Road to Jannah

Chapter Five • Gold In Timbuktu

Life goes on, so ironic. If I could do it all over again I'll probably smoke chronic, but still follow the footsteps of Prophet Muhammad, I'd turn every lie that I told honest.

I'll be an eco terrorist, I'll give the middle finger to my therapist, and flush my sedatives. I'll have a baby with a feminist and name him sexist, life's a contradiction, on my checklist.

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~ A H M A D ~

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"I really need a shave." I scrub my facial hair with my fingers and feel how it has grown more than I'd want it to. "Don't you think Mama?"

She's sitting somewhere opposite me on the dining table while Harrison is sitting beside me to my left. Over these two months, he has grown to be so close that he's now like family and we have all our meals on the table together. There were too many helps in this house and too little family, I'd rather Harrison join the family than the helps.

"I don't know Ahmadi, I'm still surprised that my little baby boy has to shave." Mama sighed and I just wanted the ground beneath me to open up and swallow me whole. She did not just say that in front of Harrison.

"Okay then, a shave it is." I conclude as well as cut the conversation to save myself from any further embarrassment and just continue eating my chips.

I can't see myself enough to decide if it'd be better for me to go clean shaven or leave the light stubble that has been forming since Harrison helped me shave almost a week ago. It was Monday morning, the first day of the so called tech support class I was to attend for the next three months and I really wanted to look my best. Of course, the reason being a certain angelic voice that hasn't left my head since I heard it two days ago.

"No habibi, don't shave, you kind of look more natural and laid back with a light beard, you know cool." Mama said almost excitedly. Okay, what was wrong with my mom?

"Okay..." I say awkwardly and continue picking up the last of my chips with my fingers.

I had taken to eating with my hands more since handling cutleries were harder when one couldn't see. Mama has even totally forbidden me from eating with forks lest I stab my tongue or swallow it and stab my heart or pick my brains out or even stab my eyes and turn even blinder than I already am.

"The class is from 9 am to 2 pm right?" Mama asks and I nod my head while chewing my chips. "Then since you'll be busy with that all through the week, I scheduled your consultation with the doctors during the weekend, this Saturday."

"Okay, sounds good." I mutter boredly.

No way was I going to pin my hopes on something even the doctors weren't sure of. I might as well just make myself accept that this state is incurable, that being blind is indeed how I'm going to spend the rest of my life instead of getting my hopes up only to have them crash to the ground when the procedure or whatever it is fails and I inevitably go back once again to my suicidal wishes. I'm no pessimist, but it's better I go into this with no hope whatsoever of getting a positive outcome.

"But you don't sound happy Ahmadi," I feel Mama's hand over mine. "something wrong?"

"No, says who? I'm very happy Mama." I smile widely to make myself sound more convincable. "And besides, since the treatment is called steroid therapy, there's a good chance that I might become ripped while I'm undergoing it."