by Zack Love
“I’m so happy you’re leaving there tomorrow,” I affirmed. “And guess who will show up to escort you with armed security guards so that your relocation is more secure?”
Maria seemed touched and surprised that someone was actually going to be coming to protect them in transit. “Escort us? I didn’t get all of the logistics and details from Uncle Luke,” she noted, as she tried to guess who it might be. “Who? That guy Michael, your boyfriend?”
“Yes. Well, he’s not really my boyfriend, but we’re very close. It’s complicated. Anyway, he personally knows the moderate Sunni rebels who will escort you from Raqqa to Kessab. And he also speaks Armenian, in case that’s needed, although I’m sure everyone in Kessab speaks Arabic.”
“You have no idea what your help means to us.”
“It’s the least I could do. I always feel terrible that I don’t do more, and that I’m not there helping you in person. But sending a close friend feels like the next best thing.”
“You see, Inās? You’re already doing things for us from there that we couldn’t do for ourselves here.”
“This is just the beginning. Please don’t ever give up hope, Maria. And tell the rest of the family and every Christian you meet that they have a very powerful friend now.”
“What do you mean?”
“The details aren’t important. The main thing is that you and other Christians in Syria realize that you are not alone – that there are people outside who are working to help in any way they can. This movement is just starting, but it holds great promise. You just have to try to stay strong and keep your faith in God and in yourself.”
“Thanks, little sister,” Maria said playfully. “I have to call you that to remind myself you’re actually younger than I am! You sound so grown up now – Mom and Dad would be so proud of you and what you’re doing. I wish I could give you a big hug.”
“Me too. I really miss you and Antoun.”
“And we really miss you.”
* * *
After my Psychology and Markets class yesterday, it took all of my willpower not to go up to Professor Morales and speak to him. I knew he was still stressed out and short on time after his unplanned absence from work, but after seeing all that he had done for my family and the cause of persecuted Christians in the Middle East, I needed to show him my gratitude in an unforgettably special way. I wanted to give him something that he would truly cherish and that no one else could give him – not just because doing so would probably deepen our connection, but because it seemed like the right thing to do. The kind of goodness he had shown should be rewarded. He made the generous donation anonymously and hardly let me thank him for it – as if to preserve my dignity and downplay his munificence. As much as I had already grown powerfully attracted to him in recent weeks, his goodness and largesse have made him absolutely irresistible – particularly when I have to keep my distance and let him catch up on his busy life.
But I’m still a bit torn about giving him my virginity – much the way I was when I wrote to you a few weeks ago, trying to decide if I should propose a transaction to him. Like the last time I wrestled with this question, I still find myself vacillating between him and Michael, because Michael really has been my Christian Hero, with all the help he’s given to my family at great personal risk.
Two hours ago, I spoke with Maria again briefly, after they had just settled into a temporary guesthouse in Kessab. She said that there was one very tense moment, at the final checkpoint to exit Raqqa, when the armed guards demanded a final, surprise payment – in addition to the payment that Michael had already made when arranging my family’s departure. ISIS wanted to facilitate their acquisition of “Christian war booty” as they often referred to the confiscated property of Christians who had left the city. Their related demands created a moment of dramatic uncertainty, because no one was sure how Uncle Luke would react to the surprise exit requirement: his signature on a legal document, transferring ownership of his house and business to ISIS.
Their convoy pulled over to the side, to let the other traffic through while Uncle Luke decided on his response. There were two large minivans standing idle with all of his relatives (and whatever possessions they could bring), in addition to two SUVs full of armed rebels that Michael had brought along for security.
Uncle Luke was appalled at the idea and, for a moment, the tension in the air could have exploded in some unpredictable way – if the ISIS guards had reacted violently or one of Michael’s armed rebel escorts had misread the situation and started firing his weapon.
But in the end, Maria told me how Michael managed the situation and asked the ISIS men to give him a few minutes to talk to Uncle Luke privately. Apparently Michael convinced Uncle Luke that this was a lost cause, and that his property was essentially worthless under ISIS rule anyway. Michael patiently and gently set forth the tragic facts that Uncle Luke, in his emotional attachment to all that he had built, was too blind to see: that he was eager to leave the area, that he had no one strong enough to protect his property from ISIS confiscation in his absence, and that nobody would ever pay him a fair price for his property, knowing that he is a Christian who is desperate to leave the city. In the end, Uncle Luke listened to Michael’s reasoning. Maria said that she and the rest of our family all watched from the van as Uncle Luke broke down in tears, reluctantly signing over his home and business to the Islamist thugs who had taken over the city where he had lived for over half a century. It was a heartbreaking moment, but necessary for my family’s liberation from the barbaric rule that had destroyed their hometown.
Anyway, there is so much more I could write to you about so many related topics, but I have to stop now so that I can get ready for my date with Professor Morales. His extra hectic work week is finally over, and I was delightedly surprised to answer an unknown number on my cell a few hours ago, only to discover that it was my professor! He called to see if I wanted to join him for dinner at another high-end vegetarian restaurant – this one near his penthouse. During and after our brief conversation, the butterflies in my stomach went into overdrive. With so many conflicting desires and considerations, I still don’t know how intimate I should be with him, or even – if I were to stay with him at his place – how I would manage my nightly (and rather private) ritual of falling asleep by begging my parents not to enter their car. But I guess that will all just figure itself out as the night unfolds.
