The bodyguard

Dismissal bell is long and jarring, but students pour out of classrooms relieved. May's baking sun beats on her arms the second she steps out of the exit hall, the school uniform's grey skirt and short sleeved blouse doing nothing to protect her from the desert heat. 

"Hey wait up!" Eileen huffs a little pulling on her bagpack as she scrambles next to her best friend. 

Amal turns around, looking thoughtful as she surveys her friend.

"That look means nothing good for me Amal! Stop it"  

"I have an idea. I'll owe you BIG time" Amal says businesslike, as she swaps bagpacks, pulling off their hairties. 

"Wait that's my favorite hairband!" 

"Shhhh Eileen!" Amal ruthlessly scrambles her friend's hair into a lopsided ponytail, and steps back to review her handiwork with a critical eye.

"Amal! don't lose that hairband. My sister will kill me, she let me borrow it" Eileen withers under Amal's flinty stare. "Ok ok she doesn't know I took it, i HAVE to give it to her ok"

"Sure, I'll give it to you in your car. I'll be in your back seat" Amal says over her shoulder as she scuttles off to covertly duck behind some seniors exiting the gate.

Wary but used to Amal's peculiarities, Eileen shrugs and makes her way towards the gate, spotting her car and driver in the rows of chauffers and parents lined up at school dismissal time.

A straight-backed marine like young man is standing front and center, garnering a lot of attention. The older girls are giggling giving him the side eye as they pass, nudging each other. The boys surveying him just as much, rolling their eyes at the girls.

Eileen sees her car and turns to head towards it. "Nice try young lady" A gruff voice grabs Eileen's bagpack, stopping her at the gate. She turns to gape at him, and takes in his clean cut jaw, pristine ironed t-shirt (in this heat!), khaki's, and buzz-cut. He's already attracting a lot of attention from the line of people at pickup, and Eileen is too busy staring mouth agape at the gun in the holster under his shoulder.

"GUN! GUN! HELP!" she screams and thrown herself on the floor screaming, as he stares at her flabbergasted. A ripple of concerned mothers start walking towards her, along with the school chowkidar and teacher on duty. 

He throws his hands up and stands stock still, as Amal's driver runs up to explain that this was the new bodyguard. The school security guard has shuffled up and is checking his papers, and a hysterical Eileen is led away by her sister and driver who stare down the man suspiciously as they retreat to their car.

The commotion has made Eileen completely forget the last few minutes of dismissal, and she shrieks when Amal pops her mischievous head up as if nothing has happened. "Gosh, you really are dramatic, Eileen! That was AMAZING! Here's your headband." 

----

The study is dark and appropriately somber. Fadi had gotten smacked by her father's chappal so many times in that spot. She's ushered into the room with a procession of a nanny and driver like a funeral march, the stale stench of cigar smoke and AC air hitting her as she walks in. Her father is sitting autocratically behind his desk, and the bodyguard at attention, sweating on the other side.

Her father spares her the briefest of glances, disappointment, anger, resignation, and sorrow, pulling his face down into unfriendly jowls. She feels very small suddenly, shame making her drop her gaze down to her feet.

The bodyguard turns to look at her with haunted eyes, and for the first time she realizes her afternoon lark had created unintended collateral damage. 

"You couldn't tell this was the child you were supposed to guard!?" my father's voice drips with ice.

"She.. she.. they all look the same. The bagpack was the same. I'm sorry" The man's neck is corded with stress as he struggles to swallow. 

Amal wants to hide under the desk like she used to when she was little. No she wants to go back in time, to dismissal time. No she wants to go back in time even further, to before, when her family was still whole and those wooden puppets masquerading as her parents didn't exist.

"Just leave please. I'll let you know if we still need your services after today" 

"I think that's for the best" the man says as he turns and walks out. 

Her father trains his gaze on her. Amal freezes. And then suddenly, he deflates, like a balloon. His shoulders collapse, and when he raises his eyes they're old and very very tired. "I know you must have pulled this prank Amal. But honestly i cannot understand why. You KNOW we did this for your safety."

Conference in Thailand

I'm carrying my phone and charger case and rushing to catch the elevator. The hotel hallway is spacious, but there seems to be a traffic jam of people and suitcases milling in front of the elevator doors.

"Excuse me. Oops, excuse me. Sorry!" As I thread through the milleau.

