My Sister Zarah

Salam Folks!

Ok, so I don't know what to do in terms of an update so I thought 'what the heck, I'll post a short story I wrote.' And so, that's what I guess I'm going to do.

Till Next Time...Have a great day!
~Pink Gerbera~

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My Sister Zarah

It is a nice spring day, in which the afternoon sun shines warmly, and the light breeze whispers past, a stern reminder that summer is not yet come.
I hug my light jacket closer to my body as I continue to make my way down the road to the park.

The park is serene, decorated with poplars, firs and even a few apple trees with sweet white budding flowers. The river, usually fiercer is calmer today as it makes it way past. If ever one truly needs to escape be it to think, or even read this would be the place to come.

I turn off the paved path and head upon a dirt path which leads me to a bank of the river. I continue to make my way, as the sweet songs of the birds carry me to a worn wooden bench.

It is there that I see her. She sits quietly reading from a worn Qur’aan, believing she has escaped from the world, in to a more relaxed one where no one may feel sorry for her. I know this young woman, with her white scarf draping elegantly on her head. She sits there, tall and unseeing.

“Assalamu Alaykum.” I say, sending peace upon her. She looks up, but her eyes do not give away any sense of shock. Instead they shine, clear, blue and serene. She has been expecting me.

“Walaykum Salam Lailah.” She replies, a soft smile playing across her lips.

“I wasn’t sure I would find you here. But I hoped I would.” I wipe the seat and then settle down beside her.

Neither of us speaks for a moment, as we sit there looking out at the rivers dark blue abyss. The sun lightly sparkles off the surface revealing the many colors, while other parts remain shadowed. The silence, is a somewhat comfortable one, the type you would expect between two sisters. However there remains oddness to it, an oddness expected since neither of us has seen the other in over two years.
The silence is broken by a blue bird which has decided to take refuge in a nearby apple tree.

“I brought sweet tea.” I offer passing my eldest sister a bottle of homemade sweetened green tea.

“Thanks. I guess neither of us has changed much over two years.” She remarks, as she takes a small sip of tea.

“That’s to be expected I suppose. Well, except maybe that my last name is different. I think that’s all.” I uncap my own bottle of tea and slowly begin to sip from it. It’s refreshing, sweet as it makes it way down my throat.

She looks at me, studying my features as though she may never see me again.

“You’re right. You haven’t changed a bit. Except that in four months you’ll be adding an addition to the family.”

I smile, turning my head to study her. She looks tired, with black circle etched beneath her crystal eyes, and thinner. Yes, she looks like she has lost at least thirty pounds. But besides those visible alterations she is still warm, and beautiful like she has always been.

“Yes. You’ll finally get to be an aunt. And knowing you, you’ll probably end up spoiling her to death which though sweet, will probably be hell for poor strict me.”

She smiles again, a sadness appearing in her eyes. She doesn’t think I’ve seen it, but I know her eyes. I know when she’s happy, just like I know that she’s sad, and tired.

“It’s…a…a girl?” She asks, her voice full of joy.

“Yeah, it’s a girl!”

And then she starts crying. I have rarely seen my sister cry. She has always been known for her undying strength, wisdom and lack of tears so seeing her do so now in front of me in what seems has been ages pulls strongly at my soul.

I pull her in to my arms and I begin to weep silently in to her silk head scarf. I knew it would be hard to see her again, I just never knew it would be this hard.

“Subhana’Allah.” She says through a light intake of breath. “Subhana’Allah.”

She repeats it over and over.

Finally, after we have both settled down a bit I lift her up and look in her eyes. It’s an odd feeling that comes over me, for as long as I can remember it was always she who lifted me up, cradled me, it was always she who wiped away my tears. But today; today was my turn. My turn to care for her like she has for me all those years, and I can’t help but feel that the tables have turned and that more then anything I owe her.

“I’m moving back home.” I tell her.

She stiffens in my arms and looks at me with intense eyes.

