Morton Grove Writes

The Best Food Ever

By Adam Ibrahim

If you could choose one food that you could have for your whole life, what would it be?

        It was a sunny day, and I was in my sister’s room with my sister talking about a game to play when our dad called us down for dinner. I ran to open the door, and it smelled like beef and spices. My dad said that we were having Assyrian Pizza for dinner. I stood at the top of the stairs, confused, and asked him, “What is Assyrian Pizza?”

        He said, “It’s ground beef on naan bread. You can put salad on it, and sumac. Come down and see.”

        I went downstairs and sat at the edge of the table. The table was filled with salad, pizza, and spices (mostly sumac). It looked pretty good.

        I took a piece and put it on my plate. I picked it up and I could feel the head of the bread and beef on my face. I took a bite of it. It was sweet, spicy, hot, and soft. It was the best food ever.

        The next time I had Assyrian pizza was on my birthday. That time I went downstairs and again sat at the edge of the table. I took a slice and ate it. This time, it tasted like soggy nachos. I noticed I didn’t put any toppings on it. I never knew toppings could be so good. I still wonder, what is good about toppings?

        That is the story of my favorite food. In my opinion, if you have never tried Assyrian pizza, you are one-hundred percent missing out!

Never Again

By Hannah Ibrahim

            The whole thing was an accident. They didn't mean to be disliked, go into the future, or see anything they shouldn't have. In the end, everything turned out ok. One night, best friends Hazel Nelson was doing homework, Charlie Rodriguez was cleaning her room, and Sami Griffiths was playing soccer. None of them wanted to study, clean, or play sports. They just had one wish: to be together, like regular friends.

            Hazel was in her room, studying for a test with her mom. She was one of the most intelligent girls in her grade. Everyone thought that she was the coolest person in the world, but she wasn’t happy. Her mom would never approve. Mrs. Nelson was always tough on Hazel, even though she always got A’s in school. Mrs. Nelson always said, “If there is extra work, do it no matter what.” Hazel explained to her repeatedly that “extra work only makes your grade go up to one hundred”, but Mrs. Nelson didn’t care. She said, “Taking extra work makes you look like a better, responsible student.” That night, when Hazel went to bed, she was very sad.

            Meanwhile, Charlie Rodriguez was cleaning her room. She was the most organized person you will ever know. Everything was either in color, letter, or numerical order. She was in the middle of making her bed when her mom came in. “You call this cleaning? That is just piling blankets on top of each other.” Mrs. Rodriguez started to mess up all that Charlie had done. “Mom, stop!” She yelled with fury. “You will do it the right way or not do it.” Mrs. Rodriguez shouted. Ten minutes later, Charlie finished. She got her mom to see. “Okay, I am satisfied. I will get you dinner, and then you can go to bed.” Charlie sighed a sigh of relief. She mumbled “all of that for a little bit of satisfaction.” She laid down and found herself asleep.

            In the meantime, Sami was playing indoor soccer. She was playing the best team in the league, and they were losing four to one. She was the only one that had made a goal on her team. When the game ended, her mom was furious. “How did you not miss that last goal?! That defense was terrible, and the offense was worse! That was your worst game yet!” Sami was frustrated, but she hid it. Sami starts explaining what happened “Our best player got the flu, so she couldn’t–”, but Mrs. Griffiths interrupted. “You are the best player on that team! I don’t care what happened to the other players. You were not playing your best on the field!” They were silent the rest of the car ride. When Sami and her mom got home, they went to their rooms.

            A week later, Hazel, Charlie, Sami, and their moms met at the park. When they got there, Mrs. Nelson, Mrs. Rodriguez, and Mrs. Griffiths went to the bench to talk while the girls played on the playset. They were all talking when they heard a strange noise. “What in the world is that?” Mrs. Rodriguez asked. “It sounds like a stormy ocean,” Mrs. Nelson suggested. “We live in Kansas!” Mrs. Griffiths exclaimed. They followed the sound until they found a portal. They were so mesmerized by the swirling green, blue, and purple that they forgot to say anything. They went in without thinking and saw a big white space with bubbles around the area. Others may mention that magic isn’t real, but this was magic.

            They went into the portal reluctantly and they felt a push, like a tree on a breezy day. They looked back into the portal they came into, and they watched it disintegrate. Suddenly, Mrs. Nelson and Mrs. Rodriguez heard a scream. “NOOO!!!!” Mrs. Griffiths yelled. “What is wrong with you?” Mrs. Nelson yelled back, irritated. “There is no connection out here!” Mrs. Griffiths replied, more annoyed than ever. “So, you're not upset about how we have no idea where we are, but you are annoyed about how there is no service?” Mrs. Rodriguez replied. Mrs. Griffiths didn’t say anything after that. They looked around to see that in the bubbles, they saw their daughters: Hazel, Sami, and Charlie.

            They first went to see Sami, who was all grown up. She was not playing soccer, volleyball, or any sport at all. She was singing. It was such a beautiful song. Mrs. Griffiths looked at her in disgust and then noticed she didn’t want to play any sport. Sami’s passion was to sing. Mrs. Griffiths realized why she hadn’t been playing her best. It was because she doesn’t want to do anything with it.

            Mrs. Griffiths turned over and explained to the others what it was all about, and then, mid-sentence, Mrs. Nelson interrupted. “I want to go see Hazel!” So, they went to what looked like Hazel’s bubble and they saw her painting. She wasn’t doing math at all. Mrs. Nelson started looking at the painting. It had mainly gray tones and there was a woman. She looked very sad. Mrs. Nelson looked closer and saw another woman. She looked mad. “It couldn’t be, could it?” She whispered. She was thinking if that was her and Hazel. Mrs. Nelson looked at the painting on the back wall. They were very good. She also saw the line of people, waiting outside the small white building. The paintings were all so happy and seemed to be events in her own life. Mrs. Nelson was happy for her. She did the same thing as Mrs. Griffiths and explained everything.