I slip in along with three tall men laughing and chatting with each other, seasoned travellers from the state of their trim but well worn luggage. I stare dumbfounded at the single silver LED panel with no buttons except for G and a blank one. Which one am i supposed to press!? I thought I was on the 5th floor, why aren't there normal buttons here? I press ground and see it flashes briefly like an error sign. The elevator doesn't move.

"in ko batao kay number dalna hota hai" I turn agape to hear urdu being spoken in Thailand of all places. 

The one closest to me looks at me for a second, weighing my intellect to see if he thinks I can understand the no-doubt complicated process, then suppresses an eye roll and takes out his wallet, and pulls out a note of currency which includes bhat, rupees and a bunch of papers, and then reaches over and types out a code in the panel.

"Oh. Thank you" I mutter as I wonder how many tourists would be able to figure that out. That too with no instructions written anywhere! "Are you from Pakistan!" I turn and ask him "I am too!" 

He looks down - yes I am that much shorter - and nods and one of the other companions says "yes we work for PIA". 

"Oh cool!" I didn't know we had such tall good looking people in our airline. Good for them. Represent. Best foot forward.

We reach the ground and I come out, and the lobby is open air and has the usual milleau of people that are in hotels, cars, suitcases, people chattering in all languages, coffee tables and waiters amid the chaos.

I turn around, completely disoriented. Oh yes, the conference I was here for. It was right here in the same hotel. I walk through the mass, looking for signs that might indicate a conference hall, when I see one of those double-action doors that swings in and out as people push through it. That looks like it. 

---

It opens up to a huge outdoor auditorium. I can see the street outside, cars trundling along under the hot sunny day. I must be late because the bleachers are completely full, and it's not standing room only. I'm pretty much in the last line, but I can see the earthen stage pretty well. The show's already started it seems, but it doesn't look like it's my conference. Must be another hall, I should go back. What looks like the Thai version of a circus ring leader and a huge white beard is pointing a theatric cane at a runway. Oh it looks like an aerial show. Wow. I catch the tail of some flying contraption that's been made to look like a Chinese dragon - obviously one of those small crop dusters - is gliding out of view.  It seems too small and silent to be a plane. It must be a paraglider. The crown gasps, and I quickly look over. The Chinese dragon is looping the loop and coming back for another circle. Ok maybe a microlight, paragliders can't do that can they? It threads through an impossibly small door at the start of the runway, and the crowd aaahhhs in appreciation and claps. Then it aims perfectly for the large barn doors at the end of the runway and makes it through as the claps turn to applause.

Cute, wonder what kind of machine that is. I want to look closer - are those.. feet? But I should get back to my conference. I pass a stall, and see some yummy food items. Oh those look good. And I hear someone say my name "Nakedfeet! Is that you!" 

"OMG G! What the heck are you doing in Thailand!" my favorite bakery stall owner is standing there. I had met her at another conference in Karachi a few months ago, where she had the same line up of some of the best hummus we had ever had. 

"Oh. Thailand? I'm not sure we're in the same time" She seems puzzled and seems to be mumbling, but then shakes her head and says louder "Yeah you know me, exhibiting everywhere" She laughs dryly, but seems to be about to say something but I have to cut her off. She doesn't think she's in Thailand? How strange. 

"Hey I'm running late for something, I'll need to rush, but please let's catch up!" I turn around, and walk back through the swinging door to the hotel lobby. 

---

I see a throng of people filing into a large wooden door with "Rice Room" in neon lettering above it. That must be it.  

I walk through the coffee tables and noise, in through the doors and up the small set of carpeted stairs and am met by these two lovely women behind the counter, registration card in front. I diligently fill it out, as the lady looks on with reading glasses perched on her mid-nose. 

I file in and try to find a seat at the back. The hall seems huge, but dimly lit and pleasantly airconditioned. But before I can sit I realize I forgot my charging case, it must be at the registration desk. Shit. Curse my terrible memory.

I walk back past the late comers and stragglers. 

"Did I by any change leave my charging case here?"

The registration lady tuts "We just gave it to lost & found love, head on out back near the elevators and you'll see the gentlemen there" 

----

Yet again I'm back rushing now towards a desk that clearly has miscellaneous lost & found items on it.  

"Hi! I can see my charging case here, thank you! I just left it at the conference room registration desk" I chuckle as I pick it up. The three men in indolent postures behind the desk seem indifferent, but one is cataloguing the items and holds up a finger for me to wait.

