The Perfect Girl

23

"He reaches out his hands,                                                                                                                                                 Says come on, give this a chance,"

I didn't cry at the funeral.

I was sort of proud of myself for this, actually.  I had always been told that I was overly-sensitive, and this meant that I could control my emotions.  I also knew that Abu had never wanted us to sob and wail at his funeral, he'd actually said it once.  

We'd been watching a show-- an incredibly dramatic soap opera-- and when one of the protagonists died, everyone had dissolved into badly acted hysterics.  Abu had shook his head, made a sound in his throat, and said, "When I die, make sure none of this happens."

The casual mention of his death had shocked us too much to pay attention to what he was actually saying, but I remembered it now.

I think it was easier not to cry because no one talked to me.  If I was a moment away from crying and someone spoke to me and I was forced to respond then I would be unable to contain my sobs, but when I was alone sometimes I could control it.  Everyone talked to Ami.

I don't know what I would have said if they had talked to me, how I would accept condolences from people who didn't know me or my father and who had used this funeral not to mourn but as an opportunity to catch up with old friends.

Mostly, it was a blur, the funeral, the first few days after he passed away.  People coming to give condolences, just trying to fathom what had happened.

It had been so sudden.  One minute, Abu was smiling at me, hugging me, breathing, and the next he was gone, leaving nothing but a cold body behind him.  

Ami was a mess, which was only to be expected.  Shuayb and Amar were too, but the strange thing was that I was not.  

I'd managed, by some miracle, to hold onto a tiny bit of my sanity.  I'd broken down only once, the first day at the hospital, and after that, I'd been basically numb.  I will not say that I wasn't feeling actual emotion, I just wasn't expressing it the way I used to.  

Every night, Abu appeared in my dreams, and every night, I did my best not to see him.  There was a huge hole inside me, in my throat.  Abu was my safe place, the one person I could go to when everything went wrong, and now he was gone.

I stayed a while at home, or what used to be my home.  That didn't help at all.  Being surrounded by people who were as broken as me made me feel obligated to be whole for them, to be someone to lean on, and I simply wasn't in a state to do that.

Khalid was mostly quiet the entire time.  He'd cried, a few times, but he hadn't tried to talk about Abu, or remember him, or say anything the way my mother and brothers had.  He didn't tried to talk to me much, either.  Generally, he didn't attempt to participate in the discussions with my family, and I think that he thought that was a good idea, that it was best for him to step away from us and let us grieve.  Maybe he thought I would heal best around my family, but what he didn't realize was that it was actually quite the opposite situation.

Eventually, I went back with Khalid.  

I was glad.  I figured I'd be alone a lot, that Khalid might not talk to me much, and that way I could figure myself out, maybe finally cry.

I was wrong.

***

I'd lost my ability to sleep at night.  

All I saw when I closed my eyes was Abu's face morphing from a smile to lifelessness.  

The first night back with Khalid, I tried to sleep for a long while, before finally creeping out of the room to see light again.  When my mind was cluttered like this, darkness was the worst possible thing to be in.

I was turning on the kettle to make myself some coffee when emotion hit me like a truck.  I felt myself gasp, choke on my own tongue.  I exhaled, or tried to exhale, but it came out as more of a shaky sob.  A squeak escaped my mouth, and I covered it with my hand, hoping Khalid wouldn't wake up.  

Abu's voice, "You look so beautiful, pumpkin."

His arms, a warm hug.

His smile, the dimples in his cheeks, the way gentleness in his eyes.

His laugh, genuine and loud, none of the people in my family had inherited it.

It was all gone.

Shit, shit, shit, the sobs were not at all controlled now.

The tears ran down my cheeks like a small river, and I could taste the salt on my lips.  An inhale, an exhale, a choked breath, an attempt at breathing.

"Hiba?" 

I reached my hands up to my face, wiped my tears, held my breath so I wouldn't cry, turning around to see Khalid.

"Did I wake you up?" I asked, cursing at the break in my voice.

"Sort of," he said, coming closer.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"It's fine."

He was right in front of me now, and I looked away.  I knew that my lashes were soaked and my eyes were red and he would know without a doubt that I had been crying if he saw them.  He placed his hand on my cheek, wiped away whatever was left of tears on my face, and then pulled me into his chest.  

The gesture was so tender, so caring, it actually made me want to cry all over again, and this time I couldn't hold it in.  I sobbed into his shirt, and he didn't move except to pull me closer.  His head was bent down in my hair, and I could feel his breath.

"He's gone, Khalid," I choked, "Just like that."