Anissa's Redemption

by Zack Love

  With every day that passes, Julien and I have grown closer and more comfortable with each other, and I’m sure that he will open up to me about his childhood, and the source of his nightmares, within the timeframe that he promised. In the meantime, I’ve come to learn some rather endearing little details about him, including a quirk that I would call “hedonistic hyper focus”: whenever possible, he tries to indulge in just one pleasure at a time, so as to maximize the enjoyment of whichever senses are involved. For example, if he’s about to eat some delicious vegetarian meal, he prefers that any music playing be barely audible, so that he can concentrate as much as possible on the pleasure in his mouth. If we’re watching a movie, and there’s any interruption – me trying to speak to him, the food delivery arriving, someone sneezing – he’ll insist on rewinding the film to a few minutes before the disruption, so that he can “get back into the moment” and feel as moved or swept away by the experience as he would have been had there been no interference. Similarly, when we’re having sex, he prefers to keep all auditory distractions to a minimum, so that he can hear my gasping and moaning, and the noise that two bodies make when they intimately meet. To my surprised delight, the sound of me climaxing seems to bring him the greatest joy of all. Yes, thanks to Julien, I finally have been able to enjoy sex that much.

  Chapter 29: Julien

  Saturday, 7/19/14 at 13:18.

  I probably haven’t felt the need to write much in my journal for the same reason that I don’t feel the need for therapy anymore: I’m too busy being happy. I can’t even remember the last time everything felt so good. My fund seems to have recovered from the incident with Craig, and things couldn’t be better with Anissa. I had a magical time with her from the Fourth of July through the end of the week that followed in the Hamptons, and since then we’ve been seeing each other four to five times a week in the city. In fact, if she didn’t have to be in the city for her duties helping the MCA, we’d probably just be living in the Hamptons all summer. But she needs to be in the city, so I followed her, because it would be no fun staying in the Hamptons all alone. I can’t even remember the last time I spent so many days of New York’s unbearably sultry summer in the city.

  This morning was actually the first time in a while that I’ve seen Anissa look sad. Together in bed, we read the headlines and world news on my tablet, and soon came across an article about how today was the official deadline that ISIS had given the Christians of Mosul to vacate. There was also a YouTube video of ISIS taking sledgehammers to the tomb of Jonah, removing the cross from St. Ephrem’s Cathedral (the seat of the Syriac Orthodox archdiocese in Mosul), and putting up the black ISIS flag there and in other places throughout the city. The Islamist thugs also reportedly destroyed a statue of the Virgin Mary. The article mentioned that as Christians have been leaving Mosul, ISIS has been painting on their homes the Arabic letter that means “Nasrani” (from Nazrene, a word often used to refer to Christians). Next to the letter, in black, are the words: “Property of the Islamic State of Iraq.”

  According to various reports, the ISIS militants have also told Muslims who rent property from Christians that they no longer need to pay rent. The article grimly predicted the end of Christianity in Mosul, a city where Christians have lived for thousands of years, and the sound of church bells once mingled freely with the Muslim calls to prayer. We then spent a good hour talking about the overall situation for Mideast Christians, and some of the initiatives that the MCA was working on. Anissa explained that the Christian militias that Michael had created, with my financial support, were not numerous enough to protect every Iraqi and Syrian city with a Christian population and, unfortunately, Mosul was one of the areas that was left unprotected.

  Despite all of the time that Anissa and I have been spending together, there have still been a few days when I was in the Hamptons alone, and then – on top of not having Anissa near me, I surprisingly missed having Icarus around. I was almost tempted to bring his cage here to the Hamptons, but I thought that would be too stressful on the little guy, so I just left him there, where my housekeeper is already very experienced in caring for him, and has the vet’s details, in case anything happens to him.

  Lily was right about Icarus. I’ve been keeping him caged long past his full recovery because I fear that I’ll need his soothing presence in my bedroom in the coming months – if I completely reveal my past to Anissa and she leaves me. But for now, I’m just trying to enjoy the present with her, under the blissful illusion that everything will work out.