Chapter 2: Julien
(Journal)
Saturday, 4/12/14 at 23:15.
Because of everything that’s happened, I haven’t written anything in almost two weeks, but I’m going to cover just the last week or so. I had my meeting with Dean Butterworth about the selfie scandal and was given a disciplinary warning, which means that I’m basically on thin ice with the university. The JMAT fund suffered some losses during my seven-day absence, and – outside the fund – most people seem to have moved on from the incident, even if I still hear a derisive or rude remark on occasion. If I maintain a low profile, hopefully the whole thing will soon be forgotten.
I still need to record everything surrounding the week that I was away. But that’s such an involved journal entry and I’m so behind on everything else in my life (workwise and otherwise) that I’ll need to leave that story for another time. It’s obvious from the fact that I’m now writing anything at all in my journal that I stayed on the living side of the Brooklyn Bridge. But I did feel the vertigo of death’s invitation, beckoning me towards the dark waters below. Only a newfound perspective and desire steadied my wavering soul. I came to realize, just in time, that suicide was far too easy – and obscenely cowardly – after someone I knew, not even half my age, had been through so much worse and still marched gloriously on. Indeed, I don’t know if my visit to the Brooklyn Bridge would have ended the same had I gone there alone, as I had originally planned.
My time with Anissa, including our last conversation on the way to (and on) the bridge, gave me so much perspective – as did
the week that I spent following her advice – dispensed to me half in jest – that I try homelessness. I don’t know if, when she made and later repeated that joke, she seriously thought I would ever even consider “trying homelessness,” much less do it. But I did, and I became a new man as a result.
In addition to my new outlook on life, in some absurdly simple way, Anissa gave me several new reasons to live. Above all, I had to see her again and find out what, if anything, would happen between her and me. Oddly, there was another reason that might be called “The Icarus Reason” – the sense that she needed me, even more than my injured bird did. She was somehow this damaged creature I had fortuitously encountered along my path and now cared about as a result. Granted, I didn’t cause her harm, as I did with Icarus, but I somehow began to feel responsible for her welfare.
So it’s fair to say that Anissa probably saved my life. Of course, I had to hide all of this on my first day back in class, and even went out of my way to mock her tardiness, to mislead other students about my true feelings for her. When I saw her in class again last Thursday, she just smiled at me politely and left without trying to talk to me, and it nearly killed me. I was glad that she respected my space – I really did need every available moment to catch up on everything. But seeing Anissa and knowing that we wouldn’t be interacting – at my own request – also reminded me how badly I want to be with her.
By the time market hours closed last night, the fund seemed to have recovered from some of its losses during my week away, and I exhaled a huge sigh of relief after getting to the end of an insanely stressful week. Anissa was the first non-work phone call I had made since I returned from my absence. There was something exhilaratingly risky – like the adrenaline a criminal must feel when taking the first steps of a crime – about using my privileged access to the university’s student database in order to look up her phone number for a forbidden purpose. It felt as if I had already breached a taboo just by exploiting my position to acquire Anissa’s personal information, knowing that I would be using it to pursue her romantically, rather than for the only permissible reason: to discuss something relevant to her performance in my class. Such an improper approach wasn’t really necessary, because I could have just given her my business card when we spoke after class last Tuesday. But that would have left me very distracted with thoughts about when she might get in touch with me at a time when I really did need to focus. As if that weren’t reason enough, I was also enthralled by the taboo aspect of contacting her in this prohibited way.
To my delight, she also sounded pleasantly surprised to get my call, so any impropriety quickly dissolved into irrelevance. I kept our call brief, and she readily agreed to meet me for dinner at The Jade Buddha – the best, upscale vegetarian restaurant near my apartment.
She showed up in that same white sleeveless dress that looked so stunning on her when she unexpectedly showed up to my party. As we shared our second sumptuous meal, with our usual banter and several glasses of wine (which she now drinks with a little less hesitation), the intimacy and comfort level between us seemed to increase steadily. About mid-way through the various specialty dishes served at this high-end, Asian-fusion restaurant, when she tried again to thank me for my donation to the MCA, I cut her off and told her that it was she who needed to be thanked – for basically saving my life. I didn’t admit to her that I was so eager to see her again or find out what would happen between us. But I thanked her for my newfound perspective, and told her about the general sense of responsibility that I felt for those I could help. I didn’t mention her specifically – only Icarus.
“That’s funny, I never noticed your bird on either of the two times I was at your place,” she noted, as she subtly pushed her breasts outward.
The gesture was innocent, but my response wasn’t and I felt my heartbeat quicken. “Well, just before that first party you attended, I had put him away in a locked room on the sixty-fifth floor, to make sure that he was safely away from all the commotion. And, shortly before the second party, I ended up moving him into my bedroom. That was my therapist’s recommendation actually. And a good one.”
