by N. H. Senzai
They all talked at once. “Jordyn, are you okay? Can you still swim? You really scared us!”
Coach tweeted on her whistle. “Quiet, girls. Jordyn wants to explain what happened yesterday.”
I started with Mom’s miscarriage. All of the girls remembered when that happened, and then I told them about the anxiety I’d had ever since. I explained how it had gotten worse and worse, and that I’d been too embarrassed and ashamed to ask for help.
“I thought you were having a heart attack,” Bailey said. “Like my grandpa.”
“Me too,” a couple of other girls chimed in.
“No, they checked my heart at the hospital. There’s nothing wrong with it.” I tapped my head. “It’s all in here.”
“Chica, I’m really sorry,” Lea said.
Coach slung her arm around my shoulders. “How can your teammates best support you?” she asked. “Tell them what you need.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. Just keep acting normal and don’t avoid me. Panic attacks aren’t catching. I still need friends.”
“She needs another group hug too,” Coach said, and when they piled on for the second time, I closed my eyes and let their support soothe me, like the warm waves at Clearwater Beach.
Ammar and I were beyond relieved to see Jordyn at school on Friday morning. I ran over to her locker and gave her a big hug. While we were catching up, Daksha stopped in the hallway to ask if she could help set up the new prayer room, then meet up later for lunch.
“Yes, of course,” I said. “Mr. Thorpe said the room is for everybody to use.”
“That’s great,” Daksha said, and hurried down the hall to catch Penny.
Jordyn frowned in confusion. “What prayer room?” she asked.
Ammar and I grinned and told her the whole story, and how news had spread. Lubna had found out about the prayer room from her mom, because Mama had told Amani, who then told her husband, and then he told Imam Ibrahim, so by the evening the whole mosque community was in the know. Lubna had called as soon as she found out and volunteered to help during lunch on Friday.
“I forgot to tell you something,” Ammar said. “Mr. Lopez cleared out the broken chairs and old sports equipment after school yesterday.”
My brother had already made a list of action items, started the moment we’d left Coach Stevens. Coach had happily shown us around the small, cluttered space and said that it was all ours, as long as we followed school rules.
I hid a smile as I looked at Ammar. It was as if he were leading an effort on a new construction site with Baba and his brothers. I hadn’t seen him this happy in a while. He walked on ahead to catch up with a boy from his soccer team, and Jordyn and I stopped by the lockers.
“How are you?” I asked, though I’d already spoken to her on the phone the night before. She’d told me the doctors at the hospital had said her heart was fine, and there was nothing physically wrong with her, but she hadn’t said anything else, and I didn’t want to pry.
“I’m okay,” she said, her hair falling over her face. “Kind of …”
“Kind of?” I prodded. In my heart, I knew she’d had a panic attack.
“My mom took me to see her therapist, Dr. Kelley,” she said in a low voice.
“Therapist is like a psychiatrist?” I asked, remembering Dr. Barakat.
“Yes, I think so,” Jordyn said. “I don’t know the exact difference, but both deal with mental health problems.”
“Don’t be embarrassed,” I said, seeing her reddened cheeks.
Jordyn pushed her hair out of her face. “Yeah,” she said. “I ended up telling Coach B and my swim team about it. I guess the stress got to me, and I need help to get better.”
“It could happen to anyone,” I said, patting her on the arm as we headed off to class.
“Well, it isn’t the Ritz,” said Lea, with her hands on her rounded hips, as we all stood at the door of the small, dingy supply room.
“You can say that again,” Bailey said, wrinkling her nose.
“But it’s clean,” Penny said, stepping inside, lugging sheets of brown and green construction paper, along with a basket of scissors and some tape.
“Yes,” I said, “very clean. Mr. Lopez is wonderful.” And he had been. He’d left the small room, about double the size of my bedroom at the apartment, spotless. But there was still peeling paint, and the small window would never be clear no matter how much Mr. Lopez scrubbed.
“It needs a rug,” Lea said. “We have piles of them in the attic. I’ll ask my dad for one.”