I try not to roll my eyes, he hasn't catalogued my case. And then I realize something else. Shit! I left my phone back at the registration desk. What the hell is wrong with me!

The muggy heat seems to have made me feel like I'm swimming underwater in some dreamscape.

"Hi! I left my phone back there, should I leave this here for you to catalogue or can I just take it and run back in a bit?"

The man clearly speaks no English, but finally waves me away which I assume to mean that I'm dismissed.   

As I walk up the carpeted steps once again, I can't help but think this feels like some sort of dream. The registration lady is looking at me highly amused, but thank God hands back the phone without incident. I grab it, and check the time and realize it's already time to go and pick up R from his class.

Gosh I haven't managed to do a single thing all morning.

I rush through the double doors aiming to cut through the arena and grab a taxi so I'm not late to pick up my son.

---

Did I walk through the wrong doors? What's going on?

The arena is completely empty, and gray. The sun blocked out by grey clouds. the runaway tarmac broken and algaed, with dirty puddles. The ring leader is still there, and I'm passing through but I have to stop and ask. He seems to have a white sheep sized animal next to him. What the hell is that thing? A capybara?

"What happened, everything was just ok a few minutes ago" I can't help but shout out to him. I can't seem to see the doors that lead out to the taxi area.

"They came and destroyed the place. My beautiful in-between space. I managed to barely fend them off. I feel like I've been here a millennia" His eyes are grey and haunted, like the sky. 

I feel a chill in my spine at the words. Oh. I'm in a dream. That explains everything. Baker G must have in the same place, she had a major auto-immune that made her more spiritual than most. And those PIA guys, I realize with a chill, they were definitely angels! Not the chubby child-like ones from western mythology, the kind that dealt in souls and death as executors of God's will.

I also realize that the animal next to him must be the Chinese dragon. Of course. That explains everything. This is a dream. I should just go one and get that taxi and get my son, he must be waiting. I am about to look around for it, but can't help myself.

"Hey, you know what that means?" This is too easy, and I can't stop the wry smile from my face. He looks genuinely confused, this being from the in-between space. Time for a little human humor. "It means you beat them all and still survived"

I see the realization spark in his eyes, and go from grey to bright blue, like the Karachi sky on a hot summer morning. His grin literally lights up the sky, the clouds part, and greenery starts flowering everywhere. The Chinese dragon picks up on this, and suddenly yips and jumps in the air and the barren empty sky becomes light with a rainbow trailing behind it. He jumps into the dirty grey puddle and it becomes a beautiful blue-green swimming pool. 

The ring master is grinning, and says "Yes that's the door, go there"

I see one appear right behind me. I don't think this was there a second ago. I couldn't have made it out in time without him. "Thanks!" I call out as I push through. 

---

I instantly feel deep deep regret. I'm not longer in Thailand. I'm in what can only be the subcontinent. The unmistakable post-colonial buildings. I hear a muezzin's call to prayer - Pakistan not India then - and hear the unmistakeable clip-clop of a tonga. I'm near a school alright, but not the one where I'm supposed to pick up R.  

I hesitate for a second, in complete panic. With dreams, you never know if you can get trapped inside forever. The door is still there, and even though I can feel like I only have seconds, I have to check. I open it and poke my head through again, to find the startled ring master and his dragon look up at me. 

"This will get me back to my son, right? Right time and place?"

He nods, and it about to say something but hesitates. Oh we're running out of time. He needs me to go through immediately.

I shut the door with a resolute click, and realize I have to trust the process. 

I step out into the light.

-----

I come to. My eyes are still closed, but I know I'm in my bed. My fever seems to have broken. I reach over and fumble on the bedside table for my phone. First day of school after the break, time to start!

Something Something, part 3

Amal

I have to squint a little to see clearly at the mirror now. Did that last botox already wear off!? I can see so many damn lines! I'm trying to remember the last conversation with my sister on the latest skincare regimens it's all blurring together I wish I cared gave more of a shit about my looks.

Makeup is a 7 minute process. Clothes already done. I'm out, and relieved. It's close, so I'm driving myself, even though I swear I've suddenly started going blind when driving at night. Those fuckers who did the lasik were right, I did get nearsighted post-40. 

"O EM GEE looking so HOT babe" Sehr hugs me tight as soon as I walk in, and I can't help but laugh at how over the top she is. We all love her for it. She's wearing the fabulous new Armani, and if I still had the figure for it I would have been jealous. 

