by Sabina Khan
“Uncle Rakesh said Abbu’s in the best hands, hai na, Ammi,” I say, gently kissing her cheek. “That means he’ll be okay.”
I want to believe that more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life, but I also want to be strong for Ammi. I need to know what happened at Tyler’s house. I know Abbu was angry when he left, but he just wanted to talk. What could have pushed things this far?
I pull out my phone and text Nick. I know he’s probably asleep, but he’ll have to go past my house on his way to school tomorrow, and he’ll freak out when he sees what Tyler’s done. Hopefully by the time he sees my text in the morning we’ll have more information.
“Zara, maybe we should call Shireen,” Ammi says. “I think she’ll know what to do next.”
“Good idea,” I say, grabbing her phone out of her purse and handing it to her. I step outside for a moment while she talks to Shireen Khala, who’s a lawyer and would definitely be a good person to have by our side.
It’s a quiet night with no one around, and I take a deep breath of the cool night air, stretching to try and loosen the knot between my shoulders. It’s almost as if this is happening to someone else. My head is spinning, but at the same time, a strange calm has settled over me. It’s so bizarre, being here now, waiting while the surgeon removes a bullet from my father’s body. How did we get here? If I’d just stayed quiet, none of this would have happened. Now I can’t shake the sense of dread that’s threatening to engulf me.
A car pulls up to the entrance, and a window is rolled down. I stiffen, but only for a second. It’s Gita Aunty.
“Zara, are you okay? Is your mom inside?” she calls out from the driver’s seat. She doesn’t wait for my reply. “Let me just park, and I’ll be there in a second.”
She drives away and walks up to me a few minutes later. She’s carrying some cloth bags, and I’m pretty sure she’s brought half her pantry with her.
“What’s all this?” I say, taking the bags from her. They’re just as heavy as I expected.
“Just some hot chai and a few things I thought you and Nilufer might need.” She cups my chin with her hand. “Zara, my beta, how are you holding up? Your uncle told me what happened.”
I repeat the night’s events once more and catch her up.
“I can’t even imagine how Ammi’s holding it together,” I say. “I’m so scared.”
“Of course, it’s a very scary situation,” Gita Aunty says. “But Rakesh said they have their best surgeon working on him. And we’re all here for you. I didn’t wake Priya because of her physics test. But I left a note to call us when she’s awake. Let’s go in and take these to your mother.”
We find Ammi standing by one of the large windows overlooking the parking lot. Her eyes are red-rimmed, but she smiles when she sees Gita Aunty. They embrace, and I pull out a thermos from one of the bags.
“Nilufer, I brought some chai and banana bread,” Gita Aunty says. “You should have some. It’s going to be a long night.”
Ammi sips a cup of chai but can’t eat anything. I eat whenever I’m stressed, so I devour the banana bread. Ammi’s just about to go ask for an update, when Uncle Rakesh walks through a set of double doors down the hallway.
“I spoke to Iqbal’s surgeon,” he says. “It turns out that the bullet did some damage, and there was a lot of internal bleeding. It was difficult to repair, but they were able to do it. Now we have to wait and see.”
“How long before we can see him?” Ammi asks. She sounds surprisingly calm, but I’m afraid that she will crack at any moment.
“It’s hard to say,” Uncle Rakesh says. “We’ll have to wait and hope for the best.”
I’ve always found this to be such a strange phrase. Hope for the best. I mean, who hopes for the worst? Who would hope that someone they love will get shot and then maybe not make it? My parents hoped for the best when they left their homes and families to make a new life in a country surrounded by strangers who would never accept them as one of their own. We hope for the best every day while we wait to get our green cards. We follow the law, give back to our community, and try to ignore the pointed looks and barbed comments that are thrown at us more days than not. But the one time we decide to push back because we simply must, this happens. So right now, at this moment, I want to be able to do more than just hope for the best. But I have no choice because it’s all I can do.
Shireen Khala arrives soon after and sits down with us.