“It smells musty in here,” commented Lubna, tucking her hair behind her ear as she stood with one of her friends, a tiny girl with blue-streaked hair.
“Yup, a little like old feet,” said Lubna’s friend. “We need some incense, potpourri or something.”
Penny and Ammar began drawing and cutting the shapes of trees from construction paper.
“What are you doing?” asked Lubna as she and her friend approached to help.
“We want to bring the outdoors in and create a tranquil space,” Penny said. “In Japan, they have something called forest bathing. They conducted a huge study and found that being around trees improves mental and physical health.”
“Cool,” said Lubna as she and her friend started taping completed trees along one of the walls.
“Lea, Bailey, and I can make some flowers to go with the trees,” Jordyn said.
“That would be great!” Penny said, with a huge smile on her face.
“We need more colored paper and pencils,” Lea said.
While the girls took off to gather supplies, Daksha drew henna-like designs for a border around the door. She was showing her designs to me when Mrs. Maisel walked in.
“How’s everything going?” she asked.
“Great!” said Penny, and Ammar and I both nodded.
“Wow, you’re really transforming the place,” Mrs. Maisel said.
“Mr. Lopez cleaned it out for us,” I added.
“Now, we’re just making it feel a bit more …” Ammar waved his arms, and I knew he was searching for the proper word.
“Tranquil,” said Penny, then explained the whole forest bathing thing to the guidance counselor.
“Well, as a reminder,” Mrs. Maisel said, “the room is only to be used during lunch to practice tenets of your faith. The rules are very specific about that.”
“Yes,” said Ammar, with a serious look on his face. “We understand.”
“And we appreciate that it was given to us,” I added.
“The room is really shaping up,” said Mrs. Maisel as she turned to leave. “And don’t forget to eat lunch—you only have another fifteen minutes or so.”
Feeling content and happy, I began to create the sign that would hang on the door. PRAYER AND MEDITATION SPACE. ALL ARE WELCOME.
Mom kept a whiteboard in our kitchen where she listed all our activities for the day. It had been blank for a while, but on Saturday it was full again:
The luncheon had been Mom’s idea. She thought being around my friends would help ease my anxiety.
While I poured myself a bowl of Cheerios and sliced a banana on top, Mom got ready for the luncheon. She placed a vase of cheery tulips in the middle of the table and set out her good china.
“Are you sure the menu is okay?” Mom asked. “Muna is so talented in the kitchen it’s intimidating to cook for her daughter.”
I shrugged. “Relax, Mom. The menu is fine.” She’d decided to serve tomato bisque, two kinds of sandwiches—chicken salad and cucumber with cream cheese—fruit, gelato, and cookies.
As I finished my Cheerios, I watched the boats bob on the bay. “Mom, you should probably lower the blinds before Noura gets here. All that water really freaks her out.”
“I’ll remember,” Mom said. “After Noura lost her best friend, it’s no wonder living surrounded by water has brought back some bad memories.”
In the locker room, Noura modeled her burkini. She
looked cute, but it wasn’t the kind of bathing suit I was used to. Noura’s head was covered by a swim cap attached to a dress that stopped a couple inches above her knees, and her legs were hidden by loose tights, all in the same stretchy fabric. “Purple looks nice on you,” I said.
Noura smoothed the skirt with her hands. “Thank you. Lubna has a cousin who outgrew it and gave it to me. The people we’ve met at the mosque have been very generous.”
I stuffed my hair into a swim cap. “That’s good. My cousin used to give me hand-me-downs too. But now, even though she’s two years older, I’m a head taller. Ready?”
Noura’s eyes darted around the locker room, as if she were planning an escape from Alcatraz. It reminded me of what happened to Maryam. “Remember, there’s a lifeguard on duty.”
“It does not help to hear my life needs guarding,” Noura said, her face more pale than usual.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Lifeguards are in case of an emergency, but we won’t need one. We’ll stay in the shallow end, and if anything makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to do it.”
