Ghady & Rawan

by Fatima Sharafeddine

  Ghady

  STRANGE FEELINGS

  RAWAN CAN’T BELIEVE this school day has finally ended. She goes back home feeling worn out—shattered, actually—as if she has climbed a mountain. She enters the kitchen to find her mom making lunch. She kisses her. “What’s for lunch today, Mom?

  “Peas and rice. I haven’t made this dish for ages. Come on, the food’s ready. Your dad and brother will join us shortly.” What a weird coincidence. I don’t like peas and rice either, and Mom only thought to make it today of all days?

  Rawan isn’t the only one who feels uneasy. At lunch, she picks up on her dad’s unusual silence. He doesn’t joke around with her or ask what’s new, and he even snaps at Rani when he asks for money to go out with his friends that evening. Rani’s nineteen, and he started college this year, which means more freedom, going out with his friends, and of course, extra pocket money. Rawan is surprised. It’s the first time her dad has ever refused Rani money: he’s the spoiled one who gets whatever he wants without ever having to lift a finger.

  After going to her room to be alone, Rawan checks her email and finds one from Ghady. Her lips curve up into a small smile, maybe for the first time today. “Finally you answer, Brussels sprouts,” she says aloud as she responds to his email right away.

  November 14, 2008

  Hey Ghady,

  I totally get you. I was also so sleepy, but to the point that I didn’t wake up. That’s what happened to me this morning. On top of that, I was forced to walk to school in the rain, got soaked, was late to class and my math test, forgot my Arabic essay at home . . . in addition to a series of other unfortunate events that ‘spiced up’ my day.

  Basically, it was a tough day ☺, and now I feel like I’m coming down with a cold. As for the blackouts, Monsieur Romance, try to put yourself in my shoes. Like today, I was forced to take the stairs to my apartment, with my backpack, after everything that happened. I climbed 105 steps!!

  All my news isn’t bad, though. I’m having fun with my friends in school, and I really am loving my art class. We’ve started with pencil drawings. We’re supposed to learn how to use color soon, which I’m dying to master.

  Soon, it’s going to be class representative election time. I plan on running, and I’ve been thinking about a platform I can share with my class. What do you think? Any suggestions for what to include?

  Now I’ve got to go, not to bed, but to eat. I’m starving, which means I must be feeling a little better. I’m going to make an apricot jelly and butter sandwich. Yum, yum.☺

  From,

  Hungry Rawan.

  SCHOOL BULLIES

  THE MUSIC TEACHER, Ms. Lilian, asked each kid to choose a musical instrument, research it, and present about it in class. Ghady decided to talk about his favorite: the oud. The day of the presentation, he comes to school carrying his oud in its black case. When his friends spot him on the playground, they gather around. Charlotte and Liza ask him to take it out and show them. At first, Ghady refuses. But faced by the two girls’ insistence, he soon gives in. The oud comes out of the bag, and Ghady flushes with pride, feeling himself at the center of everyone’s attention. “What’s that?” asks Susanna, a girl in his class.

  “It’s called an oud,” Ghady says. “In my research, I found that in Arabic, oud means wood.”

  “Oouuuood . . . ouuudd . . . I can’t pronounce it,” Susanna says, laughing. “Can I touch the strings?”

  “How many are there?” asks another kid, Elián. “Six? Like a guitar?”

  “Nope, there are eleven,” Ghady explains. “A long time ago, they were made from animals’ intestines.”

  “That’s disgusting!” Susanna says, taking two steps back. “I’m not coming any closer. Those strings definitely stink.”

  Everyone laughs.

  “Come on, Susanna. Are you kidding? Nowadays, the strings are made of nylon.”

  “Play us something,” Daniel says.

  “Nah. After music class with Ms. Lilian.” Ghady puts the oud back in its black case.

  In class, he talks for more than ten minutes about the oud. He feels lucky that the other kids are interested in its long history, which goes back more than five thousand years, to the times when it was played in the palaces of long-ago kings. When he’s done speaking, Ms. Lilian asks him to play a little.