“No! No, you can’t do that Lailah.” She demands.

“Yes I can. I want to, and my mind has already been made up.”

She turns away and for a few minutes says nothing, only looking out unseeing at the river in front of us.

I know that I can not speak; I can not say anything until she has first. I know that if I speak she will retreat in to herself like she has always done. She will block me out.

“I can’t let you do that Lailah. I just can’t. You are married to a wonderful man, and expecting a child. I can’t expect you to put your life on hold for me. I won’t let you, it’s not fair to you.”

This is a typical answer from my older sister. She never wants to intrude on anyone else life. She has always been the caregiver; she has never wanted people to do the same for her. But I will not budge, I have made up my mind.

“I’m not putting anything on hold. Zayed and I both think it’s a good idea. In fact even if he didn’t agree I would be here. I’m not going anywhere so don’t push me away…please.”

“But…you’re expecting a child Lailah. Don’t be silly ok? You can’t do this, you’ll just make me feel guilty.”

I turn her towards me and this time I do not remove my eyes from hers.

“You have cancer Zarah. You’ve had cancer for the last two years and you never once phoned to tell me. Not once did you hint that anything was wrong. Instead you made me go on believing that everything was fine, that you were fine. How do I find out? I have to get a phone call from our little sister at five in the morning because you’re puking up blood and she knows that if she doesn’t tell me you never will. And all I could think the whole time from booking my flight, to sitting for six hours in the airplane, to sitting in a greyhound for the four hours it takes to get down here, was why wouldn’t she tell me? Why wouldn’t she let me know that she was hurting? That she needed me? Why would she let me go on believing everything was fine and then have someone call me one day to tell me she was dead and I wouldn’t know why? I wouldn’t know that I had some time to spend with my dearest friend before she left. All I kept thinking was why?”

I am crying hard now, the tears are just falling down with no end in sight. But I continue I can’t stop until she understands.

“So please, please don’t tell me I can’t put my life on hold. You, for the last twenty six years have been my life. You are so dear to me, and I want to be here with you so don’t push me away. Stop trying to push me away. Stop thinking that I can’t care for you. I want to and that’s it.”

This time, she pulls me in to her arms once again bringing our worlds back to the way they’ve always been. But this time, she too is crying and hugging back, because this time she realizes she does need someone.

For the rest of the day we sit in each others company, exchanging few words, yet few are needed. We sip on tea, and eat our supper. We recline on the porch swing, and we retell stories of our youth. We pray Ishaa together and recite a few verses from her worn Qur’aan which she carries with her everywhere tucked in her breast pocket. And when it begins to get cool, we go inside where I put her to bed in front of the window where she watches the moon slip in and out of a blanket of dark clouds. Where she silently falls asleep; and as I leave to go my own bed she opens her eyes and whispers “don’t leave.”

Just as quietly I respond, “I won’t.” I go back to her and slip in beside her and together we watch to moon dance across the night sky.

As I close my eyes and begin to dream she visits me as we travel to a foreign land.

I stay with her all night, and then all month. Caring for her, and never leaving her side. And on the dawn of the last week of May she travels with me again in our sleep and as she prepares to ride away she turns to me and whispers one last thing;
“Goodnight Lailah, I love you.” She says.

As I whisper back, “Zarah, don’t go yet. We still have time.”

She shakes her head, then kisses me on the cheek, and places a small leather pouch in my hand, as she lightly kicks the horse and rides away to a land I will never see. To a place where we no longer can sit together, laughing, and telling stories.

Three months have passed as I sit on the same porch where we had that night so many weeks ago, and in a cradle lays my angel Zarah fast asleep as I read to her a verse from a worn Qur’aan, that was left for me in a leather pouch. A verse that has been bookmarked by a white rose petal;

“You sometimes see the earth dry and barren: but no sooner do We send down rain upon it than it begins to stir and swell, putting forth every kind of radiant bloom. That is because Allah is Truth: He gives life to the dead and has power over all things.” 22:5