Noura sucked in her breath, and blew so hard she could have put out a hundred birthday candles. “I am ready,” she said. “Lead the way.”
I walked toward the pool at my normal pace—carrying a kickboard, with a beach ball balanced on top. Noura trailed behind.
“Jordyn, your legs are much longer than mine,” she scolded, “and you walk too fast.”
“Sorry about that.” I put my stuff down and pointed out the lifeguard. “See, you’re totally safe.”
Noura trembled anyway, her eyes darting along the water’s edge.
I sat on the side of the pool and patted the space beside me. “There’s no rush. Have a seat.”
Noura sat down, hugging her knees to her chest. She stared at the pool. “It is shallow compared to the Mediterranean Sea, but you can drown in a bucket of water.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“I read it on the YMCA website. It said you can drown in any amount of water that covers your nose and mouth.”
Smiling, I reached over and squeezed her hand. “The YMCA is right, but I promise to keep you safe.”
“Have you always been so fearless around water?”
“Yeah, before Mom had her miscarriage, I swam like a shark.” Reaching up, I clutched my coin necklace—a flying fish from the family Exocoetidae, and a souvenir of our trip to Barbados. “The water is still my favorite place to be, but I’m worried about competing. Afraid of that icky feeling when my heart speeds up and I can barely breathe. And the more I try not to think about the icky feeling, the stronger it gets.”
“I know what you mean,” Noura said, “but Ammar said we must control our fears, or they will control us.”
“He’s probably right.” I slid off the edge of the pool into the water. “Look, it’s only waist deep, and nothing like the ocean. You can see the bottom.”
Eventually, Noura dangled her feet in.
I held out my hand.
She shook her head.
I decided to tell her a story. “Coach has me reading about other swimmers who have overcome huge setbacks. One of the best stories is about Yusra Mardini, who swam on the Refugee Olympic Team.”
“Yes!” said Noura excitedly. “Yusra is from Syria like me. She was very brave, and when a boatful of refugees began to sink, she jumped into the water and pulled the boat to safety.”
I pointed to the pool. “I need you to be brave like Yusra.”
Noura’s eyes grew soft and sad. “I am tired of always having to be brave,” she said.
I searched for the right thing to say, but before I found it, Noura raised her chin and eased herself into the water. She shuddered. “I am not ready to put my face under,” she said. “That would be too much like drowning.”
“You know, learning to swim would make it far less likely that you’d ever drown. We’ll practice kicking first.” I held on to the edge of the pool and kicked my legs. Noura copied me. “Faster,” I said.
Noura giggled and kicked as hard as she could. “Why did you bring the big ball with many colors?” she asked.
I reached for the ball and threw it to her. “For fun. To help you relax and get comfortable in the water.”
When we were bored with the beach ball, I placed it on the side of the pool and showed Noura how to use the kickboard.
“No, I would rather stay by the edge of the pool.”
I hugged the kickboard to my chest. “As long as you hold on, you won’t sink, and if you get nervous, all you have to do is stand up. We’re in the shallow end.”
After some coaxing, Noura kicked her way across the pool, holding on to the board so tight her fingers turned the color of chalk.
I felt sorry for her and said, “Maybe that’s enough for today.”
Noura shook her head. “No, I accepted a challenge from Ammar. What is next, Jordyn?”
I showed her how to tread water. “Arms first. Just move your hands back and forth. Good. That’s good. Now try kicking your feet and moving your arms at the same time.”
“I am afraid to lift my feet,” Noura said.
“I know, but think of it this way. You’re taller than the water is deep. If you start to sink, all you have to do is stand up.”
Noura lasted about two seconds. I clapped for her anyway. “That was good. Let’s try it again and go for five seconds.”
Her eyes grew wide and terrified. “I … I cannot. I see Maryam. I see her treading water. I see her growing too exhausted to move her arms and legs. And finally, I see her slipping beneath the waves!”
“Don’t cry,” I begged. “Please don’t cry.”
Noura sniffled, but couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.
