put in place.
As the frequency of Nur’s mysterious illness increased, so did her mother’s anger. The school nurse called her once to pick up Nur early because she had a high fever. Her mother arrived shortly afterward, expressing shared concern with the nurse. But as they got to the car, her mother grabbed and squeezed her arm with an unnatural ire.
“There’s nothing you won’t do for attention! Is there?” Her mother burrowed those words with her nails into Nur’s flesh.
“I’m sorry,” Nur shrank.
“Shut up and get in.”
Nur climbed quietly into the car, dragging the heavy furnace of her body. She knew better than to cry, but she couldn’t stop the tears. Her eyes felt heavy and her heart cowered somewhere in a depletion spreading through her.
“I said shush. You’re not fooling me with your tears. On top of everything, now you wanna act like the victim?” Her voice rose and words sprayed a now familiar random rage. “THIS IS MY FUCKING WEDDING. I WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO MAKE IT ALL ABOUT YOU!”
Nur turned her head to look out the window, sucked in one long breath, and there were no more tears. Just like that. At the age of eight. Nur’s tears dried up and they would not form again until she was an adult standing on Gaza’s shore, the Mediterranean caressing her feet, a folded and refolded letter in her hand.
Later that evening, Nur’s mother came into her room, gently asking if she wanted to eat dinner, but she didn’t wait for an answer. “I know I was hard on you today, but it’s only because I love you. I’m trying to make you a better person. See all the nice things I bought so I can give you a good life? Nobody ever did anything like that for me. I just need you to think about how I feel sometimes. I’m trying to make a good life for all of us, but that means you have to help. Your grandparents and the rest of the family are coming in for the wedding and I’m going to need you to behave and obey, okay? Do you think you can be a good daughter and show everybody what a happy family we are?”
Nur nodded yes.
“Good girl.”
The “big day” fell on June 1, the day before Nur’s ninth birthday. “I did that on purpose so I could give you the best present ever! The gift of a father and soon twin baby brothers,” her mother said.
Various family members arrived from Texas, and Nur’s grandparents, her abuelo and abuela, flew in from Florida. “Look at you! You’re so pretty!” her abuela exclaimed and continued speaking in Spanish. They seemed happy to see Nur again, and they didn’t call her Nubia. Her tía Martina and tío Umberto even remembered her birthday and brought a wrapped gift with a note that said To our niece, Nur. Love, Tía and Tío .
“To be honest, Santiago is the one who reminded us!” Nur overheard Tía Martina tell her mother. Nur perked up at the mention of Tío Santiago. Although she had only met him once before, Tío Santiago had instantly become her favorite relative. He had visited for only a few days, spending most of that time with Nur. He had given her guitar lessons and had taken her to the park. Nur had latched on to the attention with all the force she had, and when Tío Santiago had left, she had fallen ill with the familiar bellyache.
Now, a commotion at the front door pulled Nur to the living room. She saw the guitar case first. It was worn, held together with duct tape and bright stickers. Santiago ignored everyone and came to Nur, lifting her off her feet. “Nur! Look how much you have grown! I’m so happy to see you, my awesome rock-star neice!” Although Nur could no longer see feelings in color, she knew this was a vibrant blue moment. Almost like being lifted off the ground by her jiddo. Almost love. Her face, her eyes, heart, skin, hands, and toes smiled.
She stayed by her tío Santiago’s side for the rest of the day, even though her abuela remarked that he should tell “the little girl” to go play with kids her own age.
As the frequency of Nur’s mysterious illness increased, so did her mother’s anger. The school nurse called her once to pick up Nur early because she had a high fever. Her mother arrived shortly afterward, expressing shared concern with the nurse. But as they got to the car, her mother grabbed and squeezed her arm with an unnatural ire.
“There’s nothing you won’t do for attention! Is there?” Her mother burrowed those words with her nails into Nur’s flesh.
“I’m sorry,” Nur shrank.
“Shut up and get in.”
Nur climbed quietly into the car, dragging the heavy furnace of her body. She knew better than to cry, but she couldn’t stop the tears. Her eyes felt heavy and her heart cowered somewhere in a depletion spreading through her.
“I said shush. You’re not fooling me with your tears. On top of everything, now you wanna act like the victim?” Her voice rose and words sprayed a now familiar random rage. “THIS IS MY FUCKING WEDDING. I WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO MAKE IT ALL ABOUT YOU!”
Nur turned her head to look out the window, sucked in one long breath, and there were no more tears. Just like that. At the age of eight. Nur’s tears dried up and they would not form again until she was an adult standing on Gaza’s shore, the Mediterranean caressing her feet, a folded and refolded letter in her hand.
Later that evening, Nur’s mother came into her room, gently asking if she wanted to eat dinner, but she didn’t wait for an answer. “I know I was hard on you today, but it’s only because I love you. I’m trying to make you a better person. See all the nice things I bought so I can give you a good life? Nobody ever did anything like that for me. I just need you to think about how I feel sometimes. I’m trying to make a good life for all of us, but that means you have to help. Your grandparents and the rest of the family are coming in for the wedding and I’m going to need you to behave and obey, okay? Do you think you can be a good daughter and show everybody what a happy family we are?”
Nur nodded yes.
“Good girl.”
The “big day” fell on June 1, the day before Nur’s ninth birthday. “I did that on purpose so I could give you the best present ever! The gift of a father and soon twin baby brothers,” her mother said.
Various family members arrived from Texas, and Nur’s grandparents, her abuelo and abuela, flew in from Florida. “Look at you! You’re so pretty!” her abuela exclaimed and continued speaking in Spanish. They seemed happy to see Nur again, and they didn’t call her Nubia. Her tía Martina and tío Umberto even remembered her birthday and brought a wrapped gift with a note that said To our niece, Nur. Love, Tía and Tío .
“To be honest, Santiago is the one who reminded us!” Nur overheard Tía Martina tell her mother. Nur perked up at the mention of Tío Santiago. Although she had only met him once before, Tío Santiago had instantly become her favorite relative. He had visited for only a few days, spending most of that time with Nur. He had given her guitar lessons and had taken her to the park. Nur had latched on to the attention with all the force she had, and when Tío Santiago had left, she had fallen ill with the familiar bellyache.
Now, a commotion at the front door pulled Nur to the living room. She saw the guitar case first. It was worn, held together with duct tape and bright stickers. Santiago ignored everyone and came to Nur, lifting her off her feet. “Nur! Look how much you have grown! I’m so happy to see you, my awesome rock-star neice!” Although Nur could no longer see feelings in color, she knew this was a vibrant blue moment. Almost like being lifted off the ground by her jiddo. Almost love. Her face, her eyes, heart, skin, hands, and toes smiled.
She stayed by her tío Santiago’s side for the rest of the day, even though her abuela remarked that he should tell “the little girl” to go play with kids her own age.
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