Her face lit up in a smile of surprise at my disclosure. She seemed honored that I would share such a private fact with her. “You have a therapist too?”
“After you saw me on the bridge, how could that possibly surprise you?” I asked dryly.
She shook her head in amusement. “I guess I just didn’t realize that we were members of the same club this whole time.”
My face suddenly turned sober and devoid of any emotion. “Oh that reminds me. Did you prepare your final entry before the deadline next week?”
Anissa’s eyes widened and the color drained from her face, as her Type A Personality emerged with puzzled concern about a potentially missed time. “What deadline?” she asked.
“For next week’s Who’s-the-Most-Broken Competition?” I replied with an ironic grin.
She laughed in amused relief and playfully rejoined. “I thought our therapists were supposed to submit our entries for us.”
“Do you really think they know better than we do just how fucked up we are?”
We shared a hearty laugh, and then she added, “Speaking of which, how on Earth are you sleeping with a bird?”
We laughed again at how preposterously kinky her question sounded.
“OK, that’s clearly not what I meant – you know what I meant!” she added, almost embarrassed.
“No, tell me. What did you mean by that?”
She finally controlled her chuckles and clarified. “I mean, doesn’t the chirping and other noise keep you up?”
“Well, I’m usually up anyway, so it doesn’t matter all that much. And somehow Icarus gives me a certain solace. It’s hard to explain, but he’s a special little guy, and it’s just nice to have him around. I guess you’d have to meet him before you could possibly understand what I mean.”
She moved her long dark hair behind her ear, exposing her neck – another innocent gesture that aroused me even more. “And when can I meet him?”
“Assuming his calendar of appointments hasn’t changed since I last checked it this morning, he’s free tonight,” I replied with a playful smile, as I placed my hand on hers. “So you could meet him after dessert, if you like.”
Anissa lightly licked her lips, clearly unaware of what she was doing to me. “I would like that.”
The waiter came by with our after-dinner treat, bananas and lychees in sweet coconut milk. Anissa’s eyes widened with impatient curiosity. I took a spoon and scooped up a bite for her, raising the spoon to her mouth.
“Mmmm.” Her eyes shut for a moment as she savored the deliciousness.
I smiled at her enthusiastic enjoyment of the dish. “I must say that I get an almost perverse pleasure out of exposing you to new things, which actually reminds me of some bad news I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
Her face grew puzzled and more serious, bracing for the unknown. “What news?”
I gave her a subtly suggestive smile and continued. “I know how much reading you already have to do this semester, but I’m afraid I need to assign you one more book.”
Anissa smiled in relief, after hearing my bad news. “What book is it?”
“Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov.”
She raised her eyebrow slightly. “It’s funny you should say that... I’ve heard about it a few times, and have actually been meaning to read it.”
“Good. I’ll be very curious to hear your thoughts about it.”
About thirty minutes later, we entered the elevator of my apartment building. When the doors closed, I felt her smaller hand curl in mine. I pushed the button and entered the authorization code. As the lift began its ascent to the sixty-fifth floor, I turned back towards Anissa, taking her other hand so that both of our palms were clasped together. “It’s great to take this ride with you – very different from the ride we took to the Brooklyn Bridge,” I said, feeling a bit overcome by the memory
of it.
“But that one was special too, Professor Moral – ”
“At this point, I think you’re going to have to call me ‘Julien’ – except when we’re around other students.”
“I like the sound of ‘Julien,’” she said, as we gradually moved closer to each other. I felt my pulse quicken with the burst of adrenaline that accompanies the violation of a rule; I was about to expose myself to disciplinary sanction by the university for having romantic relations with a student. But somehow I couldn’t stop the chain of events that had been set into motion. My head dipped down and the space between us kept shrinking, until our lips touched, as the elevator continued speeding its way skyward. Our mouths met for a kiss that began ever so subtly, while my hands slowly released hers so that they could find their way to her deliciously curved hips, as I pulled her in a bit closer while feeling her hands clasp around my lower back. Soon our lips pressed up against each other more passionately, and the tip of my tongue began with small, tentative swipes to tease her, seeing if she would invite me inside further. She did. Her small tongue quickly grew adventurous, exploring ever deeper into my mouth, as if she had been wanting to do this for a long time and finally could.
Our faces flush with desire, we embraced each other like two lost souls who had finally found one another after a lifetime of searching. I gently stepped her backwards until her ass rested against the hand rail, which wound around the elevator’s walls. We leaned against the interior of what seemed like our mini space capsule, catapulting us to new heights. Our bodies grew firmer with purpose as the temperature of our passion rose, until we were abruptly interrupted by the halt of the elevator, which had reached the pinnacle of the building. We stopped moving against gravity, and the doors slid open to reveal my private entrance. Anissa and I moved apart a bit, almost in a daze, as I led her by the hand into my apartment.
“How does it feel to be here – just the two of us?” I asked her, as I held her hand and guided her in the direction of my bedroom.
