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 Perhaps or maybeStill no word from Abbas By Heather-ley Peckham October 23, 2002 The Iranian It's still the Thirtieth, but only a few more minutes left and the new day will begin. Time is running out, and soon I will be one day older. Youth is precious and just recently I woke up and realized this. Now I see it slipping through my hands so quickly like fine white grain sand and the torment in my soul begins to wear on my energy till my body is convinced I am indeed getting older. Where did time go? The age-old question. I step outside my person to realizing this honest tradition in evolution is the very answer to my existence, and I never could have expected to stay young forever. I give myself a smug smile in the mirror as I recognize for the first time hinting lines beneath my eyes, and ponder on an other infamous question women my age occasionally note to themselves: Will I ever be married?  On that very same day I woke up and realized that Abbas
decided he would never speak to me again, and now I come to terms with this idea
while I wait for his call. I know it is over, but how am I ever going to get use
to this fact when, well, I thought he was the one God so lovingly set upon my heavily
severed path to pull me from the clouds and settle me down into a nice stable Persian
influenced environment. Gorma Sabzi and Khordesht Badenjun I could have so easily gotten used to that for the rest of my life, but the fairy tale ended before the story was over. Now I lay to rest my desires for round-eyed children with beautiful noses, and an ancient wit that could never be replaced by something American. But still, my mind plays tricks on me and in the middle of dirty dishes or folding laundry I warp back in time. I am back in his "apartment in the sky" he asks if I could so kindly rub the tension from his shoulders while he's up all night working in cozy sweats and messy hair, "Put your head on my hairy chest pumpkin," he would say, as we stay up for another episode of "Late Night." I remember a feeling of complete freedom. I worried of nothing and was convinced my path was set forth for me. Coming to reality never seemed so terrible, but it is. Here I stand with dish in one hand and towel in the other. I'm almost late for work and Lee won't let me in after 9:30. I need the money badly, my rent is due, and debt has swallowed me while I was off having my last laughs with Abbas. I'm on my way out the door. I turn the television off. I dreamt I'd one day appear on it, but the trip to Los Angeles went sour and I met a guy. So, What's next? I want to run from reality and hide from all its depressing conditions and responsibilities. I once took that leap when my youth was fresh and courage high. And I fell into the hands of a perfect stranger. I managed to escape that awaiting parallel for a few years, but now the dream has ended, and I feel trapped as the uncomfortable conclusion makes it's way toward me and the creditors want their percentage of my life. So, off I go to strip away my clothing and bare my body to the hungry spectators as I unconsciously divide pieces of my soul in exchange for a buck or two. My smile grows brighter with each passing battle, and it helps. But the false interpretation of happiness sickens me worse as the man before me tries to sneak his dollar over a little too far to the left, and still no word from Abbas. I have no choice but to take it. I realize my days are numbered in this business, and Abbas (not willing to take me seriously) has moved on with his life. I think to myself how wonderful life was when it was simple, and fulfilling, and free. School goes by slow. One day I'll have enough saved for that condo by the beach. Perhaps Abbas will find his way back to my heart. Or maybe I will grow old wishing.
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