            Mrs. Rodriguez was the last one to look at Charlie. Charlie was a writer. She was a famous children's author. “The books she is writing are like someone painted all over a wall with scribbles” Mrs. Rodriguez scolded. She then became aware that Charlie was writing books for little children. To a four-year old, a scribble can look like a beautiful masterpiece. Mrs. Rodriguez figured she should be happy for her. The moms all talked about how proud they are of their daughters and how they should be nicer to them from now on.

            They found that the portal had opened again and they went through it. When they went through, they felt that little push again. They saw that the girls seem totally fine, even though they felt like they were gone for about 3 and a half hours. They went to Hazel, Charlie, and Sami.

            Mrs. Rodriguez was the first one to speak. “I– I’m sorry.” She sighed. “Yeah, us too”. Mrs. Griffiths said, speaking for her and Mrs. Nelson. Charlie asked “For what? What is even happening?” Mrs. Griffiths answered, “We’ve been so tough on you all, so we just wanted to say sorry.” Sami stepped in. “What made you think of this?” Mrs. Nelson looked around to see if anyone could be listening. She said, “We were walking along the path and, we saw a portal. We were very intrigued, so we went in.” She paused to take a breath. “When we went in, we saw you guys, all grown up. We won’t tell you what is happening in the future because it is supposed to be figured out yourself.” When she finished, they all agreed to go home. They all immediately went to bed.

            Every day after that was great. None of them had to do many chores, an excessive amount of homework, or get super tired after having a long day with only sports. They got to go to each other’s houses every now and then and their wish came true. They were normal friends that got to be together. Hazel was still the smartest, Charlie was still the cleanest, and Sami was the best at sports, but they still got to do things they actually liked. Like writing, painting, or singing. Everybody got along nicely, even with their moms. Every day from then on was the best day ever.

Saving the Last Breaths

By Menaal Khurram

        “Mom, mom!  Where are you?” I asked in the darkness. The silence creeped around as I looked for my mom in a small room in a huge castle-like building. “Mom, is that you?” I found her lying on the floor. 

        I could see her hand locked in tight chains as they were swelling around her wrist causing a yellow and pink color to appear. Her waist had a deep cut and there was an overflow of bright red blood, making it difficult to breathe and stay conscious. Her eyes swelled up, gasping for air, she mumbled, 

        “Is that-Is that who I think it is?” My heart was pounding, trying to breathe. I pinched myself, believing it’s all a dream. I wrinkled my nose, eyes squinting, mind confused, taking time to process the moment. Unable to let out a sound, I fell to my knees as they shot to the cement floor, sobbing tears. Letting the tears soak my face, I crawled to my mom looking into her eyes filled with tears.  

        “What, what happened to you?” I asked, before I heard a thunder-like powerful knock on the door which snapped me out of my thoughts. Bang! Bang! 

        “Whoever’s in there, you better come out right now”, screamed a soldier. Tick! Tock! Tick! Goes the clock. I began to panic, both my mom’s and my hearts started beating faster and harder.

        “Listen! Someone has come, and the war has begun. They have great force, and they are trying to give our village a threat.” She stuttered between heavy breaths. “Look I-I- I’m okay. I was able to get away from them. Now you have to go. Go! Warn everyone, you will save your village.” Worried, a tear slid down my cold cheek as my mom placed her shaking hands on my face. 

        “I need to get you out first mama! Come! Come on. You’ll be fine, come on mama!” I cried heavily throwing my arm behind mama’s rock hard back. Trying to get her up more tears fell on both our cheeks. Yet she wouldn’t get up as she wept. 

        “Aziza! Please go, the village is dying!” She tried saying it with a loud tone but couldn’t.

        “Mama! So are you!” I exclaimed with anger and sadness. “I-I-I’ll try my best to help both. You- you can’t leave me right now. I need you!” Sobbing hard, mama tried to smile but only tears fell, and she hugged me as tight as she could while still lying on the cold floor. Still supporting her back she was about to say something when she ate her words, trying her best to open her eyes. Yet they started fluttering and after a few seconds, her eyes fell back, and her head dropped. “Mama? Mama!” I started to panic with fear. I had to get her to our tent in the village before anyone came. 

        I rapidly began to drag my hand under her arms and pick her up with all my might. Before opening the door, a thought was repaired in my mind which reminded me that soldier's mouths were watering just to kill us. I laid mama down a bit further from the door which had some splinters sticking out.

        I slowly opened the door and saw both the soldiers’ backs, trying my best to step as quietly as possible. The two soldiers were wearing thick, rough clothes. Both the soldiers were about to yank out their daggers when I positioned my forearm straight and wrist rounded. I wrapped my arms snug around the soldier’s neck. Twisting both the necks the opposite side which resulted in a loud Crack!

        I grabbed the soldier’s armor and quickly shoved it onto my clothes. Though I was dressed, my mom wasn’t, and she was unconscious. Then, an idea popped into my head. I rapidly dressed my mom with difficulty. I tried to lift her leg to put on the other boots and once let down it fell to the ground making a noise against the floor. My face tensed, scared someone would come. I quickly grabbed the head gear and planted it on my mom’s head, covering her face with the mask.

        I casually took my mom through the soldiers when one came up to me and asked, staring down at my mom then scanning me, “What happened? Where are the soldiers at your door?”

        I prepared my deep voice and man-like accent and replied, “They, they were killed. Someone appeared out of nowhere and started killing us. This soldier is wounded but alive.”

        “What?! How could you let that happen? Did you see his face?!”

        “No, I’m sorry sir.”

        “Just, just go. I’ll take care of it. Go take this soldier to heal the wounds.” I nodded, carrying on with this mission. I successfully snuck out of the building, finally leading to the doctor’s tent. I placed my mom on the bed, which was held up by a wooden stand. I was out of breath and panting to save my mom’s life. I lowered my pointer and middle finger by her nose, touching her neck toward the jugular vein to make sure she was breathing, and she was. As soon as the doctor arrived, I apprised her of the state of my mom’s wound. She carefully examined the wound and assured me that mom was safe, and I should go before she sealed and healed the wound. 

