Damp Memories, in Three Languages

Maya Aghasi

The television mumbles in my half-sleep, shades of light flicker over my eyes. Through a blur I see figures on the wall. He’s there. I flip to my other side, kick off my covers, spread one leg across either side of my bed. The sole of my right foot attaches itself to the cold wall. Heat suffocates. I see lights spatter in the television through closed lids. Beep. I roll my eyes. Beep. I turn back to the wall, flip my right leg over my left. The lights on the ceiling dance for me, the flesh of my thigh caressing the chill of the brick wall. Silhouettes beat over my eyes. Beep. I roll them under their covers. He’s there. Beep. I flip over again. Beep. Step down the ladder, go pee. He’s with me. Three beeps and the air conditioner in my parents’ bedroom is set to a cooler temperature. Shut the corridor door to ensure the cool air reaches my room. I clear the message notification on my sister’s phone. Turn off the television. Two at a time I take the steps up through the thicket of damp humidity. My head’s on the pillow. I want to dream him. I try to dream him. My neck moist against the sheets, I sleep.

Blup-blup… blup-blup…blup-blup… ah…

A shrill whistle sounds. Ringing resounding I go back under. A pulsating green softens the world into a vibrant humming. He’s there. He’s always there. I resurface. Drops trickle down the side of my belly. As I lie on my back looking up, the world blackens for a moment. Small talk and laughter. I am entertained. The wet heat presses against my skin. A knot in my throat: “24 huh? No suitor?” The tone of his image sharpens in the canvas of my mind, in the weight of the moisture. “Not thinking of marriage yet. I’m still in school.” “Enough with the certificates and diplomas. You’re 24. Don’t do what we’ve done. Get married.” “God willing …” I check out the life-guard. Not bad. Bad teeth. But not bad. Nineteen, but not bad. I smile to myself. Small talk again, I’m comfortable. I’m bored. I put on my bonnet and take a dive.

Blup-blup… blup-blup-blup… blup-blup… bubbles swish past my ears.

I’m not ready… if it’s you it’s forever, and I’m not ready. But it’s perfect, you make me crazy. I know. You make me so angry. So do you. I hate you. But we change. And I kiss à la you. Kiss me. I’m forgetting to breathe. I resurface for oxygen. I quickly dive back in. It’s so comfortable, so relaxing, so safe. Sounds are blurred into one fluid rubbing, a singular tone. So relaxing. Nothing in the world.

Blup-blup… blup-blup-blup… blup-blup…

but him

Nothing in the world,

White lines slither by. Ungraspable reality waltzes around me, I’m dizzy in his azure. The blue I’m in, that I love, that is in me, that is not mine. The cold blue inside me that murders me, the happy blue I die in. Consciousness reminds me I need air to survive. And I’m thrust upward, forced through the heavy water, it peals off my body, to breathe, and I breathe, and the ringing colors of his face fade into the rhythm of my existence...

including him, non-existent and real.

The rhythm of my

The buzzing of people spins around me. A female voice recording erupts in the commotion asking passangers to board, in three different languages. “Ahlan bikum ila tayaran sharq el awsat…” The crowd flocks toward the gate, “One by one, please, you’re all getting on. One by one.” “But I have children!” Et oui c’est quand je partais pour Bahrein…Toujours en train de voyager. The flight attendant nods at the woman standing behind the counter. The recording resounds: “Bienvenue…” A woman in stilettos and black leather pants pounces into the terminal, her baby hanging from her slim waist, her thick blond mane caressing his face, “What, what? Which seats?” Still only 4 am and the flight attendant is having a bad day. I’ll always be there for you no matter what. “Madam relax,” he curls his fingers together joining their tips, and in an up and down gesture, she understands she needs to wait. I sit down. This will take some time. Elles vont vraiment me manquer ses journées ski… I smile, and the flight attendant’s eye catches mine. He shakes his head beaded with sweat. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Middle East Airlines….” Mannek majnouneh inty! Ana el majnouneh? Eh! La’ inta el majnoun! I get up to board. No line, just a wave being drawn toward the plane. Moving (slowly) forward (I think) amidst the fog of crying babies, nagging children, impatient passengers. Proceeding toward the plane.