فریاد قلم

23 years ago on a day in September, wearing my brand new rupush and maghna'e that my grandmother had sewn for me along with my brand new tennis shoes that we had bought from Kafshe Melli in Bazare Tajrish, I attended school for the first time.   I still remember being scared and excited as my Mom and Dad dropped me off in front of the all girl school on Khiabune Montakhab.

It was my first day in first grade.  

My mom and I had wrapped all of my notebooks and books with wrapping paper the night before (something most kids in Iran did as a way to preserve their books I suppose!)  My Mom had put little tags on the cover of all my notebooks which identified which subject it was for and she had even drawn little flowers on the side of the pages so my homework would look pretty.  

I was as ready as any little girl could be for first grade.
I was ready to learn and felt awfully grown up.

My Dad had given me a pencil as a present that morning and I still remember standing in the kitchen, a tiny little girl, hanging on to a rather large backpack, the kind that had two ghofls in the front (I'm sure you all know exactly which backpacks I'm talking about!!!)  as my Dad sat down on his knees in front of me and had told me that khanum shodam and all khanums need to have a special pencil to write all of their khanum stuff with...and gave me my hadieye kuchik.   

The first day of first grade was amazing and it was the day I met Mahkam.  

Mahkam and I became best friends right away and even got to sit next to each other in class...we ended up spending many many hours together and soon became the two shagerd avalaye class.   Mahkam and I had one obsession though....we both loved erasers!!!! I know, I know, don't ask...back in the day our thing was to have the most perfectly round eraser!!! And we would spend hours either at her house or at my house rubbing our erasers on the carpet to get them to be "round".  My God, those were the days...I can't help but laugh outloud as the memories flash before my eyes.

We lived on Kucheye Montakhab in Niavaran and every Thursday evening my family would have a party.  Mahkam and I loved those parties, mainly because of the food (my Mother is the most amazing cook in the whole entire world).  Most of my parents' friends played instruments and my Mom would always move all the furniture and put these huge pillows all around the mehmunkhune and everyone would sit on the floor leaning on them...we'd even put these dark velvet curtains up so the pasdara wouldn't see too much light or hear the music...my Mom played the Setar and my Dad played the Tar, there was Amu Kaveh and Ostad Ebadi who also played Tar and Setar and my Mom would sing; "to eyyyyy paryyyyy kojayiiiiii..."  Her voice was magical. 

Before eveyone arrived Mahkam and I would sit in the middle of the living room "rounding" our earasers and my Mom hers mikhord that we weren't getting ready!!!  Then she would bring her nail polish right there in the living room and paint our nails for us to get us excited about getting ready...and every week after everyone ate dinner and sat around the living room the women would make Mahkam and I get up and dance...(I was used to my family so it was pretty normal for me) but poor Mahkam...  

I remember crying a lot when I found out we had to leave Iran that year.  I cried because I knew what I was leaving behind.  I cried because I feared whether anywhere could be home again...Mahkam and I shed a lot of tears, but we promised to stay friends forever...we promised to never ever forget each other, no matter what.

Yes, we promised but like most promises made at the age of seven, this one faded with time and now it has been 23 years.   23 years since I last saw Mahkam.  23 years that I've been away from home.  23 years of everyday waking up to the thought of going back and sleeping with the bitter thought that I can't.  23 years in which I have carried the memories of my best friend with me.  23 years in which I wondered if she'd ever remember me.

I received an email yesterday titled "after 20-some years..."
Yes, it was from Mahkam! She had found my little brother on Facebook and gotten my email address from him!!!  

She's in Canada now.   We saw each other's pictures and I can't believe how much we still look the same.   We wrote as if nothing had changed, as if we hadn't been apart for 23 years, as if WE hadn't changed or forgotten.

It made me realize something that is sad but true...

It made me think about how many people break their promises these days.

Promises that they make when they are fully aware and capable of knowing what it is that they are promising.

Yet, a promise made at the age of  seven withstands even 23 years of change.  

Amazing.

Makes me wish I could meet people with a brain my age but a heart of a seven year old.