Vein of Life.

Chapter Three.

C H A P T E R   T H R E E 

“Did you put the potatoes to boil, like I asked you to?” 

“Yes Anne,” I replied, without looking up from the classic Dracula novel in my hand. 

Mum was Turkish but had lived most of her life in Lebanon, where she had met my dad on a vacation tour. Although she knew fluent Arabic, from a very young age we were demanded we call her Anne, as it reminded her of home.  

“And where are your brothers? Your uncles and cousins will be here soon for dinner.” I momentarily looked up from my book, to find my flustered mother by my bedroom door, running her fingers through her hair.  

“Anne, calm down. Wael’s in his room, doing God knows what and Saleh is at Ibby’s house. You know he’ll be here seven on the dot, not earlier, not later.” She nodded her head meekly before asking me to come downstairs to help her with the food. Sighing, I positioned the bookmark onto the page and closed the novel, leaving it on my nightstand. 

I brushed aside my tangle of brown curls and slipped on my adidas jumper since it became increasingly chilly at night.  

I shivered, maybe from the cold but more possibly from the dark web that was my thoughts. 

I hurried down and for the next hour helped mum cook the roast chicken and veggies, as well the fettucine and rice. I gazed longingly out the window as I washed the dishes, observing a bolt of lightning cut through the night sky. I found it oddly beautiful. Some might interpret it as a ray of light battling the darkness, but I saw it for what it was - the lightning was just a by-product of the weather and universe, just like how hope, guilt, longing and sadness, were emotional by-products produced by our environment.  

Some say hope is light - that it’s the one spiritual sensation that keeps us going. To me, hope is dangerous, useless even. It pulls you away from the harsh reality, causing you to believe in your own minds insanity. That maybe, just maybe, things will get better. 

I believe facing the hard truth and building yourself up against it, is wiser than delusion.  

Hope - it makes you weak. 

Just as I had finished up the dishes, dad walked into the kitchen, rubbing at his tired, bloodshot eyes. His eyes lightened when he saw mum, and he promptly walked over to give her a kiss. I grimaced and was about to make a run for it, when he turned around laughing, swiftly pulling me in for a hug. 

“You’re so busy, you don’t even greet your father?” he joked, ruffling my hair, which already looked like a birds nest.

“I was trying to escape the visual torture you and Anne, were inflicting on me.” I squirmed in his arms, yet he held me tight against his chest, caging me in playfully. 

“Oh, get over it,” mum said, rolling her light brown eyes.   

“Baba, let go!” I whined. 

He laughed evilly. “Wael! Come down!” 

“No baba, don’t even think about it!” I groaned and kicked my legs out. 

“You want torture? I’ll show you torture!” Still pinning my arms behind my back, he patiently waited for Wael to descend the stairs and pulled me into the living room. When my brother’s eyes fell upon us, he smirked evilly - and so began their tickling fest.  

“Stooopp!” I laughed, tears spilling down my face. 

“Ooof,” Wael coughed when I kicked him in the stomach, flying back onto one of our sofas. Me and dad laughed at his twisted facial expression. At that exact moment, we heard the door open and all watched as a cheerful Saleh walked into the house, keys in hand.