        By the time I left the tent after weeping for hours, it was dark outside. The torches were lit, stars glimmered in the night sky smiling at me as I stared at them trying to smile back. The night was silent, my soul was crying, and it was thirsty for love. Love from my parents and from the village.

        I decided to go and finally see my dad after a long time. I entered the tent, yet he wasn’t there. I checked all the rooms and every place I could think of, but he wasn’t there. My sight was drawn on my dad’s sword holder and when I noticed it was gone. I was confused, though a small note was rolled up like a scroll, lying beside the stand. I pulled the ribbon of the scroll fast, yearning to read. 

        After reading, my face went numb, my lips separated, and I started to feel a pinning tension in both sides of my head and heaviness which led to dizziness. Before I could fall, I threw the doors open to take a deep breath and my eyes began to fill with tears, my hand began to tremble as I stared at the scroll in my hands. Pain grew in my head, then it went to my heart and spread. I couldn't do anything but cry once again. The tears rained down my cheek. I looked up to the sky once again to try and swallow the tears, and then I saw the stars. My blood began to cool a bit as the wind whistled in the air and the pain began to drown. It felt like the warmth of the sun on my skin. My eyes softened, stopping my tears and closing my eyes. Head still upward. Then finally I lowered my head again and opened my eyes to see my village. I knew I couldn’t change the past, so I had to fix the future. 

        The note was meant for my mom. Yet now I know what my dad wanted, and that’s what I would do. Outside it was silent. Many miles away people were dying, and my father was fighting for the village. I knew I had to do the same!

        I once again went to the doctor assuring the precious life of my mom. With that, I ran to my tent and grabbed my dagger to quickly sharpen, and then I tied my messy hair into a thick braid. My mom is a fighter, she fought in battles and had all the tools, the battle gear, the strength, and the patience. Now, it’s my turn!

        I grabbed my guard and gear rapidly, pulling out a scroll of the maps to assure the place of battle. I looked at the mirror and stared into the mirror and saw a little boy. My brother. A boy with light brown hair with loose curls and eyes that gave off a strong and soft-hearted human. I haven’t seen him for a decade, he... he disappeared, and we never saw him again. A tear was about to fall again. However, this time I didn’t dare to let one fall. I know this sounds cliche, but I cried enough at this point.

        People can attack us, arrows can fly to come kill us, let them rain. But now I wasn’t about to let anything happen. I've seen enough! I need to get rid of this pain! This sorrow! This battle!

        If my dad saw me on the battlefield, he would send me back to the village, so disguising myself was a must. I grabbed a rough black cloth and began to tie it around my hair so it wouldn’t be visible. I grabbed my hair once again and wrapped it to the back of my head to cover my mouth and nose, ensuring only my eyes and a little portion of my eyebrows were visible. I took a deep breath and ran out of my tent to run off with my beloved horse. I brought along the maps and headed to the area where the battle was to take place. Minutes passed, maybe an hour. Now, I had to take cover for the night without my father seeing me. 

        Luckily, I found a cave not too big. A cave which contained a dark, gloomy, old feel. I stopped in the cave for as little time as possible to put on my guards, yet I needed light. Glancing at the room rapidly, I noticed a small torch covered by a rusty old blanket crying of the scorching light, first removing the cloth from my face. I had a little fear that the fire on the torch would burn me, though I removed the old blanket. After rapidly pulling the blanket off, to my surprise the light faded away. As confused I was, I had no time to think. My eyes moved before my body, my thoughts scattered, and my ears rang from all the thoughts gathering in my mind.

        Following the light, it led to another dark tunnel. Though this one was more wretched than the other. It was so silent that the sound of spiders weaving their webs were heard. As I listened to their foot work, all of a sudden a frightful tone began to echo. A tone that gave me goosebumps.  The spider’s legs stopped working and the tone got louder. I spun around the cave slowly, watching my every single step. In a blink of an eye a shadow raced through the tunnel. Unable to answer, I tried to take a deep breath when the smell of musk fills my lungs. Slowly turning my body toward the exit trying to keep quiet. 

        My stomach was twisting, wanting to escape as I was too bewildered to speak. Carefully, I took one last gloomy look at the cave, the cave that was as dry as the desert, as dark as the midnight sky. The moment I was about to sigh in relief, a sound of a hungry, extremely muscular, and ferocious tiger was heard behind me. Blocking the doorway, feeling its breath on my face, the smell of fresh meat. Its eagerness to eat me up. I steadily placed my hand firmly up to its big brown nose, heart thumping with fear, as the tiger sniffed. As it sniffed my hand, his eyes sharpened while he stared at me. I stared when it softly pushed its nose against my hand. I slid my hands toward its paws, feeling its leather like paws, my eyes cooling down. The tiger then whined like a baby and fell onto the ground, resembling a kitten seeking help. 

        I pushed the muscular tiger upward; it gently lowered its head to my waist and slightly pushed me toward the exit, as if it wanted me to go out of the cave. As if it wanted me to battle too. My love for animals helped me become friends with the tiger, and after we took a short nap, we looked outside to see the trees swaying. We were able to hear screams of people from the opening and swords clashing against each other. I reluctantly stepped a few feet back, realizing this cave resembled a prison. The prison of fear. This prison was the most difficult prison to break out of.  I had now realized I had been locked into this prison of fear for most of my life. A cave which felt more like a jail that swept us away from the world, no, life. The soldiers had locked the poor tiger away in the dark. This tiger feared as well. Fear grew in him. It seemed he hadn’t escaped the prison yet. I stared at the battlefield in despair and noticed a man who looked awfully familiar. 