“I’m going to talk to the two officers, but I want to get your account of what happened first,” she says. “And from now on, you should only talk to me about any of this,” she adds.
“Thank you, Shireen,” Ammi says. “I’m sorry you had to come here in the middle of the night.”
“Baji, please, don’t say things like that,” Shireen Khala says, clasping both of Ammi’s hands in her own. “I’m glad that I can be here for you. You and Iqbal Bhai are my family.”
Ammi’s tears threaten to spill over, Shireen Khala hands her a pack of tissues, and we go over everything yet again. We give her one of Officer Hernandez’s cards, and she leaves to call the officers while Ammi and I wait for an update on Abbu. It’s pure torture knowing that he’s somewhere in this building, but we can’t go to him and let him know we’re here.
Gita Aunty has brought us some toiletries, and she keeps Ammi company while I go to freshen up. My mind is reeling with unwanted thoughts, and I need to keep myself busy. I don’t know exactly what Tyler and his dad are telling the police, but I know it can’t be good for us. They’re sure to spin it in their own favor. It’s so easy to paint all the people you don’t want to accept with the same brush. That way you can tell yourself you’re just protecting your way of life and that they’re the ones encroaching upon your space. My whole life I’ve been surrounded by people who view anyone with brown skin through such a distorted lens that they can’t possibly relate. I regret so many missed opportunities to help them see that they’re being close-minded, but always in the back of my mind there’s been a voice telling me to let it go. But this, what Tyler’s done to my father, this is deeply personal. I know there’s a storm coming, and I don’t care. I just hope I can stand strong in the face of it.
I sense something is wrong as soon as I walk back out to the waiting area. Ammi is sobbing, Gita Aunty is holding her, and Shireen Khala is in the middle of a heated argument with the two officers.
“Ammi, what happened?” I asked.
“They’re going to arrest Abbu,” she says.
“What do you mean? Arrest him for what?” I turn to look at Shireen Khala. “What is she talking about?”
“Please try to stay calm, Miss Hossain,” Officer Nolte says. “Your father has been accused of trespassing and assault by threats.”
“Zara, why don’t you take your mom over there and have a seat?” Shireen Khala says. “Let me sort this out with the officers.”
I reluctantly do what she asks, but I want to scream. The only reason I stay quiet is because Ammi is visibly shaken, and I don’t want to upset her further. Shireen Khala comes over a few minutes later.
“It looks like there’s nothing we can do about the charges until Iqbal Bhai wakes up and can give them his statement,” she says. “I’ll call my investigator and have them question the neighbors and see if we can figure out what really happened.”
“So what’s going to happen to Iqbal in the meantime?” Ammi says.
“He’s not even awake yet,” I say. “Doesn’t he get to tell his side of the story before he’s arrested? And what about whoever shot Abbu? Have they told you anything more about that?”
Shireen Khala looks pained. “Mr. Benson is claiming self-defense. He says your father came storming onto their property, yelling threats. He swears your father was holding a weapon—but of course no such weapon has been found. Mr. Benson has been taken into custody, which is a good sign—they’re not taking him at his word, at least. But it’s conceivable that your father could still face charg
es for trespassing. What’s inconceivable is that they would do anything until he has recovered.”
“Self-defense?” I say. “That’s ridiculous! He just went there to talk because Tyler came to our house in the middle of the night. And the only ‘weapon’ he has is a cricket bat that’s sitting right now on the floor of our front hallway!” I clench my hands into fists as my eyes fill with hot, angry tears.
“I understand how frustrating this is,” Shireen Khala says. “But, right now, that’s all I can do. Hopefully someone took a video and we can get a better picture.”
Shireen Khala leaves to make some calls, and Ammi and I sit together in the waiting area. Gita Aunty also leaves to get some sleep before work but promises to be back later. I check my phone and see that it’s only five a.m. It took less than three hours for a lifetime’s worth of my parents’ struggles to be undone.
