

The young man looked at her, wrinkling his dark eyebrows after casting a glance at his equally confused colleagues, “3afwan, min 7athritich?” (Excuse me, who are you?)