of spring ,friends,and sorrows.

we were all 25. more or less. It was Eid*.we were going to the country side. aimless. to walk, maybe. or to sit in a small cafe. we didn’t know. We didn’t need to know. life was hard. We had a lot in our heads. Saba’s visa for Austria was rejected, Maryam had anxiety attacks the night before. and me too.my girlfriend, Shima was constantly worried about money. one of my far relatives had passed away and I was waiting to get somewhere and call for condolences and I knew it was gonna be awkward still, I was thinking about immigration and lawyer in Canada.

Maryam was driving and her boyfriend was sitting next to her. We were on the back seat. I was leaning on Saba, her arms around me and her wrist resting on my shoulder. Easy, calm, happy. I was holding shima`s hand on her lap. she was smiling at me, holding her head straight due to the neck spasm she had. there was wind in my hair and the scarf around my neck .no one there to tell us otherwise because we were driving so fast that the other cars couldn’t really see us.

the sun was in our eyes but we wouldn’t wear our sunglasses. there was “wish you were here” playing and I didn’t wish anyone one else to be there.it felt so safe, nothing could ever harm me. I was happy. there were sorrows. but we were happy.  

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Eid: Iranian new year holidays in spring.

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in another life

maybe in my past life i was a kitten killed by a car, in the middle of an ally on a Friday afternoon .

i was lying there , my by body getting cold . maybe two girls saw me as they were coming back from a walk . after a gasp and a few second of squinting one of them said:” we cant leave it here .”

one of them picked my body up . her hand shivering, she wrapped me in a cloth .maybe a jacket. and then they walked to the end of ally, taking me with them .she placed my body carefully on a garbage bag in the dumpster .then maybe as they turn back , she put her arm around the other one who had tears in her eyes and told her :”i bet she didn’t feel much baby . i bet it happened in just a flash . “

Murder

God I was furious with him back then. it’s been two months now. I haven’t told anyone yet. I didn’t dare. I haven’t said that I told him “I don’t care”.it was before he hit the road. he came here. He said:” would you come down for a minute? I want to see you. please? What if I crashed a bus on the road?” and I told him: I don’t care”.

Maybe just a piece of writing

Sometimes she wonders. about everything. You couldn’t figure out what specifically makes her wonder or when it may happen. at these times she notices everything. all the little noises at four in the morning on an empty parking lot after a spring rain. drops here and there. single ones. the rattle sound thin roofs make in the wind .and the wind, colder than usual. But less irritating, bringing the smells. uh the smells were her first favorite thing in the world.  Like The smell of wet streets that never became dull to her, even after centuries being written about and being described in stories and poems and memoirs. every smell was a specific time and place to her. smells could bring all the parallel lives she had, to her sight .and then she would wonder, how can anyone ignore that .and then she wouldn’t wait for the answer in her head. she would just inhale that moment.

If you haven’t notice up to here, I’m not gonna describe her. I’m not gonna say what she does for a living or how old she is. not even her name. its redeculesly obvious that you don’t need that to know a person. and if you did, why do you need to know someone when you’re gonna read about them. I’m not even gonna tell you that knowing someone is actually knowing what they think about .no,im not gonna say these clichés  .you just keep on reading if you will

Light was her second favorite thing in the world. And not just sunshine. any light. like winter sun behind its flat cloudy sky that makes it easy to look at for several minutes, when she is hiding behind a useless big board next to the window at some university class on fifth floor. knowing that no one in the yard is going to see her because people don’t look up from where they are usually. And Even unnatural lights, coming from hundreds of windows at early night hours in the crowded city. it would make her wonder more than any other thing. wondering about them. people behind the windows. what are they talking about? what are they thinking about? What do they have for dinner? What are they watching on TV?are they happy ? are they crying ? are they having sex? Are they having a baby? are they thinking about killing themselves? Does any of them looks at the city and wonder about people? Wondering if they are happy, if they are crying, if…. sometimes she wasn’t one of the people, living her life in that city. She didn’t feel like she was one of them when she was walking in the streets, her ear catching a phrase or two from busy passers, talking to someone next to them or on the phone.” …and then I told him you cannot talk to me like that because…”.” …im gonna call my lawyer and ask if I can …”.” …im really worried about that exam, I know I should’ve …”.” …my mom is driving me crazy. the other day she said…”.and sometimes they mention a name; strange to her yet it would make her wonder a little bit more.

The reason I’m talking about these things are not important. Did you even once read something and knew why exactly the writer chose to write about them? don’t every writer just say what they feel they wanna say? I know that I’m disturbing you by only giving you long shots and then some extreme close-ups and not describing any specific situation or following a visible path. but why should you be disturbed? can’t you just wonder? like her?

Then sometimes when she’s going home, she knows it’s about to end. but it doesn’t bother her. she feels like finishing a good book. You would rather read it forever but you knew it had to end sometime.  when she is walking in her street she would wonder if something suddenly happens. what if she sees someone and after they smile at each other _or maybe just looking at each other_ they began to talk. what if they have so much to tell each other. and not in a lover way but like friends or a stranger that suddenly became someone you want to invite to your home and have coffee with while blood rushing to your cheek from that spontaneous talk that makes you lose the time .and then she would reach her door forgetting to buy something for dinner even though she decided to on the way home. she would smile, standing there on the street at her door. with the keys in her hand.

Im not gonna tell you whether she would turn back and go shopping or is she just gonna go home. because it doesn’t matter.