I know Shireen Khala didn’t want to alarm us, but I’ve learned enough about the immigration process over the years to know that an arrest on your record, no matter what the circumstances, is never a good thing. I don’t want to dwell on anything negative right now, with Abbu still not out of the woods, but I’m scared of what will happen once he wakes up.
My phone buzzes, pulling me out of my vortex of dark thoughts. It’s Nick. He’s just seen my text and is freaking out. I update him and ask him to grab Zorro and bring him over to his place. I’m glad his family has our house key for emergencies.
“Zara, can you go and ask them when we can see Abbu?” Ammi says once I’m off the phone. The shadows under her eyes have darkened, and I’m worried about her. It’s been a long, rough night.
I go to the charge nurse’s desk to inquire, but they still have no update. I ask if they can page Uncle Rakesh because I don’t understand why we can’t see Abbu even if he’s not awake. Uncle Rakesh comes by shortly to take us to the ICU room where Abbu is recovering. His surgeon, Dr. Mehta, is already there.
Abbu’s eyes are closed and his face is pale, the veins in his forehead prominent in the harsh hospital light. His skin looks almost translucent, as if he isn’t there anymore. I shake off this morbid thought before it burns itself into my brain.
“We had to put him in an induced coma,” Dr. Mehta tells us. “But it’s only to make sure there’s no swelling in his brain.”
“When will he wake up?” Ammi asks. I look down to see that she’s clutching my hand. I didn’t even feel her reaching for it.
“It’s hard to know exactly,” Dr. Mehta says. “We’re hoping it won’t take more than a few days. But the good thing is that his body is healing.”
Ammi moves closer to Abbu, pulling me along with her.
“Can he hear us?” she says, almost to herself.
“There’s a good possibility,” Dr. Mehta says. “I’ll leave you alone with him for a while, but I’ll be back to check in on him.”
After they both leave, Ammi lets go of my hand and collapses in the chair beside the bed.
I sit at the foot of the bed, afraid that if I get too close, I’ll pull out one of the tubes that are keeping my father alive. I’m terrified. Every coma-related episode of every medical show I’ve ever watched runs through my head. I’ve watched them all, because Ammi’s obsessed with medical dramas. Almost all my childhood evenings hold some memory of Ammi shushing Abbu as he frequently scoffed at some unrealistic scene from a show. At least that’s what I remember from the few times he was home, which he wasn’t a lot of the time during his years of residency. Maybe watching those shows was Ammi’s way of feeling connected to him, to what he was doing when he wasn’t home with us.
I wonder if she’s remembering too or if she’s just thinking of how she never thought we’d end up here this way.
We sit quietly for what feels like hours, the only noise coming from the machines Abbu is hooked up to. When my phone buzzes in my pocket, I pull it out and realize it’s only been thirty minutes. And then I see all the missed calls from Nick, his parents, and Priya. It’s seven a.m.
I step outside and reply to everyone. Nick says he and some of the other neighbors have already begun cleaning off the paint on our house. Priya says she really wants to come to the hospital, but she can’t miss her test. She promises to let my teachers and Chloe know.
My eyes suddenly fill with tears, and I quickly find a washroom. I go into a stall, and then I can’t stop crying. I don’t understand why this is happening to us. Once again, I wish more than anything that I’d kept my head down and just let things be. But even now, with my father laid up in the ICU in critical condition, I can’t shake the thought that if I didn’t stand up for Maria in the parking lot the other day something bad could have happened to her. Abbu wouldn’t have wanted me to walk away from a situation like that. But still, I am responsible for this, and I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself.
I splash cold water on my face and go back to the room. Room 1630. Somehow, I know this number will always haunt me. I look at Abbu, so small, surrounded by all the large medical equipment. He doesn’t deserve this, not after all the good he brings into this world. He has the biggest heart of anyone I know, the most booming laughter that fills everyone around him with joy, and today he was shot down like an animal. All because of the color of his skin. I know with absolute certainty if it had been a white man in the Bensons’ driveway tonight, his family wouldn’t be standing around him on a hospital bed, hoping and praying that he wakes up.