  Ghady sits on the teacher’s chair, adjusts the oud’s strings, and starts to play the song “She’s Leaving Her Father’s House.” This is his favorite, although he still hasn’t been able to memorize the words in Arabic, even though his mom plays the CD over and over. Everyone listens attentively, and Charlotte and Liza even cheer.

  The teacher praises Ghady for his excellent research and beautiful playing, especially since he only started his lessons a couple of months ago.

  At the afternoon break, kids gather around him, including Matthias, Daniel, and Thomas, while he plays them some Arab melodies.

  “What, do you think you’re a musician or something? What’s that thing you’re playing? It looks hideous, and the sound is horrific.”

  It’s Michael’s voice, and he walks up with a steady confidence, his chest puffed out like he’s ready to start a fight. He turns to the boys in his group, gesturing for them to back him up.

  “Ha ha ha.” Larry and Andy laugh, and each of them says something worse than the last. Then Ghady stops. “Okay, enough! What makes you guys think you’re so special? You just don’t get anything.”

  Michael steps up, his hand shooting out, trying to grab the oud from Ghady’s hands. Without thinking, Ghady resists. Deep inside, he’s been expecting this kind of underhanded move, and now he holds onto the oud with all his strength. But Michael’s grip is stronger, and he yanks it out of Ghady’s arms.

  Michael laughs. “I can break it if I want.”

  “No!” Ghady shouts. Then someone is tapping his shoulder. It’s Thomas.

  “Come on, Michael. Give Ghady his oud back. Why are you doing this?”

  Michael doesn’t answer. He stands in place for a few seconds, staring sharply into Ghady’s eyes. Then he steps back. He talks briefly with his group before he turns and flings the oud at Ghady.

  Ghady’s heart seizes up. He’s terrified the oud will hit the ground, but he catches it at the last moment, and it doesn’t fall, doesn’t break. Ghady heaves a sigh, his blood still boiling. He wants to lift up his oud and smash it down on Michael’s head. He wants to scream in Michael’s ears until he goes deaf. He wants to kick Michael until he falls to the ground. But he doesn’t do any of those things. He just watches Michael walk away with the other boys, their laughter ringing in his ears.

  Ghady’s anger quickly cools, and now he can feel tears on his face. His friends Daniel, Charlotte, Matthias, and Liza circle around him. He doesn’t see Thomas, and he wonders where he’s gone.

  “Don’t think about them anymore,” Matthias says. “Nobody in school can stand them. And some day, they’re going to pay for this.

  Ghady returns the oud to its case, trying to hold back tears. Daniel puts an arm around him. “They’re cowards. And when they do stuff like this, it just makes people hate them even more. Yesterday, I saw Larry and Andy take a kid’s coat and toss it around on the playground. The poor kid was crying and following them, and they were laughing. I don’t understand why they do stuff like that.”

  “I think they just want attention,” Liza says. “They want us to think they’re strong and everybody else is weak.”

  “Maybe.” Charlotte pushes Ghady’s long curly hair off his eyes to see if he’s still crying.

  “Come on,” Daniel says. “Let’s go have some lunch before the break’s over.”

  They all stand up, and Ghady wipes his nose with the edge of his coat and squeezes his eyes to get the tears out. Then they head for the cafeteria.

  That evening, Ghady tells his mom and dad what happened, and about how Michael is always harassing him.

  “You want us to call his mother?” his mom
asks.

  “Please, no. That just gives him more of a reason to call me a coward.”

  “Then don’t be afraid of him,” his dad says. “Face him, and, if he tries to hurt you, go straight to the principal.”

  “Okay, sure,” Ghady says.

  When the phone rings, Zeina is helping Ghady with his math homework. It’s a call for Ghady—from Thomas. They talk for almost an hour, and Ghady hangs up only after several complaints from his dad, who is standing in front of him with his arms folded, waiting for an important work call.

  “What’s so important that it couldn’t wait for tomorrow?” his dad asks after Ghady hangs up.

  “Nothing special. It was just a friend, and we were talking about school and friend stuff.”