  There are a few scenarios in which my fantasy could actually come true. The most unlikely one is where Anissa relieves me of my promissory obligation after getting so close to me that she realizes how painful and uncomfortable the whole thing is for me, and she graciously lets me off the hook. But because her traumas are – objectively speaking – worse than mine (at least as far as I’m concerned), she would understandably think that it’s too unfair for me never to reveal my personal horrors to her.

  The more likely scenario is that I can fulfill my promise without actually getting into the details that will scare her off. With Lily, I had successfully adopted the same strategy as Anissa had used with me and everyone else (except her therapist): revealing a distorted and misleading version of the truth. But because Anissa was herself so adept at that technique, I suspect that she’ll readily recognize any attempt by me to employ it.

  The two of us did have one conversation that I thought might lead to the stuff I’d rather hide, but fortunately we managed to stay clear of it.

  “I think I’m finally getting used to your vegetarianism,” she began teasingly, just as my chef in the Hamptons brought us the first course of our dinner, a bowl of miso and soba noodle soup with roasted tofu and shiitake mushrooms.

  “It’s one of my odder idiosyncrasies,” I admitted, bringing the bowl closer to whiff its delicious aroma.

  Anissa took a spoonful of the soup and savored it for a moment. “Mmmm... This is really good!” she exclaimed.

  “See that? You don’t have to suffer for sparing the suffering of animals.”

  “Well, I understand why meat would repulse you, after you saw your dad’s work as a butcher, but do you think fish are just as conscious as poultry and cattle?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but I’d rather err on the side of the humane. And my stomach literally can’t handle it – I vomit every time I try to eat anything that used to move and perceive.”

  “Sounds almost like the nausea I felt each time I tried to learn how to drive,” she replied.

  I put my spoon down and furrowed my brow. “I remember you saying how you hate driving, but the nausea part is new to me.”

  “Yes, well, my phobia first started when Mohammed drove me from Homs to the international airport in Damascus... During that two-hour drive filled with so much tension and danger, and with the horrific memories of my family’s murder fresh in my mind, I had to throw up on the way. And then when I began to lie to myself and everyone else about a car accident killing my parents, it got even worse.”

  I brought my hand to her cheek and gently caressed it. “I’m sorry, Baby,” I said. “How about we overcome that phobia of yours together?”

  She released a nervous smile. “What do you mean?”

  “We can take one of my cars to a parking lot in the Hamptons, and you’ll drive with my help. I’ll have my hand on the wheel with you.”

  She crossed her arms and hunched her shoulders a bit. “I don’t know,” she replied hesitantly.

  “Come on – it’ll be fun. In the worst case scenario, you’ll crash an expensive electric car and we’ll have a laugh about it.”

  “No, in the worst case scenario, I’ll vomit at an intersection and then a truck will ram into your car and kill us both.”

  I chuckled and shook my head. “Now that would be a glorious way to go – wiping your barf off of me as a truck flattens us both!”

  “Seriously, if you can figure out how
to stop my driving-related nausea, you’ll deserve a Purple Heart, and I’ll finally merit the full story of what makes you so nauseous about meat,” she reminded me with a playful wink.

  Chapter 30: Anissa

  Wednesday, August 20, 2014

  To My Dearest,

  I’m so sorry that it’s been over a month since I’ve written to you. Somehow the time has just flown by more easily and happily than it has during any period since the Syrian Civil War began. That conflict – and the ever-worsening persecution of Christians – grinds on, but for the most part I’ve managed to give myself a break from the sadness by getting lost in an endless summer of love. So much has happened, with countless details comprising every moment, that I can’t possibly summarize it all for you, but I’ll try to touch on the highlights.

  For the last six weeks or so, I’ve been going to the Hamptons to be with Julien every Thursday night through Monday night, after working out an arrangement with Michael that enabled me to handle my duties for the MCA remotely two days a week.