The rage I’ve been trying to push down rises up.
I want to punch something, but I comfort my mother instead.
I wake up to the sound of a familiar voice. I open my eyes, and relief floods through me. It’s Murshed Uncle. He’s flown in from Vancouver to be by his brother’s side.
“Murshed Uncle, I’m so glad you’re here,” I say as he envelops me in a big hug.
“Where else would I be, Zara?” he says, his voice tight with emotion. “Where’s your mother?”
“She must be sitting with Abbu,” I say. “Come, I’ll take you to him.”
When we enter the room, Ammi looks up. She takes one look at Murshed Uncle and bursts into tears. We all step outside because Ammi is sobbing loudly and can’t seem to stop. I know how she feels. The family resemblance is so strong that except for the extra gray in his hair and the neat beard, it’s as if Abbu himself is standing there. After Ammi’s composed herself, I take Murshed Uncle down to the cafeteria to get some breakfast. It’s pretty empty still, just a few of the night staff coming off their shift and a couple of weary faces that look just like ours, worried and scared for their loved ones.
I tell Murshed Uncle everything that transpired in the last few weeks involving Tyler.
“I can’t believe this is the kind of bullshit you have to deal with here,” he says, shaking his head. “After all these years, it’s ridiculous.”
“I’m so scared, Murshed Uncle,” I say. “What’s going to happen to Abbu?”
He puts down his coffee cup. “Look at me, Zara,” he says, in that same tone that Abbu uses whenever I’m feeling down. “We will get through this. I know my brother. He’s strong, and he has you and Nilufer to come back to.”
“I know, but—”
“No but. Everything will be fine. Bas, that’s it. You just focus on that, okay, beta?”
He looks tenderly at me, and I get all teary-eyed.
“It’s just … I don’t know how Ammi will deal with all this. I’m so worried about her.”
“We’re all here, na?” he says. “She’s not alone. You’re not alone. I’m here for both of you, and I won’t leave until Iqbal is back at home. Okay?” He hands me a paper napkin. “Ye lo now wipe away all those tears. I want to see my bahadur Zara.”
My eyes water again from his words and his tender look, but now it’s from relief. Years ago, when he and his family were visiting, I’d fallen down and split my knee open. He’d taken me to the emergency room because Abbu was working late. Murshed Uncle stayed by my side the whole time prais
ing me for being so brave. He called me his bahadur Zara because I hadn’t cried once through the whole thing.
Back upstairs in Abbu’s room, Ammi is still sitting on a chair by his bed. We sit together for a while, reliving old memories from past visits and vacations.
I step out of the room when my phone buzzes. It’s Chloe.
I run down to meet her at the front entrance. She hands over the two bags of breakfast burritos and gives me a big hug.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, holding me tight. “How are you holding up?”
I shrug. “I don’t know,” I say with a deep sigh. “It’s so surreal.”
We talk a little more about everything that’s going on, with me telling her all the surreal details, like the possibility that my father might be arrested. My eyes are starting to fill up again, and Chloe pulls me back in for another hug.
“I have to get back upstairs now,” I say, even though it feels so good just to stand here like this. “Thanks for all the food.” I give her a quick kiss on the lips. “And thanks for coming. I’m so glad I texted you.”
“Of course, where else would I be?” Chloe says. “Please give your mom a big hug from me.”
I wait until she’s out of sight before heading back to the ICU waiting area. I make sure Uncle Murshed and Ammi eat a little while I sit with Abbu. Priya and Nick show up after school, and it feels good to sit with them for a bit. Later, Nick’s parents come by and update us on Zorro. They say he’s been sitting by the front window and waiting for us. But Nick’s grandmother has been spoiling him with treats, so I feel a little better.
* * *
Three days later, there’s been no significant change, but Dr. Mehta isn’t worried and says to give it time. Ammi’s face has lost some of the tightness that came from her effort to hold it together, but I’m still surprised when she agrees, albeit reluctantly, to come home with me and sleep in her own bed tonight.
