AM, PM

chapter 9

 

Aiden

The vague image of her in my mind makes my breath catch in my throat, an action I cannot explain. After last night, at the coffee shop she used to love the name of so much, I knew there was something she was hiding. The mere mention of its name would make her laugh her ass off, but she didn’t and I don’t think I’ll hear her laugh as hard ever again. Her ease with me face to face but the unease over our conversation on the phone meant that something was happening at that moment, but I don’t want to think of that much. She is getting help. From whom? I don’t know. But there is someone there for her besides me and that is a relief.

My parents and I have not been on the best terms. We used to be a family that was unbreakable by the bonds of tragedy and love, but now, at the simple thought of Layla, I just want to scold them and blame all of my confusion and overwhelming emotions on them. Instead, I tolerate their presence in the morning at breakfast and at night during dinner. The rest of my time I spend miserable in school or angry at home.

She is gone from my house, but her presence is strong.

I can still see her lying on my bed two nights ago asking me what could have put us here.

I can hear the sound of pain in the words “I know,” she had said to me last night, like there was such a grander meaning.

I can still feel her kiss against my cheek while I hate myself for always having to say that every step I take to her or for her is in a friendly way. Because deep down, I don’t think it is.

I am a guy.

 My DNA and the punches I can throw prove that, but there is a certain aspect of grace and poetry to the way I think and speak that makes me believe that I have to feel something greater than I have every felt before. I am growing and changing and something must have triggered it. Layla must have triggered me to feel again and for that, I am forever grateful. That is why I need to solve this. I need to get Layla her life back.

-

The weekends are the only days I could possibly read the journals again or do a bit more snooping around. Saturday morning hits and the first things I do are to grab three boxes of orange juice, two waffles, I make sure my parents really aren’t home and I almost run to their the master bedroom.

I take a deep breath that chills my lungs. I’m surprised by the coldness of the room, but I just ignore it. I have a sweater on anyway. I pull the box out and I try to read every journal that I didn’t take the time to see the last time around. Some, I cannot figure out. The indecipherable writing and the worn out pages are to blame not to mention some aren’t even in English or Turkish, but in Ottoman Turkish which combines Persian and Arabic. To top it all off, it is written in Ottoman alphabet. I don’t think it’s as big of a loss since all the journals seem to say the same thing. The content of the box I still haven’t observed are the papers on the side. I take them out, with less care than with the old journals, and I skim through the paragraphs wondering how the more contemporary Asli and Ozim families are stroked by this.

New York- 1988

Allison Asli, same as her ancestors, forgets the Ozim she had previously fallen in love with. It is confirmed that the chosen Asli of the generation has had the skills brought down to her and she will do the same to her child.

I don’t quite understand what the researcher means but my eyes drift over to a cut out from a newspaper headline.

MURDER OR SUICIDE?

Dr. Riley Ozim was found dead in his office at 5:55 am when the janitor had arrived. Forensic doctors have found that the time of death would be at around midnight, but no evidence of another person being at the crime scene has been found. A trace of a carcinogen enzyme was found in his blood proving that he died from poison. From his own hand or someone else’s? It might be a while before police find any more clues telling us. For the full article, go to page 58.