  Ghady lies down on his bed, thinking about the conversation. The whole long talk was Thomas trying to get him to reconsider his relationship with Michael—to be friends with him. But Ghady’s answer was absolute: He doesn’t want to be one of Michael’s “followers.” Who does he think he is?

  Ghady jumps out of bed, as if to shake off Michael’s whole annoying story. He sits in his desk chair and opens his email. There, he finds a message from Daniel, plus one more. He smiles. The second one is from Rawan.

  He reads Daniel’s message first.

  Thursday, November 19, 2008

  Don’t worry about Michael. Everyone knows he’s a jerk, plus he’s a fourth-class student and a first-class idiot. See you tomorrow.

  Daniel

  After that, he reads the letter from Rawan. But he’s exhausted and doesn’t know what to say to her. He doesn’t want to bother her with everything going on in his life, so he answers in a few words.

  Thursday, November 19, 2008

  Hi Rawan,

  I’m so happy to get your letter. Sorry I can’t write much today, I’m really exhausted.

  Love,

  Ghady

  Ghady tries to sleep, but it’s hard—he can never sleep after he gets into a fight with Michael. He turns the computer back on. Without switching on his room light, he goes over to write Rawan again.

  Thursday, November 19, 2008

  Hi again,

  Okay, I really need to tell you about some things that are happening because of that kid Michael. I can’t stand him. But I don’t want to talk about that now—another time. If you knew how much I miss you and Lebanon!! There, I feel like everyone gets me, plus there aren’t any boys flexing their muscles and bullying people. Uggh, some people are so irritating! Okay, let’s forget them now, otherwise I’ll have nightmares when I sleep tonight—if I fall asleep.☺

  Did I tell you that I’ve gotten really good at the oud, and that I can play a lot of Arab songs now? I’ve learned five really well, and I’m working on more. I’m definitely bringing the oud this summer so you can hear me play. Ohhkay. I have to go to bed and try to sleep.

  Until the next email.

  Ghady

  CAMPAIGN PREP

  EVEN THOUGH HER MOM tells her more than once to go to bed, Rawan stays up late, absorbed in making posters and writing slogans for her election campaign. She prepares the agenda she’ll share with her classmates, and which will be the deciding factor in whether or not she’s elected class representative this year. Rawan is giddy. She never thought about running for the position before. It was always enough for her to support whichever of her friends ran, especially by designing posters and coming up with slogans. After all, her friends call her “The Queen of Creativity,” since her clever drawings speak for themselves.

  Rawan thinks about the unusual competition that has grown between her and Noor, who is also running for the same post. Their friends will have to choose between the two of them. Fun, but awkward at the same time. Rawan smiles when she remembers Noor’s words, “Now we’ll see who’s more popular, Rawan! Won’t that really be something.”

  Rawan flings her head back against her soft pillow and sinks into it. She is so tired! She didn’t think a small election campaign like this would take so much effort. It’s taking up more time than studying for a math or science test. She hasn’t asked her friends to help, because she doesn’t want them to feel awkward in front of Noor . . . This way, it will be fair and square.

  The next day, Rawan has to force herself awake. She hears her musical alarm, but it’s so hard to drag her body out of bed. She feels like a tree whose roots are set deep into the ground, refusing to be uprooted. She tries to sit up, but her body won’t obey. She’s beyond exhausted, even though today hasn’t even begun.

  “Rawan! Get up now, you’re late. I knew this was going to happen. You were up late wasting time drawing and . . .” Her mom’s voice sails through to break the chains that had bound Rawan to bed. She’s able to charge her body with just enough energy to get free.

  Rawan shuffles into the kitchen to drink a glass of chocolate milk and eat her morning banana. She finds her mom and brother there. “Mama, I wasn’t wasting time. I was preparing for my election campaign. Today we have to share our plans for the year with the whole grade. It’s really important to me, so you should be encouraging me and supporting me!”

  Her mother comes up and kisses her cheek. “You’re right, sweetheart. I’m sorry. Best of luck. You deserve to win, and of course I support you.”

  “My sister is in the running. Oh man! And Mom is backing her. I’ll back you, too, Rawan. I have an idea.” He laughs. “I’ll plaster your photo on all the walls around the neighborhood!”