I head over to the table next to the snacks, where predictably, Fadi is sitting along with the latest arm hanger. Some things never change. "Hey old man" we hug and air kiss, and it feels good to see him again. 

"Who the hell are you and what have you done with my friend" his eyes crinkle at the corners just a bit too, and I can't help but laugh. 

"Post vacation, new earrings, new botox guy is all I need to look this good" I mock courtesy, and we both crack up.

His date is looking at me very bewildered, and I suddenly feel awkward. God she's young.

"Helloooo. You must be Fahd's bestees sister Amal! He keeps talking about you!" she says sweetly, not a guile in her sweet shiny brown eyes. God she must be at least two decades younger than that old coot. I can't help but give Fadi a WTF look at I introduce myself and hug her hello. He is unabashed and shrugs back, as if he can't help dating insanely young women, like the gross old uncles we made fun of at those Sind Club nights. What were those nights called? Aladin nights? Shazam nights? Uff to be 18 again and be able to digest all that alcohol.

She squeals loudly startling both of us. "That soooonnnnnnnggg" she screams, and a gaggle of her friends come and they all descend to the dance floor which is mercifully outside and far away enough to save our ears.

I think about not saying anything, but I have to. "Dude! What on earth is that!" I can't help but punch his arm.

"Bumble! you will not believe how many of these amazing women are on it! She's a lawyer from London!"

"That is SO unfair. All I found were some super gross married men looking for affairs. So disgusting. Oh and that asshole M"

"M!?"

I suddenly realize I hadn't mentioned M to Fadi even once for some reason. "Ohh I see Sarah calling me" and I run for it.

----

Fadi

M! M! What the actual fuck. And just like that, all the work I had done, all the therapy, just as I thought I could see a future with this crazy talented woman I met on Bumble of all fucking places, but just seeing Amal again and I've relapsed. What the fuck is wrong with me. And just like that, I feel like familiar feeling of my brain collapsing to cotton wool. Why can't I just let this shit go. Toxic circles. This. This is why I don't leave the house. How many times do I have to do this to myself!

Ok deep breaths. Breathe in. Breathe out. Count to 10. You can do this.

But it's gone. The vibe I was enjoying, gone. The drink, sour, The music, alien and jarring - who the fuck actually likes Taylor Swift. I feel this familiar cloying desperation to leave and just the fuck back home. And fall asleep on the couch doom scrolling like always. Who the fuck is M. 

I make it to the entrance, and I'm getting into the car when she comes out. 

And all those years, all those times when we've met escaping some social hell, and I've stupidly been silent, and I have no idea what happens but before I know it I'm saying "Hey. Come for a drive, let's talk"

---

Amal

I'm about the laugh and say "Trust me to find you running away" but he surprises me with that. Talk about what I want to ask, but looking at this face, I think I already know. Holy shit. A part of me is not surprised, but a part of me is as well.

"Ok" i say slowly, and we both seem surprised by that.

Maidah

Running running running. Panting barely breathing. the monster at his heels. Shahnama had been given a grand name by his young and idealistic parents, his father illiterate, but his mother had recalled some poetry she had loved from her urdu class in middle school before she had been pulled out to marry her cousin and live a respectable life taking her place in the family. He heard a gutteral sound screaming amiii bachao, and he realized it was his own voice. Even as he ran he thought of the foolishness. 

She's dead. Why am I calling her. 

He never cried. Not when his father had dumped him and his brother at the shop as an apprentice. Not in all those nights of cold and hunger. Not even when his brother had died from the rapes and the beatings. Never. He stepped on some sharp rocks in the oasis, but didn't notice till his foot buckled. He was only 12, but he knew enough to know he would die if he didn't run. Just like Nuwan. His legs gave out just as he cleared the green foliage into the desert sand bleached white. All his life he had been told to go into the desert alone was death. That pause was enough for the monster to catch up to him.

Brown chaddar swinging, the monster was panting as well, his face glistening with sweat under the turban covering his head. His dhoti had been hurridly redone, since he had unfastened it when he had cornered Shahnama. The AK47 swung casually on his back, he hadn't bothered using it for the boy. He picked up Shahnama by the scruff of the neck, only to cuff him so hard on the head that the boy tumbled over the sand to the bottom of the dune. 

man qatala nafsam...

