You're Still Here?

I can’t breathe. The tears keep strangling me. I keep asking myself why this is so painful. It’s tickling my brain. But, I can’t help it.

Magdy’s large hand on my shoulder is my only solace. But I can sense he doesn’t understand.

“Enough, Ahmed!” he pleads. “What the hell happened for you to do this to yourself?!”

I try to answer, but it’s difficult to speak in between sporadic gasps. Magdy grabs the tissues off the bedside table and hands me two. I press the tissues against my nose and blow. The interruption of blowing helps my breathing to slowly find its rhythm. I take a few deep breaths.

“She said she still loves me,” I explain with my booger-repressed voice. “She loves me, but can’t be with me anymore.”

Magdy sighs and shakes his head before lifting his gaze to mine. “I know you were together for a long time.”

“8 years,” I specify firmly as my eyelids squeeze another burning tear out of my eye. “8 years and then she ends it because she needs to ‘find herself’ and ‘figure out what she wants from life.’”

“Yes… I know you were together for 8 years. And what she’s saying might not make sense. But you have to calm down. People break up all the time. It’s just…normal.”

I don’t really know what to say to that. I know it happens all the time. But, it doesn’t feel normal. I’m still crying and suffocating myself with an endless flow of boogers. I don’t understand. There are countless problems in this world. But, knowing how relatively insignificant my problems are isn’t doing anything for me. It still aches. I remind myself of that street cat I once watched die from the poison someone left out for her. She was shaking and convulsing and foaming uncontrollably. I couldn’t look away. I’m drooling and Magdy is watching me.

“Ahmed…I don’t know what’s going through her head. Neither do you. But, you have to forget about her.”

“How?” I beg.

Magdy removes his hand from my shoulder.

“Ahmed…” Magdy pauses. “She’s gone. And she’s not coming back.”

______

I haven’t showered. I’ve barely eaten. I can’t stop thinking about Laila’s last breaths. It all happened so fast. Magdy left, I got the call, I ran to the hospital, I held her hand, she whispered, “I love you,” she exhaled for an abnormally long time, then she stopped moving. I can’t stop thinking about it. The way her face looked.

Today is the burial. I’ll wear the purple tie. She loved purple. I should shower and shave first. She loved me.

______

I can’t find them anywhere. I don’t know why no one shared this information anywhere. But, the burial must be here somewhere. Or the prayer. I think I’m late. Wait, I think I see them carrying the casket to the mosque. I’ll run over.

______

I can’t focus on the funeral prayer. People keep glancing over at me as though I shouldn’t be here. My only relief is when my head touches the ground. I don’t need to see anyone watching when my head touches the ground. I can focus on being her for Laila.

I don’t understand their glances. Granted, I don’t recognize most of the people either. But, we all know the deceased. I’m just another person praying for her, which can only do her soul good. Where else do these people expect me to be if not here? I expected more familiar faces, but I understand them wanting to keep it intimate. But, the more prayers the better, right? Anyway, it’s not my decision.

The Imam’s voice is beautiful. Laila would have liked his voice, too. She was a great singer.

The last time I saw someone get buried was when my grandfather passed around five years ago. I had to help with performing the purification of his body shortly before. It was absurd - washing a dead body. It felt both counter-intuitive and beautiful.

Laila was there for the burial. She held my hand. She was also there for my father’s burial three years before. She was always resilient, capable of accepting life’s hard truths. Me, I always ruminated on them too much until my reflections manifested physically. Now, they’re burying her. I just swallowed some vomit. My throat is burning. So are my eyes.

I can’t see her mother anywhere. I asked about her but most of the people just shrugged and stuck their lower lip out. The others shushed me.

______

I texted Auntie Lamia saying, “Hello Auntie. I know this must be a tough time for you. But, I just want you to know that I’m always here if you need anything.”

She just responded with a heart. I can understand that.

______

Hey, Laila. Beautiful Laila. I know it’s only been two days since the burial. But, I wanted to visit you anyway. You know, my father once said, “love is a weakness because it makes you need someone.” In the same breath, he kissed my mother’s hand. I watched her lose him and, while she misses him, she’s still carrying on. She says she knows he died loving her and that gives her the strength to carry on. A few weeks ago, my sister told me someone asked Mama out and that she’s considering it. I wonder how that works. She still loves my father. She still posts tons of photos of him and long reflections on their marriage every year on his anniversary. But, she might still find some room in her heart to welcome someone else. I don’t really get it yet. But, maybe I’ll be okay knowing you died loving me.

You remember my father’s funeral? And what you said to me after we buried him? You said, “what do you think death feels like?” I thought that was a dumb question. And an even dumber time to ask it. But, your curiosity always got the best of you. Then you answered yourself saying, “it probably feels like it looks. And it looks peaceful.” I hope you were right. I hope you’re peaceful.

______

Magdy has been trying to reach me. I’m not sure why he wasn’t at the funeral. I found that insulting, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. So, I just asked him to leave me alone for a while. I haven’t heard from anyone since she passed. It’s quite odd. I know it’s not about me, but I would have expected some people to reach out and check in on me. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m feeling a bit better today. I visited Laila again this morning. I still miss her all the same.