        “Baba! I’m coming!” I commanded myself. “This is it! I am going to the battlefield.” I declared and grabbed a dagger. Before stepping on the battlefield, I took my cloth from under my chin covering my face once again. As I took a step leading to the battlefield, the tiger raced in front of me, gently purred and pushed me back with concern to prevent me from getting hurt on the battlefield. I looked at him with pain as he blocked my way. Behind him in the battlefield the soldiers screamed out of their lungs, swords slashing through their stomachs as the blood flew through their waist. I closed my eyes, imagining my family back together, our village a vibrant place once again. Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes, stared at the tiger, and hugged him. Slowly, I stood as the tiger was still sitting. While waiting for the tiger to lie down and gently patting him, I took a deep breath as I prepared myself for the battlefield. I counted to three in my head, roared and jumped over the tiger, and rushed out to the battlefield.

        The tiger followed me with rage as I charged into the crowd of soldiers, trying to lose his sight, however he followed my shadow, and his shadow scared the soldiers. As much as I tried running away from him, he still followed me. We escaped from our prison. We got the key unlocked and are now free. As I paid more attention to the tiger, I realized a man was running my way with his sword in his hand. He screamed and ran after me. I screamed out of my lungs and glanced at the clothing to make sure I was not killing my own village people. As I saw the enemy’s guard, I grabbed my dagger and stabbed him in his leg. Harshly pulling out the dagger, I fell back on the ground and found my dad helping me up, asking in confusion “Whose side are you on? And who are you?” 

        I rapidly said in a deep tone, clearing my throat, “I am on your side. My name is umm ...umm… Azmi.” 

        My dad nodded while he punched a soldier in his face, resulting in the soldier’s face looking yellow and blood dripping down his lips. I was amazed and side by side we fought. My dagger had to be sharpened.

        As I was worried, dad exclaimed “Take this sword Azmi! It will work better,” he winked and continued fighting. Holding this sword was not light weight, it felt special, it felt unreal. I was able to feel the strength in fighting for my village. I knew I had to suppress this battle, as it should last no longer.

        I picked up the sword screaming and ran savagely, withering every soldier as my word cut through their veins. A soldier coming my way caught my sight. I jumped up into the air as the sand gave a cool swirl effect. I positioned my sword, closed my eyes, and stabbed him. Another soldier came running our way, we fought for hours and hours restlessly.

        When we thought we had defeated the enemy, there came a man hidden in the shadows. We could tell just by looking at his shadow that he was a wicked man. He slowly approached us as the sun uncovered his appearance. We all gasped. 

        “Brother! What a nice surprise, no? I thought you would like it. I thought I would win!” There he stood, the man we had not seen for years, my uncle. 

        “This was your army? Why?! What did you want out of this?” Baba yelled, asking disappointedly. 

        “Victory! Power! That is what I want, but don’t worry I am not done yet. No one can take me away; my soldiers may be weak but not me!” my uncle chuckled in an evil manner. At this moment my dad grew angry and held his sword firmly, all of us thinking he was about to stab his own brother. He began to swing it in the air and then…! My uncle dramatically pulled his sword out when…Tak! Baba’s sword was planted in the ground as he straightened his back and gave his brother a stare of warning.

        “Evil is in your heart, if you don't remove it, you’ll never get away from it.” My uncle cackled with an evil expression, his head bouncing back and forth. My dad raged with anger, and I noticed his fisted hands turning bright red and pink. My eyes squeezed then widened, slightly tilting my head wondering if my dad would do what I was thinking. He squeezed harder, then let go and swung his hand and arm in the air with much force, and finally let it all go on the left side of my uncle's face. My uncle's face froze, eyes closed, head still to the right side, pursing his lips hard he turned his head hard looking at my father with anger. His eyebrows almost touched; some blood dripped from his mouth. He was about to move when my dad once again turned my uncle’s face red by his mighty slap. He finally fell unconscious, and with that our soldiers took my uncle away, locking him into the underground dungeon.

        My dad came up to me and said “Very nice work Azmi, that was brilliant, you know you remind me of my daughter. She wanted to fight in battle one day. But I’m not sure when she is going to.” With that he frowned and added, “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

        I happily exclaimed, “I learned it from you. And your daughter, she’s right in front of you.” I took off my face mask and dad’s eyes popped out, his tensed hand dropped, and he tightly hugged me in relief. He stared at me and cried happy tears. Baba and I were about to take a deep breath when we felt something coming closer. It turned out the tiger wanted a hug. He snuggled in all our laps as he purred and cuddled. 

        The pain I had felt in the prison of fear had now run away. My parents' love was the most precious thing I earned. After spending some time with Baba, we headed home to see our beautiful village once again. I could smell the flower essence, the freshly cut grass, and the smell of my grandma's recipe: lamb soup with butter toasted bread. “Mhhhh! No one can beat her recipe!”

        “That’s true, especially after a battle. Aziza, I’m very proud of you. You crossed the line but if you hadn’t, your uncle would’ve torn this village apart. Who knew he was behind this.” Dad exclaimed as he poured more soup into his wooden bowl.

        “We did have an idea, but we haven’t seen him for years baba. Anyways, there’s no point in thinking about the past. Let’s fix the future, and the present. And right now, the present is for us to eat.”

        “Wow, a very encouraging speech.” He replied. 

        “Why is he even here?”

        “Let’s rest up and I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

        “Please baba, maybe if I know RIGHT NOW, then we can save the village before any more unexpected attacks!” 

        “Aziza! There is a time for everything, right now it is time for your mind and body to rest. Good night,” As he got up, I could feel his anger when he stomped his way out of the room. I nodded my head and stared at my hands that lay on the table, frozen in disappointment at my behavior. Once I’d finished eating the juicy lamb, I helped pick up the dishes and tried to keep the space tidy.

        Afterward, I headed to my mom's room to check on her. She was in her bed lying on her right side and snoring. As for her wound, it was still deep, and the bandaging was not holding back much of the blood. It had started to leak out. I decided to change it when mother woke up, but the whistling wind lulled her to sleep. 

        The rustling leaves swayed past the lush green grass dancing in the gentle wind. As if the wind sang and whistled as the trees and plants danced gracefully. I could feel the warmness brush through my hair, and the gentle breeze washing my face. A creak snapped me out of my relaxation.

