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Love, abuse and loss
If I could understand WHY?

October 31, 2001
The Iranian

Now: I lay on the bed and stare at the glow in the dark stars carefully placed on my roof, probably by a little girl who lived here before me. It's late afternoon on a Saturday and the weather is sublime. I can smell the freshly cut grass and that aura that makes me want to be in that moment forever yet I don't feel the way I used to anymore.

My stomach is filled with a million butterflies on the verge of death, fluttering around, trying to get me to do something to bring them back to life. I cannot move anymore. I can barely breathe let alone get up. The thought of even moving to my side is making my head spin. I don't want to move. Not until I at least begin to understand WHY?

1995: The music's loud and she's dancing around my room like a bird set free. I'm sitting on my pink bed with my back to the wall just looking at her and smiling. Andy is blaring and she's singing out loud trying hard to drown out his lyrics with her own version "... dokhtar irooni mesleh goheh che rang o booyi dareh!"

She stopped and fell to the ground exhausted, just like in a movie. I turn off the music and lay down next to her on the ground. She looked at me and said, "Let's call a boy! YEAH! Let's call Payam!"

Even though she was only 14, the love she had to Payam was incomparable. I haven't met another couple who love each other more than those two.

She paused and said: "Your so lucky Azadeh! I wish I had as much freedom as you!"

Now: My flatmate walked in just now. I pretended to be asleep. She rummaged around a little and took a glass of Coke and a piece of cake from my bedroom. I felt her stand there looking at me for an eternity but I refused to open my eyes. Although I hadn't slept the night before and my face was pale, I didn't want her to see my eyes all bloodshot and my lips all dry. That's not the person she thinks she knows and I'm not ready to bring her into my world of despair just yet.

1999:
-- "Allo? Hi mum, Khoobi joonam?"
-- "Areh.. yek khordeh khastam vali bad nistam, che khabara?"
-- "Leili goft behet zang bezanam, goft kashki mitoonest khodesh zange bezaneh."
-- "Oh mum please. She can call me! Please don't get me mad right now, it's 1:30 in the morning.. What time is it there?"
-- "Hashteh shab... Anyway... zang zadam begam ke Leili dareh ezdevaj mikoneh... Alo? Azadeh?
-- "Ba ki?"
-- "Nemidoonan. Amir yek chizi!"
-- "Oh mum..."
-- "Areh midoonam azizam narahat nasho."
-- "How can I not be narahat?? *Pause* She,s too young! Who the fuck is Amir anyway? Is this her dad's GREEEEEAT IDEA? That man should be shot mum he really should... if I had one bullet I know where to put it."
-- "Chand bar bayad behet begam? Mardomeh khar tooyeh in donya kheyli-an."
-- "MAMAN! She's 19 freakin years old!"
-- "Midoonam..."
-- "Payam kojast? Midooneh?"
-- "Valah... you know as much as I do. She called for about 15 minutes from a public phone and told me to tell you she was getting married and to tell you that she loves you. *Silence* Azadeh toro khoda narahat nasho..." *Silence*
-- "Maman... merci ke zang zadin.mikham bekhabam... farda bahatoon harf mizanam."

1996: When I was 19 I tried to convince her to leave her house. She was four years younger than me. She was Iranian. Her mother was simple. Her father seemed like a monster. The bruises on her body were unexplainable. The patch of hair missing at the back of her head was unbelievable. Only God knows what she got after my little act of heroism.

I talked to her for hours every day, tried to explain to her how unhealthy this living environment was. I tried to explain to her how this is not what it's like in other houses, even the houses of other Iranian families. She didn't listen, she was way too scared to even think.

You can only imagine what happened to her when the Family Services Department showed up at her doorstep wanting to talk to her family about the bruises on her body. I was banished from that house, from talking to her and from ever bringing her name up again.

Yesterday:
-- "SHALOM!, Azzie?,
-- "Hi Mum!"
-- "Khoobi joonam?"
-- "Areh! I was just about to call you, before I left."
-- "Eh? Koja dari miri?"
-- "Paaaaaaaaaaaaartayyyy! Maman? chieyh? Sedat kheyli khoob nist.
-- "Azzie *pause* nemidoonam chetori behet begam."
-- "Maman? Chieyh? Begoo.. Allo?"
-- "Allo? Azadeh?"
-- "Baba? Maman koo?"
-- "Mamanet nemitooneh alan harf bezaneh."
-- "BABA! CHI SHODEH? BEGOO! Toro khoda begoo!"
-- "Shirin zang zad."
-- "KHOB! Chi shodeh? Daddy? Come on..."
-- "Leili ro dirooz be khaak sepordan. Shirin goft ke nemidoonan chetori fout kard, vali fekr mikonan ke khodkoshi kard." *Silence*
-- "Daddy man sayamo kardam na?"
-- "Areh Baba joon az dasteh to khaarej bood."

Now: I really can't cry anymore. My tear ducts are dry. My nose is dry. My veins feel dry. I don't want to move. Not until I at least begin to understand WHY?

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