I put my arm around her shoulders. “Don’t feel bad. We made progress today. Coach always says any progress is good.”
Noura scrubbed her fists across her eyes. “Don’t worry, Jordyn. I. Will. Not. Give. Up.”
I nodded, thinking how it was possible to be both brave and terrified at the same time, and wondering if maybe that also applied to my swimming. Could I be brave enough to compete, while also terrified I’d have another attack? I really hoped so. I missed feeling free in the water more than anything.
It’s amazing how hungry swimming makes you, I thought as I sat down at the table in the Johnsons’ cozy dining room. Though I didn’t think what I’d done in the pool was actually swimming, more like getting wet. But the way Jordyn had explained it to her mother and the girls, you’d think I was Yusra Mardini. Stomach rumbling, I took a sip of the creamy tomato soup followed by a big bite of chicken salad sandwich, studded with sliced grapes and pecans. Bailey plopped down beside Lea, balancing a bowl of soup and a plate piled with sandwiches.
“How’s the chicken salad?” Mrs. Johnson asked as she placed a bowl of cut-up melon and strawberries in the center of the table. “I went to a halal grocery store and bought the meat. It was so nice to go to an actual butcher—at the grocery store, the meat’s wrapped in plastic, and you have no idea where it actually comes from. The man behind the counter, Ali, I think his name was, gave me the freshest free-range chicken. I ended up buying lamb chops too, and nearly half a dozen bottles of spices so I can make some of the dishes your mother taught me.”
“Thank you, it’s delicious,” I said, trying to smile through a mouthful of mayonnaise and chicken.
“What’s halal?” asked Bailey, looking at her sandwich suspiciously.
Jordyn explained. “It’s a process where the animal is killed after offering a religious blessing.”
“Kind of like kosher for Jews,” Lea added.
“Oh,” Bailey said, and took a bite of her cucumber and cream cheese sandwich.
I pushed back my damp hair and happily slurped soup, catching Lea staring at me. Since Jordyn’s dad wasn’t home, I’d taken off my hijab to let my hair dry so it wouldn’t turn into a soggy, knotted mess. Long and wavy, it flowed nearly all the w
ay down my back.
“Don’t worry, I won’t steal your sandwich,” I said with a smile.
Blushing, Lea answered, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare, but I’m not used to seeing you without your hijab. Your hair is so long … and, well, beautiful.”
“I don’t know how you stand living in Florida with all that hair stuffed under cloth,” Bailey said. “Don’t you get hot?”
“A little, yes, but it helps keep the sun off my head too.”
“Noura,” said Mrs. Johnson, popping her head in from the kitchen. “What time is your mom coming by for an English lesson?”
“In half an hour,” I said, glancing at the clock on the wall. Mama was picking up English quickly and had started writing poetry again. She wanted to share some of her poems with Jordyn’s mother.
It was strange to wear shoes in the house, I thought, heading to Jordyn’s room. Lea entered first, while Bailey paused in the hallway to retie the broken laces of her high-tops.
I passed through, pausing at the door to admire Jordyn’s beautiful white canopy bed. It had four posts hung with sheer yellow curtains. There was a matching dressing table and chest of drawers too. The walls were painted a rich shade of blue and hung with posters of swimmers posing with medals and trophies. There was an aquarium in the corner with lots of bright tropical fishes.
“Wow, your room is so beautiful,” I said, bittersweet memories of our home flooding back. “My father’s hotel had beds like this made by artisan carpenters. They were covered in velvet and the guests loved them—it was as if they were staying in a palace.”
“Your father’s hotel sounds amazing,” Jordyn said as she and Lea each collapsed on the mattress. “Come join us.”
I slipped off my sandals and climbed on the soft bed, and Lea sat up, her face troubled. “I can’t even imagine how hard it must be for your father to lose everything. My dad lost his job last year and he was depressed for months, just sat on the couch and ate Doritos.”
“It is very difficult,” I said. “But we feel lucky to have escaped unharmed. Everything else we can rebuild.”