        I could hear squeaks from the floor and tried to look at what it was. Nothing was there. I silently tiptoed to the door and peeked out. There was nothing. As I took a glance around my surroundings, a few light knocks startled me as my gaze turned toward the doorway. I squatted and quietly walked past my father's room. He was asleep. I tried my best to avoid any floor noises. I stepped one foot closer to the chestnut-colored door. I turned, gently holding onto the door, tiptoeing an inch closer and finally arriving at the doorknobs. As I closed my left eye to peek through the peephole, I didn't see anything. Suddenly, the door swung open and right. Then my reflexes unleashed, and, like the door, my fist swung straight toward the person. 

        Before I unleashed another punch, a hand held my fist. A hooded person, covered all in gray and black, except for the scars and open wounds on the person's arm. I knitted my eyebrows together, remembering my little dagger was hidden in my sleeve. Slowly and gently, I tried to pull it out. Yanking my fist out of the figure’s hand, I pushed the tall person with all my might out the door. I took myself out with the force. Laying on the floor, he tilted his head up a bit, but I could only see his bottom lip and chin. “Show yourself, or else…” I rapidly grabbed the tiny dagger from my sleeve, about to grab his collar and place the danger on his jugular vein.

        Before I could make a move, he backflipped across to the other side pulling out an unexpected tool: an ax. He slightly slid off his hood, yet all that was shown was his eyes and eyebrows. The rest of the figure’s face was covered with a mask. “Alright, I gave you a chance. Now you lost it.” I whispered under my breath. I jumped in thin air about to unravel a punch once again. I found myself nailing him to the ground. My shiny, freshly sharpened dagger frozen right above the figure’s neck. The figure’s long, big, scarred hand held my dagger in his palms, causing his palm to flood with blood as it dripped to the grass floor. Confused, my eyes popped, I squinted, and the mask was finally revealing the figure's face. As his face had been unraveled, my eyebrows, which had almost touched, slowly relaxed. The familiar face peeked up, standing with a straight posture, broad shoulders, and one palm still bloodied holding the dagger. Seeing the figure, my dagger dropped.

        My eyes widened and my heart skipped a beat, maybe two. My mouth dropped open. I could hear the sound of the saliva on my tongue, as my tongue dropped from behind the top of my teeth. Tears welled up in my eyes as my sight began to blur. I rapidly blinked my tears away, looking at my dagger with his blood. I tried taking a deep breath as I raised my chin up. But instead that steady breath became a shaky one. The moment I never thought I would ever meet, had not just met me. It had greeted me. I scanned him from top to bottom. Knowing what I’d done to him poorly.

        His tiny, ripped spots on his pants, and his boots that he’d probably run through mud with. His hair that once used to be a shiny brown with loose bouncy curls was now messy with crumpled up leaves and dirt. His hair seemed as if it was cut tragically, the tip of his bottom left lip seemed as if it had had dried blood that had reached to the top of his chin. But the one thing my sight had been stuck on was the scar. It started from the top of his eyebrow and ended down toward his cheek bone. I could partly see the flesh of the cheek exposed, a light pink-ish on the opening and a dark red as the outline of the scar. The left side of the scar was yellow-ish, as if he got punched by a powerful swing. 

        “J-J-J-Jameel? Wha…Wha…?” Unable to speak, I stuttered, losing my breath. Without even thinking, I jumped into his arms, leaving a puddle of salty tears on his shirt. His arms froze at first, leaving the hug open. Then I heard the beat of his heart beating faster. We shared the same feeling, happiness. He closed the hug in return, landing his chin on my head slowly tilting it downward to kiss my head, tears flooding his face. He sniffled and finally let out his voice. 

        “I missed you, I just wanted to come back. I missed all of you.” I turned my head upward to look at his face and replied. 

        “We thought you died. You understand?!” I scoffed between tears and finished my thought looking him up and down once again. “You know, you got really tall!” I exclaimed, sniffling and hugging him once again. “My brother’s home! He’s finally home!”

        It seemed I had been weeping so loud my father could hear. He ran out the door holding his sword to find his daughter and son reunited after a decade. His jaw slowly fell open and his sword fell out of his hands as he let out a whisper.

        “Jameel?!” Jameel looked up to see his baba and so I let go of his warm embrace. He ran to Baba and kissed his hand as he breathed heavily as Baba watched. Jameel wept, standing there, and wanting to hug his father.  Before he could, Baba wrapped him with the tightest hug as we all sobbed. I stood behind Jameel’s back, smiling when baba pulled me into the reuniting hug.

 

The No-Contact Sport I Play

by Mark A. Riego de Dios

        “If you don’t let me out right now, I swear to God I’ll jump out of the car!” This retort of mine somehow finally got my ex-best friend to acquiesce, considering seconds ago us bidding good night in front of my place got non-consensually met with “No, we’re going on the expressway”. Maybe it was my ultra-rare display of unrefined assertiveness resulting from sleep deprivation. Maybe it was because I stated it with 100% conviction, where I already had my car door open for two houses down following this outburst. Hmmm. If not for the streetlights, I wouldn’t see what fast-moving pavement looks like up-close.

        Regardless, I just wasn’t up for being taken onto I-94 after being falsely accused at 3.a.m. and subjected to nothing but speculation the past half-hour after spending the whole day gallivanting with him. Who would ever put with further coercion at 94 mph well before dawn on a Sunday morning? Hasn’t being best friends for five years at least earned me the benefit of the doubt that I have an absolutely good reason to say no this one time?

        As I got out and walked back home with my back completely turned, I heard him pull up and roll down his window. In response to his uncharacteristic uber-gentle delivery of “All I’m asking you to do is tone it down”, I nonchalantly pronounced that “We’re not hanging out tomorrow”. Or ever again. Because I’m done. I’ve decided. Except what I’m doing here, for the record, isn’t ghosting. Ghosting’s when you completely disappear on someone without a genuine attempt on your part to air out your grievances. At least I can say I tried.