The voice startled them both. Shahnama dazed, jerked at the new voice, glassy eyed with terror and pain, looking up at the top of the dune. The monster's hands twitched to his gun briefly, but looking at the decrepit old man he relaxed. He turned to give his full attention, the boy a lesser priority. 

The stick dug into the desert sand as the Dasyu leaned his weight into it to get up. All living things had sought shelter in the burning heat, but he stood barefoot, a lifetime of living holding up his bones.

"Baba, tussi to bathay he raho, gir na jawan" (Hey old man, just keep sitting you may fall down) the monster laughed.

"insaanit hzaren salan khan hte rahe aahe، ۽ hzaren saala wadheeka rhinade. para jang ۽ jhidro abde lage tho" Humaniy has lived here for a thousand years, and will live here for a thousand more. but war and strife seem to be eternal 
The wind blew as it always did, sucking the coolness of oasis to the greedy desert, tugging at Dasyu's simple robes and long white beard.

"Jang! main jang larya si, ithay tau bus thora khail si. Tu bathay hi raho, main ni chanda kay tussi kuch ho jaya. Ai tu bus a etem si"  (War! I'm not fighting a war, just having fun. Keep sitting, I don't want anything to happen to you. This is just an etem/orphan)

"Fa am mal yateema fala taqhar" Dasyu may have seemed old, but he had walked the sands every day. His stick lashed out faster than the monster could see, clipping the throat.

The monster fell to his knees, clutching his throat trying to scream, eyes popping. Almost comically, his dhoti fell apart around his ankles. 

One more flick of the stick clipping the side of his head, and the monster tumbled down the dune, eyes staring unseeing, unceremoniously naked from the waist down, at Shahnama's feet.

Shahnama had seen death. Too much death. It had always come with the coppery stench of blood in the dark. His beloved mother, pale bloated lying in child birth and black blood, arms limp fallen sideways to the floor. His brother, frail, too skinny, curled up next to him cold and stiff on the charpai in the morning, blood and bruises congealed all over this little body. Yateem, the 5 year old orphan, coughing from pnemonia into his blood soaked hanky, finally succumbing somewhere in the night in the dormitory. 

But this. This was different. The blinding sun, the dusty white sand coating everything, the monster was just... a fat brown man with a small flaccid penis, neck at a funny angle, life winked out in seconds. 

He gaped up the dune as Dasyu, who stood looking out into the horizon unperturbed.

"wa laa tamootunna illaa wa antum muslimoon" the old man said, using his stick again to release a deluge of sand from the top of the dune sliding down to Shahnama who had to scramble out of the way. 

"hina khe etem chhade diyo" (leave him orphan) Dasyu said, addressing Shahnama for the first time.

Shahnama's brain hadn't quite caught up. looking at the half buried body, looking up at Dasyu, he just stood mouth agape.

"pahinje zindagi gzar" (go live your life) Dasya once again gently prodded Shahnama with his voice, breaking the spell. 

Shahnama blinked twice, gathered his wits, and then ran ran ran, this time steps not haunted by a monster, but light and airy as if he was stepping on clouds. 

Onward to his lifetime of living.

 It was a dream. We were all on a giant table, God somewhere at the throne, the angels flitting around. This is life, this is us living on earth, I realized looking around. No one else seemed to know I know. We were all holding hands, one hand on my mother, one hand in my fathers. 

Suddenly, an explosion. No. An expected earthquake. No one worried, but such controlled upheaval in such a small specific section of our benches, only us getting tossed hither skither, landing down. I'm holding Z. He doesn't look like himself, but I know it's him. I will always know him, his black and brown turd-like soul. 

The upheaval is coming again, and I'm.. conscious.. through it? spun around, knowing that i need to grab someone else. I reach through the abyss for Z. We land, and the angels are shocked. One slaps the elbow of another and tells it to look at me. What i've done. A crowd gathers, they don't see this often. I've grabbed Z with both hands. He is holding two other people, back to me, no longer looking. I chose him. I always chose him. Always, forever, that undeserving fucker.

This is what I chose. Holding on to someone who I wasn't supposed to. A life of loneliness. 

Getting Bumbled

Supposed to Zoom, he's out for a burger. 90 minutes later, I'm in my pajamas and reclining in bed, watching a movie. 

"You decent?"

Shit I guess I'm not, I sleep in girl-boxers and a tank. I grab a dupatta and text back "link?" and minutes later we're connected. 