  Towards the end of July, I again entrusted Julien to prevent me from falling to my death from high up – this time from the single-engine Cessna plane that he piloted, rather than his penthouse balcony. It was exhilarating and a bit nerve-racking at times, but I feel almost ready for skydiving at this point.

  To add to the adventurous activities of this summer, he’s tried for the last few weeks to help me overcome my fear of driving by acting as my training wheels while we drove his Tesla together. Progress has been slow, and I haven’t made it out of the parking lot, but at least I got to the point where I’m no longer throwing up within ten minutes of getting in the driver’s seat and buckling my seat belt.

  The last weekend of July, on Saturday night, Julien brought me to a high-profile, benefit dinner supporting a variety of Latino causes that co-organized the black-tie gala. Julien sat on the host committee for the event and even gave a stirring speech about the great progress that Hispanics have made in every part of U.S. society – in finance, politics, media, fashion, technology, the arts, and other domains. Later in the night, he also introduced the key note speaker. To my amusement, Julien was literally one of the top prizes at the charity auction (the winner was awarded a salsa dance with him on stage). He had offered that prize (and his support as a host and sponsor of the event) long before we had ever even met, but Julien made sure to bring me along and inform everyone that we were a couple. It was fun to go out together so dressed up – him in his dashing, dark tuxedo, and me in the elegant, Elie Tahari evening gown that he had bought for me just for the occasion. That night also represented another milestone in our relationship, because it was our first highly public date – we could actually see pictures of ourselves the next day in the Latino media that covered the event.

  Two days after that magical evening, my calendar reminded me to call Mohammed Rajeh and his family to wish them a happy Eid al-Fitr. After they had shown such kindness in my time of greatest need, and had literally saved my life, they will always feel like family to me. It was the third time that I had spoken with them at the end of Ramadan, and calling them for the Muslim holiday has become a kind of annual tradition for me. This time, our call felt a bit happier –mainly because the siege of Homs had finally ended, so life was a little easier for Mohammed and his family. He was, of course, also happy to learn that Maria and I were doing well and safely in the United States, but saddened by the news that our uncle and younger brother had been killed. Another sorrowful moment during our call came when he told me about the current state of my hometown. “Inās, it’s better that you’re there – not just because you’re safer,” he explained. “But because you wouldn’t even recognize this place, after how much it’s been battered by the war. Much of it looks like some post-apocalyptic wasteland. But we will rebuild. What choice do we have?”

  During the last few days of July, I helped the MCA move into its new office on West 109th Street. With Julien’s last donation, Michael decided to lease a dedicated space, with four full-time employees, who could help with fund-raising, accounting, project management, public relations, and other organizational issues. The new office will also make it possible to schedule smaller MCA meetings without checking on the availability of the university’s student center, although for large gatherings, we will still need the university’s resources.

  Once the move was complete, the focus of my work at the MCA shifted from Syria to the situation in Northern Iraq, after ISIS had invaded the area in early August. ISIS fighters had massacred hundreds of Yazidi men and sexually enslaved their women; about seventy children died while fleeing, and about fifty thousand civilians were forced to seek refuge on Mount Sinjar after the Kurdish fighters protecting them fled the ISIS threat. The refugees were trapped on the mountain without food, water or medical care, facing starvation and dehydration.

  When the crisis emerged, Michael insisted that the MCA focus all of its advocacy efforts on the dire situation there, even though the Yazidi religion is not a sect of Christianity. “They are a religious minority facing the same exact threat from Islamist militants that we Christians face, and we must stand with them,” he explained. I completely agreed with him and was glad that we were doing whatever we could to help. I was angry and disappointed at the world’s delayed reaction to the crisis, but finally, in the second week of August, the U.S. responded with airstrikes on ISIS units and convoys in the Sinjar area, and eventually began an operation to rescue the refugees, who were sustained by humanitarian airdrops of food and water by U.K. and U.S. forces.