        Earlier that evening, my ex-best friend had me tag along to a goodbye get-together at the neighborhood sports bar that sponsors his kickball team as well as the fantasy football multi-league we’ve been doing for two seasons. A fellow member decided to move to the West Coast with his new girlfriend. That’s all I ever knew about Wes due to neither having hung out with him nor being friends on social media, unlike my “friend” who got invited here through there.

        Considering I already spent most of the day also being my ex-pal’s last-minute plus-one to his teammates’ female clothing swap party, I embraced the opportunity presented at Wes’s farewell to meet new people that aren’t already my ex-buddy’s friends. It’s nothing against them personally. There just hasn’t been anyone I’ve met through him who was interested enough to reach out to me without wanting something done for them. I guess that’s the downside of being best friends with someone they know you’re physically around almost every day of the week.

        Anyways, I thought “he” was cool with me breaking off to mingle, based on me only hearing from him when he bought shots for Wes and his entourage. “He” gave me his shot to keep a promise to his mom to reverse his recent prediabetic diagnosis. He had drinks through me vicariously, to prevent his alcohol-consuming comrades feeling awkward or chastising him for refraining. Sadly, I know from personal experience. When it comes to drinking, I just don’t care for the empty calories or health-related consequences to which there would be no problem living straightedge the rest of my life if need be.

        As much as I yearned encountering someone new, I saw no viable options then and there. Out of everyone to come up and talk to, I would have either gone in as a third wheel or had to try pointlessly harder to connect with others who only showed signs of low attraction toward me. Something valuable I’ve read and learned on my own about dating and relationships is pinpointing a person’s level of interest toward you. When it’s already high, they’ll make it easy for you to spend time with them. They may even approach you first. Why waste your efforts on someone just not into you?

        Instead of having my whole night be ‘make-or-break’ by strangers who haven’t yet embraced the opportunity to know or care about me, I fell back on chilling with the people there I already platonically got along with. Excluding my former chum and bar staff, that just left one patron. Aside from seeing her watch a Cubs game by herself, I noticed her DJ fiancée of thirteen years preoccupied with hosting in-house karaoke in the back. He was looking lonely from no takers of his loudspeaker song request call, with Wes’s party in the front also being the only customers at the time. I tried bringing them together by first telling each couple of Wes’s guests what’s going on in the back. Then, after no one came over, asking him what song he wants so I can personally tell the DJ (who somehow never got around to playing it).

        After nothing new developed on either side, I let it be and finally greeted Del. It was our third interaction, with the previous two on my birthday two months earlier and the night before. Both moments took place at our bar. Despite our meeting being unintentional (my so-called friend called her over to join our table both times without running it by me prior), she readily enjoyed my character impersonations on account of vast, mutual pop culture familiarity.

        Even though we sat and talked for a few hours, the conversation just didn’t flow as pleasantly or effortlessly as our last two. Perhaps it had something to do with her stack of empty tall beer cans by the time I got to her. Maybe it was that I felt entirely out of my element.

        Lexi the bartender was the only person who acknowledged me. Aside from that only happening because “he” asked her what she thought of my fashion choice, “he” called her “Mona” twice right beforehand, to which I pulled him to the side without hesitation and corrected him. Otherwise, he’d keep on mistaking her as our semi-regular Red Robin waitress. Whether you agree with me or not, the most important duty of a wingman isn’t getting his bro laid by any means necessary; it’s to keep him out of trouble. Should I not instead have relished letting him be in order to laugh at inevitably being corrected?

        We got to the bar at 7 p.m., leaving a little after 2 a.m. All I wanted to do was get home and call it a day. Keep in mind “he” picked me up at 9 a.m. and took me out for ice cream in the middle of the night. I couldn’t wait to finally have a good night’s sleep, lying back on my car seat’s headrest. “He” suddenly asked me, in a weird prying tone, “What are you thinking about?”. I said “nothing”. “He” repeated his question, and I repeated myself. Unless you’re having trouble sleeping, who the hell wants to have an intellectual conversation at 3 a.m. on a weekend morning?

        That’s when “he” ambushed me, interrogating me next with “You like her, don’t you?” I looked at him in disbelief while replying “No, I don’t.” “You know she’s engaged, right?” Duh, you introduced us because we were all at the same table where you witnessed every freaking interaction between me and her!

        Then “he” laid into me how Del’s boyfriend confronted him early on that evening, asking “him” if I was cool. Allegedly, “he” said I was. He proceeded to stay out of it and let me be. The guy still had issue with me speaking to his girl, to which he warned “him” how he’d be keeping an eye on me the entire evening. Wow. Someone I tried helping out earlier still questions my character even after I vouched for him. Really? If you’re not going to give me the benefit of the doubt, whatever. But our mutual “friend” at least deserves to know if you do truly respect him. Apparently, helping him co-host a Christmas party at our bar five months earlier where you DJ’ed doesn’t score points with you either.

        I countered by telling him that if I was being completely watched “like a hawk” (according to the Ex-Best Friend), that he would have seen another dude at one point rudely interrupt my conversation with Del while not caring enough to exchange names with me, skipping the small talk to straight-up asking her for a selfie and immediately leaving right afterwards; like a creep would. Apparently, none of that meant anything to my “friend”, who reprimanded me with this being about me and not some random guy. If someone’s not going to date his girlfriend as much as he courted her for thirteen years, another man will.

        When asked what Del and I talked about, I revealed that we mostly discussed movies, no different from our previous talk on TV shows that he was a witness to. In addition, I revealed that not once did I ever make a move. Let’s see. I never bought her a drink or offered because of the romantic signal it sends. Same goes for refraining from asking for her contact info or divulging mine. We never physically touched each other. Why would someone successful enough to become engaged for 13 years have a problem with one guy’s conversation with his fiancée but have no issue with another person getting an intimate picture? Does he really believe that just logically talking to a girl all night will make her attracted to me in the absence of total emotional engagement on her end?