God, he's cute. I've never kissed anyone with a beard. You idiot, you've only kissed one man. I can't but imagine what he'd feel like - good? scratchy? Would it help or hurt if he went down on me? My inner thighs twitch at the thought.

We're joking about the dupatta and talking about the party i went to last night, when I reach behind me to grab my green tea. One hand on the tea, one hand on the dupatta, the laptop shaky on the bed, I almost spill it. I'm trying to do damage control when I hear a squawk. 

Glance back, but my cup wobbles on the plate and i have to drop the dupatta to just steady it with both hands. Why is he looking poleaxed? I look down and I've lifted my leg to reach the bedside table behind me, and my knee is poking out. Shit he thinks I'm not wearing pants 

with horror I realize what things might look like from his perspective. Random stranger he's met on a dating app. Video calling him at midnight. Wearing scanty / no clothes. 

fuck

Should I acknowledge it? My brain automatically goes to humor, but I just simply cannot come up with anything funny about being naked. Point it out and deny it? That would just make it seem like I'm protesting too much. So I do the only things I can do - ignore it happened.

I turn around "cup got wobbly" i say mildly, he's still a little slack jawed. "so anyway, I escaped by 1 am eventually. How was your evening"

I see his jaw tick as he processes the question, and then his brow furrows and he takes a breath and then mentally shrugs and answers the question. 

For the rest of the conversation all I can think about is how to pretend to be as non-sexy as possible, and by the house he's relaxed and seems to be wondering if he imagined it.

I feel SO bad for judging shirt-less dude now.

 "I'm sorry I apologize I blah blah blah..."

I can't suppress the eye roll. Eye rolls don't have the same satisfaction they did in my teens - middle-aged post-40 eye rolls seem to be an infuriating lapse in judgment. Oof so sick of his social awkwardness. Yes, he's political royalty. But far away enough from the disgusting, rotting, corrupt Pakistani oligarchs that are repulsive in their sycophantic requirements to just have the prestige of the name and the attractiveness of old money, without any of the gross-ness. But there is a reason why people - me included - are single at 40. He clearly lacked the social skills that allow positive human interaction, and after 10 years of semi-friend meet-ups on the edge of romantic interest, I'm honestly sick of it. Goodbye, I wish you overcome your issues dude.  

I power on my laptop, saying a silent prayer to ward off brain fog. Dear Allah, let my work be productive, and over quick. The mindfulness coach's voice comes back to me, we were in the forest somewhere focusing on a fucking cookie rituals are important. they lend weight and meaning to mudance tasks and give us purpose. Take a bite of the cookie. feel it's weight. what does it smell like. what does the smell remind you of?

What fucking purpose. Make money to spend money. you can never make enough money, just like you can never have enough nice clothes, or bags, or shoes. And someone else always fucking had more, more of something better. Private planes to my business class. Gratitude! Gratitude is the only antidote to ennui.

I was grateful for... having my parents. God they annoy me, but God I'm grateful they're here. I can feel  the invisible weight of time, grains of sand in an hour glass running running running. 

"You get to make tea for your mother. See her. Every day" he had said, his eyes wide, crows feet so prominent now, his hair bleached silver from black in the last ten years I had known him. Work relationships were so strange, you knew them so well in ways their families never could, yet didn't know them at all. His white-knuckled hands had gripped his notepad. I hadn't ever seen him lose his composure before then, ever, and in those four words, I saw many long long nights of grief. Sitting across the conference table I had felt nothing but complete, alien shame at my thoughtless comment about my living situation. How old was he really? How many years ago must he have lost his mother? Was she young? But I quickly dismissed that thought. I'd learned that a long fulfilling life to old age and a graceful death did nothing to ease the burden of those left behind.  

What would it be like to live after they die? To survive, truly alone. I had never thought of their mortality before that conversation with the board chair. They were. Always. An invisible safety net. A prayer. An inexhaustible pool of funds to help me in my time of need. Her prayers for my good fortune, being saved from a near side swipe from a car, or construction material falling 5 feet from me. Negating illwinds with prayers. falahu khairun hafizun wahuwa rahimurrahimeen. Someone who could come pick me up from the side of the road when my car broke down and deal with the mechanic when I had a meeting to go to. People who didn't always know what to do, but who made me believe again that human beings could be good, sincere, when life had told me nothing but otherwise. Shelter from the storm that had flayed me to the bone. 