  Meanwhile, there was also the gut-wrenching news that ISIS terrorists had begun their promised killing of Christians in Mosul, and had started with younger victims. According to a few grisly reports, some children’s heads were placed on the top of poles in a city park.

  Yesterday, the entire world was finally exposed, for the first time, to the horrific barbarity of ISIS, when the Islamist animals beheaded U.S. journalist James Foley. After a North American reporter fell victim to Islamist brutality, the savage crime has been broadcast nonstop for all to see (as if this were the first time that Islamists had beheaded an innocent person). The disproportionate coverage was almost offensive on some level – like this man was somehow more valuable and worthy of global attention because he’s from the U.S. and a member of the media. But perhaps there is some silver lining in this atrocity (and the special treatment that it has received from the press): this issue finally seems to be getting the attention that it deserves. On a personal level, seeing this awful incident – especially the image of him kneeling so helplessly on his knees in that orange jumpsuit – brought back terrible memories that quickly led to tears, as I recalled how mercilessly and senselessly my own family was slaughtered. When Julien tried to comfort me, he kept asking why I was reacting in such a strong way to this incident.

  “What is it, Querida?” he asked, employing the Spanish term of endearment (which means, “beloved” or “darling”) that he had started using with me. “Tell me, Baby,” he said, stroking my hair and neck.

  I shook my head, wiping away my tears as I tried to resist getting any deeper into the source of my distress, but I eventually relented and shared with him some new details about the massacre of my family. I told him that the James Foley news brought back horrific memories because my parents, older brother, and housekeeper were all beheaded by Islamist gunmen, and I had seen the macabre aftermath on a YouTube video made by the monsters.

  Julien’s mouth was agape and he just remained speechless and horrified, as he tried to hold and comfort me.

  Indeed, as blissful as much of my summer was, any temporary escape from world events that I managed to enjoy would quickly come to an end whenever world headlines focused on the Middle East or I resumed my work for the MCA. In addition, my awareness of Mideast atrocities sometimes brought back my nightmares, and at times seemed to affect Julien’s dreams as well. Unsurprisingly, we both had horrible dreams last night – probably
because of the James Foley beheading.

  But, in general – and to my pleasant surprise – the frequency of my nightmares has definitely diminished over this summer, and Julien has reported a similar improvement, which I have witnessed myself when sharing his bed. Apparently, we’re good for each other’s dreams!

  Perhaps the most interesting news from the recent past happened last night, and that was what originally prompted me to write to you today, My Dearest, although I then got sidetracked with catching you up on the highlights of the last month. Anyway, yesterday, Julien and I went on our first double date with my sister and Michael. I was a little bit nervous about the whole thing, because I wasn’t sure how Michael and Julien would get along or how we would all relate as a group. But my fears were misplaced – I forgot that Michael no longer viewed Julien as a potential rival and had come to respect and appreciate everything that Julien had done for the cause. After we all sat down for some sumptuous Mideast dishes at a vegetarian restaurant that Julien had selected, I jokingly laid down the ground rules for our dinner conversation. “OK, it’s three Arab Christians against one Mexican Catholic, so let’s do our best not to talk about the Middle East for the next two hours.”

  “Hey, and what if I want to talk about the Middle East for the next two hours?” Julien joked.

  Somehow, in the end, we did manage to avoid discussing the Middle East for much of our dinner together, mainly by focusing on Maria’s experiences in her new city and what she and Michael had done together. At one point, when Maria started talking passionately about her love of music and her dream of getting into the Julliard School, Julien mentioned that he was actually friends with the head of admissions there and had made several sizable donations to the school in the past few years. He then very graciously offered to make an introduction, which predictably sent Maria into the clouds. Seeing my sister release such a radiant and unrestrained smile was definitely the best moment of our dinner and probably my whole week. I loved Julien even more after that.