        Then “he” chastised me about potentially homewrecking their relationship solely on how the interaction looked, surmising my social behavior to be as “awkward” as when we began hanging out. I shied away from talking to girls then and came off as nerdy. This time around, I didn’t hesitate or need a wingman to talk to someone who caught my eye. You can’t do both while still being the same person. That’s growth and confidence.

        “He” proceeded to lecture me on how I was being awkward for not knowing to reject Del more because I never learned how to turn away girls. Yeah, you’re right. I never turned her down because she never gave me the opportunity to, due to me seeing zero romantic interest from her. So, you’re saying I’m supposed to make her want to get with me, just to reject her the way you’d like to see while the DJ clearly doesn’t want to see that?

        Consequently, “he” demanded that I spend the next time we all see each other turning her away from me as much as possible. This was going to be seven days later. “He” had this bogus notion that were Mr. DJ Fiancée to see me not play nice with his fiancée, he’d appreciate the “kind” gesture and be cool with me. My counterproposal of “I’ll just skip the event” was met with his covert kidnapping attempt, to coerce me into doing it his way. Ironically, this is literally experiencing “it’s my way or the highway”. On a similar side note, maybe “riding shotgun” is called the way it is because someone sitting in that front passenger car seat had a gun pointed at him.

        It’s a numbers game. Whether that be how many social media followers achieved or however many attempts made. For starters, there were his 1000 Facebook friends and 500 Meetup members whose group “he” hired me to help co-create. There were also at least 39 calls from him since we last hung out two years ago. I say “at least”, factoring in how many unknown dialers may have been him. A third of those being one to three-minute voice mails ranging from “I’m just letting you know I’m driving home where they just issued a tornado warning. So, I’m about to drive into this tunnel for safety” to telling me about events he’s throwing that I’m still welcome to attend, immediately followed by him saying he knows I’m not going to go. So, you’re asking me something you already know the answer to. If it’s not reverse psychology, why reach out?

        Matching in variety are his emails, starting with an invitation containing his Capital One credit card Platinum referral link and another offering to pay $200 to help him write a paper for work. Sad to say, this is four times more than what he gave me each time for my letter writing help. It got his bonus request granted and his higher-salary negotiation to succeed, now earning six figures at work. At least I know what I’m worth now.

        How about countless texts, like being asked to return the one thing I ever borrowed from him? Said request began with “You suck/Hey sucky man/Can I get my football back?” Doing that through his mom instead got her to pull all the stops, like complimenting how I’m looking trimmer and how she considers me to be like family as her fourth son. Her best advice when it comes to her son, “He’s just a big kid. Just take a breather and come back”, leaves way more to be desired. Your son’s definitely a handful; we’ll both agree on that. Are you urging me to make up with him because the more time he’s with me, the less time his family has to put up with him because they all live together? Or is it because she believes we’re good for one another and truly make each other happy?

        Then there’s hearing from just a few of his flying monkeys, with one reaching out asking for his add request to the group to be accepted despite me no longer being listed as the FB group admin. I guess whatever another phoned me on wasn’t deemed important enough to leave a voice message. It’s interesting being tagged in his event by someone else when we all know I’m clearly not there. Did he put you all up to this, or is he giving you the run-around regarding something you wanted from him that “he” wasn’t relenting on by sending you my way?

        What’s interesting about him rotating between all these different communication platforms at different times of day is the most frequent theme in his correspondence: semiregular namedropping of all these different people he says miss me and want to know how I’m doing. Hmmm. I’ve distanced myself from him and his group of friends for nineteen months now. Of course, they wonder why, because they were used to me being 100% there for him and milking it. I guess they don’t miss or care about me enough to reach directly. Otherwise, I’ll believe it when I see it. I take that back, “if” I ever see it, because not even his family ever tried contacting me independently. They don’t have my number, but what’s stopping them from getting it from him? Same goes for his friends that do have my digits.

        If this is all a game to him that he wants me to play, the numbers just aren’t on his side. At best, they show that I pad his stat sheet. To restate, I quantitatively make his job and life easier. Was he really matching my statistical effort like he keeps claiming? Was he helping his best friend try to win as I did in kind, or was he just trying to win for himself?

        No matter how I look back on that night, there was nothing better I could do with all the information I knew at the time. Isn’t that the best any of us can do? However, what one counts as success differs for everyone due to our unique motivation at the time.

        For example, take Mr. DJ Fiancée when he confronted my “friend” about me, opting to surveil me instead of directly talking to me. It’s clear something about me threatens him; it doesn’t matter as much identifying what or why. The more important thing to consider is what he has to gain from the particular actions he’s taken. Challenging me face-to-face in that public place jeopardized him. It made him come off as a jealous, insecure boyfriend, which just isn’t a cool look for a DJ or for someone who’s engaged. Of course, he’s going to do anything he can to not lose his decade-long dating partner, especially if he can do so with minimal effort and risk. Hence, getting someone he’s not particularly fond of to do something he wants is way easier to accomplish if he can convince someone close to his rival to do his dirty work for him. Or maybe he’s not being faithful to her and he’s projecting that onto me instead.

        Now let’s look at Mr. Ex-Best Friend, who chose not to warn me as early on as “he” could have. “He” decided his best friend deserved to be the last person to know about someone having a problem with me early on. For whatever reason, “he” never thought to insert himself into the situation or pull me away from a conversation that Mr. DJ Fiancée didn’t want to keep seeing me have. Just like he picked three in the morning, when the majority of the world’s already sleeping or passed out, to initiate and win an argument with someone operating on very little sleep. Hey, if you want to win, you can either overcome your competition at his strongest or weakest. But how are you truly winning if you choose to do the latter, especially when it’s your best friend?

        And then there’s me. I didn’t have to drink a Fireball to help placate a forty-year old’s mommy, just like I could blatantly disregard someone’s exclusive marital status without a care in the world. Let’s say I did do that throughout the night in question. Had I not been designated drinker by proxy, he’d most likely succumb to peer pressure and drink those shots himself. But then that keeps him prediabetic, where his retired nurse of a mommy would get on his case about it. He’d either take it out on me or blame me for his unhealthy choice to keep her from yelling at him as much. She could also seek me out, under the pretense of not being a good friend and needing to look out for him better. Either way, I’m subjecting myself to future criticism and unnecessary drama and internal conflict I’d rather prevent.