Man is made ungrateful.

My emails open in under 5 seconds, and I say another prayer of gratitude to SSDs and $2000 laptops. In one lifetime, going from 20 minute bootup and dialup to connecting to 15 people around the world in under 10 seconds.  

Tsk. The child hasn't emailed me. I can't think of him as anything else. My first love, the first baby in the family that had cried himself purple and then reached out to twine his little hands painfully in my hair while firmly grabbing my heart in the process. Seventeen now. Genius IQ like his mom and ahem khala, but dear God being a pre-college teenager was like being drunk, high, and deaf & mute simultaneously. Why hasn't he emailed the update! 

"Tell child to email me" I message his mother

"He didn't do it yesterday?!" my sister responds. 

"Nope" I know we are both mentally face-palming right now.

It's been a month of a mercy internship, because he hadn't applied to any "real" places, because of course my startup wasn't considered real by anyone in the family. Awards from an IVY league university, media coverage in all major news channels, talk show features, 700 fucking customers in one year, but apparently Asma getting married post-35 post 3 kids was more of an accomplishment of course. Shit I do wonder how the fuck anyone meets anyone anymore. The apps were full of disgusting gross post-40 assholes looking to cheat on their wives with no shame. Youth gave me hope though. Earnest boys & girls, real, honest about wanting to hookup, or loudly declaring their kinks on their profiles. That kid I accidentally spoke to before understanding how age filters worked was probably the most refreshing conversation, even if embarrassing because I hadn't heard the word MILF till he said it and I googled it and then horror-stricken asked him his age. Stabbing end match in terror, and then randomly laughed about it for a full week later.  God, Mr. famous last name and I had laughed about it together. 

Oof. I notice the emails at 2AM and 4AM. Don't do it kids, it's not worth it. 8 years working was apparently not sufficient in getting disciplined about remote working deadlines. When did I get disciplined? Shit it was after R started school, that was, what, 13 years in? I should start flagging things earlier, maybe break down the tasks for them if they're not doing it themselves. 

I read the ops update, and nothing, I mean nothing irritates me more than poor comymunication. Why do I not have a fucking update after reading a fucking update email. I briefly consider pausing before making the call. Should I cool down? No, this annoyance deserves to be communicated, she is too dense. I buzz the staff to get me some caffeine, an old habit from a time of mahogany desks in fancy buildings with floor-to-ceiling windows with city views. Check the time, it's 11AM and it's borderline she'll be up if she slept at 4AM. Yuck what a terrible sleep cycle I shudder. My back twinges in pain just thinking about sleeping 8 hours again. After 6 rings she picks up. Yes I don't hang up, I'm annoyed. 

"Hello Y, how are you" I respond, to her mumbled incoherant clearly just woken up hello. Jfc at least pretend to be awake at midday.

"I was asleep" she says, and I physically wince. wtf is wrong with kids these days. 

"Ok, it's 11 AM, so I thought it would be ok to call" Since you know, our hours are fucking 9 to fucking 5. 

"Anyway, I was wondering if you had emailed S and what he had said about the proposed collaboration?" Dear God I let this idiot girl fuck up this deal didn't i. 

"I emailed you" she says a  little accusingly, and I'm proud of her tone. Go, stand up for yourself girl, don't bottle it in. 

"Actually yes, I read the email and it said the conversation is 'done', but I still don't understand what was said in the conversation, and what the proposed deal is. Is it a collaboration in-school or after school? What are your next steps?" Which you know is a BIG fucking distinction

"Oh"

I inhale, and pray to God for patience. 5 years ago I would have fired her. 8 years ago she wouldn't even have been hired. Maintain silence. Three beats. 

 "Yes he said he was interested in both, and the books. I suggested a pilot for after-school starting next term, but I'll be sending the complete project proposal to you today for review." 

Thank you for reminding me why I hired you, and why gross unprofessionalism doesn't mean incompetance. My professional standards were "old school", expecting people to you-know, turn up to work at 9AM. God we used to get fined if we didn't punch in at 830AM, those bastards. 

"Ok great work! Please do mention these things in your communication next time, would save us the call" I insert enough emphasis to embarrass.

"Yes! Sorry! Will do" she says after a beat, in a small voice. Sitting up straigher I imagine. 

"And you know I'm going to say this, you shouldn't work late, you'll burn out" 

"Yes ma'am" I can feel her echoing my grin before we close. 

Kids.