  “Stop making fun of me! I don’t need that kind of help, Rani. Your support is enough to bring me down.”

  “Is the job really worth all this work? What will you get out of it? You’re acting like you’re running for a municipal or parliamentary seat!” he shoots back.

  “Yes, it’s worth it. It means a lot to me, just like making the college basketball team means a lot to you. Remember how depressed you were when they didn’t pick you the first time? Didn’t you stay holed up in your room for two days while everyone was trying to cheer you up?” she asks, making her way to her room.

  While she gets dressed, Rawan reflects on what she said to her brother. Maybe I laid it on too thick, but he’s the one who’s always looking for a fight. She is surprised that her mom didn’t intervene. She usually has her line about how siblings should get along and treat each other kindly.

  In class, the students give a warm welcome to the agendas presented by the candidates for class representative. The suggestions for improvement, and the projects they promise to do during the year, are all pretty similar: more class trips; less homework, especially during vacation; more types of food in the cafeteria, including healthy options, like a Lebanese breakfast spread; having a costume ball; and other ideas.

  Rawan’s classmates really like her drawings and the original comments she prepared. They also ooh and aah at Noor’s designs, which she got online, adding slogans in colored letters before she printed them off. The teacher asks the students to think long and hard before they choose a candidate, announcing that the time of the vote will be decided soon.

  On the playground, when the friends get together under the giant oak tree, Rawan tells Raed about her late night drawing her posters. Noor says, laughing, “Poor you. I finished everything on the computer by one in the afternoon, and then I went to the souk with my mom. I came home, watched TV, and slept like a baby. It’s true that you’re the ‘Queen of Creativity,’ but I’m the ‘Mother of Quick Thinking.’”

  “Actually, Rawan’s drawings are really beautiful, Noor,” Raed says. “Are you comparing beautiful, handcrafted art with a machine?”

  “Who else, other than you, Raed, appreciates handmade stuff?” She distances herself, then goes on. “Handmade tomato paste, blossom water, apricot jam, za’tar, qawarma . . .” Everyone laughs, and even Raed—who is red-faced at the beginning—bursts out laughing.

  Rawan goes home thinking of Jad, who she decides to call “summer friend” from now on, because she only sees him in the summer. H
e’s in another school, busy with classes, and he goes out with his school friends whenever he gets the chance. She decides to call him that evening. First, she’ll scold him, and then she’ll get his news. Rawan is surprised to find her dad at home—he usually gets home after her.

  “Baba! You’re home early. That’s great, because I’m starving. Mom, is the food ready? Can we eat now?”

  Today, Rawan also notices that her dad isn’t himself. He smiles at her, but he doesn’t give her his famous bear hug. Her mom is also acting strange. She doesn’t ask Rawan about school or grades or even about what she presented to the class today. Rawan waits for her mom to ask even one question about the elections, so that she can tell her everything, “from A to Z,” as Ghady says. But she doesn’t ask. Her mom dishes out the food, distracted to the point that she spills some broth on the beloved colorful tablecloth she always frets over. She doesn’t rush to clean it, but instead keeps on as if nothing has happened. Rawan feels more troubled than before. For a few days now, she’s picked up on a change in how her parents are acting. Her father is tightlipped, not joking with anyone, and her mother has become short-tempered, also barely speaking. I wonder why?

  While they’re eating lunch, Rawan asks her dad, “Baba, why did you come home early today?” It’s the only question she can think of to get her dad to speak. His answer is curt. “I’ve taken a long holiday from work. I want to rest a bit.”

  “Then we can go out every day after school’s out! You can take us anywhere, right?” Rawan says, psyching herself up to change the stilted atmosphere. But her dad answers in a decisive tone, without even looking at her. “I said I want to rest.”

  Why isn’t Baba happy? Usually people are happy when they’re on vacation, but he doesn’t look happy from any angle.

  Rawan enters her room confused. There, she comes up with reasons for the change in her parents’ behavior, especially her dad. She’ll ask her mom about it next time she gets the chance.

  She opens her email and reads Ghady’s message. She decides to write him a quick response.