        It’s the same reason that, during the entire course of my friendship with him, I never hesitated to tell him crucial information (i.e., someone crashing his event). I always provided the disclaimer of “it’s so you have all information possible to make the best decision”. In hindsight, I realize I did this for just as selfish of a reason: I’ve always wanted a best friend who had my back in the same way. Not that I expect him to think as far ahead as me, but I thought he’d be at least cognizant enough to just let me know and let me take it from there. The bottom line is that I can’t help all parties concerned in a precarious situation if I’m completely in the dark early on. I guess my only mistake that night was believing I had a best friend who’d warn me in real time if someone had it out for me, like I always did for him without hesitation.

        So, isn’t it too extreme to go incommunicado on someone following one bad night when he still calls me his “best friend” to this very day after five years together? What if this unhealthy, short-sighted behavior of his isn’t an isolated moment? What if I called him out on a similar transgression when he admitted that I’m right but never consistently changed his behavior to not repeat history again? Shouldn’t I give him another chance? More importantly, has he done anything to truly earn that from me?

        Everyone wants to end a day on a positive note. I’m no different, in that it’s just not in me to start the day figuring out what I can take or get at someone’s expense. Beyond there being zero attraction from her, getting with Del never crossed my mind because my “friend” would be guilty by association of my actions. He’d be put in a tough situation where others who don’t condone what I hypothetically did either freeze him out or enforce that they can hang out but without me. Besides, being cheated on sucks; I learned that the hard way. Furthermore, why would I do that to our bar’s DJ, where the majority of people would readily side with him and excommunicate me with my mere patron status?

        It’s even worse ending the night believing that your actions didn’t hurt anyone or yourself, but then you’re suddenly told otherwise in a purely blindsided and unsubstantiated manner. Sure, “he” screwed me over, but holding off the way he did kept me from making sure that all parties concerned had a drama-free night. How am I supposed to help if I’m being scapegoated and don’t know about something before it’s too late?

        I never got to show them that I’m 100% not into Del like that. I never got to tell “him” that I had no problem leaving her alone if asked and would do so while offering the last piece of advice. Girls only get turned off by a guy’s jealousy and insecurity, to which other men will take advantage; physically removing the competition doesn’t solve internal conflict. I never got to ask my “friend” to drive us elsewhere instead, not only because there wasn’t anyone else open to interacting, but also guaranteeing her unable to fall for someone due to me being completely gone. Most guys wouldn’t do what I readily would have, even when I don’t owe Mr. Ex-Best Friend and Mr. DJ Fiancée anything. Then again, I’m not most guys. It’s such a shame that the both of you decided to let someone’s choice of fun for the evening be watching another dude, behind his back, not do something that was suspected of him early on.

        I want to be in a place where the truth matters. I believe that telling the truth mattered to my ex-best friend, beyond just using it to look good. That night, “he” didn’t accept anything I said when he interrogated me on how my behavior supposedly “looked”. It was also the first time I felt I could no longer trust him, because he didn’t trust me enough standing by saying no to what he wanted me to do next. He wants me to make sure Mr. DJ Fiancée’s girl can never like me? Fine. But if she had no level of attraction toward me due to my logical conversational flow, anything less than what I was already doing only emotionally engages her, while making that 0% just go up. Since I’m asked to do this at his party around other guests, imagine anyone else happening to witness me “in action” with a girl while drawing and gossiping the wrong conclusion. It would spread like wildfire, to which Ex-Best Friend is at risk of looking bad by association because I “looked” bad. Am I being accused of homewrecking because they would, or are, secretly guilty themselves of doing what I never would dream of doing?

        For my “friend” to not help me in the way I’ve always helped him without fail, all it showed on his part was total short-sighted lazy irresponsibility. It’s one thing to avoid accountability because he doesn’t want to be in the middle of someone not being cool with another, because that’s ultimately between two people. It’s another entirely when he lied by omission when he never had to in the first place, which could very well undo a thirteen-year relationship. Thanks to his inaction, Mr. DJ Fiancée now believes guys who look like me and act how I did are the threat to his engagement, instead of other guys taking advantage like Selfie Creeper. Not to mention, thinking the way he’s tempted to distracts him from the real problem of having forgotten to do all the things he did that got her to fall in love with him. Lying by omission is still lying. Lying around is technically another form of lying. Why keep on trusting a liar who lies around?

        Hence, the only way I know to not endanger anyone’s exclusive relationship in my ex-friend’s world, while not waiting around to be told crucial information about me and preventing him from ever looking bad due to (former) close association with me, is for me to completely stay away. The thing is, I’ve only been going on what “he” said happened. He could very well be making it all up. If that’s the case, what else has he lied about?

        So that’s the game I play now, this no-contact sport. I may not have his popularity, or “nice guy” reputation, or be known to thrown fun events or be invited everywhere, but at least I’m no longer playing someone else’s game. Plus, all that time I spent being his friend is now time for being a better best friend to myself than he tried passing himself off as.

        Most of all, the numbers are on my side here. It’s a commonly stated adage how we’re the average of the five people surrounding us most in life. And there’s this YouTube clip revealing how 15% of everyone in the world is considered to have some form of a toxic personality. Applying Pareto’s 80/20 Principle means eliminating the most problematic 20% in one’s life removes 80% of the headaches resulting from that. Ever since I’ve played no-contact, I lost 40 pounds. Originally, I thought it was a temporary trauma response, until it legitimately sustained. Actually, I stand corrected, because it’s an additional 320 pounds that I shed in the form of a former “best friend”. Nonetheless, it’s not that I want to keep on playing the no-contact sport I’ve been playing for the rest of my life, but it’s helping me survive and truly win. Because if I don’t learn to want to survive or succeed at life, how can I ever truly be happy?