I do feel somewhat guilty about my grief. Knowing there are people dying harsher deaths, living harder lives. I guess it’s all relative. But, I should do a better job at putting things into perspective. Then again, she just passed a few days ago. It’s natural to feel this way. At least, I think it is. And it’s not like the world stops spinning. We’re still going in circles. I’m still going to work. I still need money. I still have responsibilities I need to think about. I wish she could be here while I think. At least I know she wanted to be. At least that.

______

I woke up to a call from Magdy today. He said he would drop by and drag me to some house-party whether I liked it or not. He’s supposed to be here in a few minutes. I don’t understand what he’s thinking. It’s only been a month since Laila passed. I texted him saying I wasn’t up for it, but he insisted he would drop by first to talk about it. There he is at the door.

______

“Ahmed, I’m sorry you’re not feeling up to it. But, you need to get out of here. You need to breathe proper oxygen, see people. This won’t help you.”

“I can’t attend a party so soon after. You know that. It’s not even customary. It’s not how we were raised.”

“First of all, it’s not a party. It’s a gathering at someone’s apartment with some background music and drinks. And secondly, how we were raised… Ahmed, we grew up in the same country and I don’t even know what customs you’re talking about. Anyway, we live abroad so whatever customs you’re thinking about don’t apply. Now, I know you’re in pain. But, just listen to me. Staying home will only make things worse. So just come with me. Please.”

______

I’m not sure why I agreed. He wasn’t compelling. I guess a part of me agreed with my needing a change of scenery. I’ve just been at home ruminating on the night she passed. Some distractions might be good. Plus, the ride over here was actually kind of nice. An adorable old couple hopped on the metro. The woman was wearing this blindingly pink hat and a green dress while the man was wearing a brown cardigan of wool, decorated with blue triangular patterns. All the seats were taken and they were holding each other’s hands so tightly, they forgot to grab onto a rail. So, when the train took off, they almost fell over. But, I had my eye on them partly because their clothes distinguished them from the crowd and partly because I was kind of jealous of them. Anyway, they almost fell over and I caught them. They both smelled like a thrift shop. Magdy kept cracking jokes the whole way and he actually made me smile. He told me about the last time he went to KitKat and that people were more sexual than usual. I’ve never been, but Magdy is a regular there and he said even he was surprised by the animalism. Anyway, he said a friend of his introduced him to this really tall German man in nothing but zipper-underwear and, when Magdy extended his hand to shake, the guy took advantage of the dim lights, unzipped his underwear, and plopped his thing in Magdy’s hand. But, Magdy only realized what was happening two shakes in. He was angry while sharing the story, but I couldn’t help chuckling. Anyway, I’m glad he reported the guy.

Since arriving here, I’ve been drinking in a corner. It’s a nice corner in an even nicer apartment. Green linen walls with floral patterns, high ceilings with baroque lining across the edges, persian carpets, massive living room. I don’t know where Magdy finds these friends. He has too many. There’s also too many people here. All dressed up as remarkably as that old couple on the train. I’m in a hoody. Anyway, I’m hoping to continue intoxicating myself without being noticed. Magdy seems to be having a good time. He always does. Talking to strangers unabashedly. I wish I could be more like him. Have principles, stick to them, think less, live more. But, I can’t really help it. I think too much. Laila often complained about my over-active brain. She was always more of a doer. She wanted something, she worked towards it. “If you want something, you work hard until you get it,” is what she would always say. “You sacrifice time and energy. No excuses. If you want something, you do something about it. No thinking.”

I always admired that about her. She did more than she thought or talked. But, she would also sometimes thank me for thinking. Never really understood what she meant by that.

Oh, no. Amr and John are coming over here. Both wearing oversized button-up shirts with obscure patterns. Stoner idiots. Neither of them has checked in on me since it happened. Not that we’re close or anything. I mean, I guess I thought we were closer. But, she died. They should have checked in.

“Hey,” Amr begins. “How’ve you been, Ahmed?”

“Yeah,” John continues. “I’m sorry, man. We should’ve reached out earlier.”

I’m not sure how to respond. “That’s fine,” I say delicately. “I’m alright. I couldn’t have done anything about it, right?”

“Ah… No,” Amr says hesitantly.

“Anyway, it’s good to see you. Magdy said you weren’t doing very we-” something cuts John off as his gaze raises over my head. Amr follows John’s eyes. Before I can take a look, Magdy jumps over to me, grabs my shoulders and, with droopy eyes and an urgent tone, he says, “Ahmed, I’m really sorry, I had no idea she was coming.”

______

I can’t stop pacing. I think people are looking. How’s that her? That can’t be her. It looks like her. Her brown skin, her brown eyes, that long hair, that curvy body, that colorful sweater. But I saw her die. I visited her grave. Am I speaking out loud? People are looking. She’s looking. Why am I pointing at her?

“You’re alive!” That was undoubtedly vocal. “You’re alive!” I have to go to her. I’m running over to her. People are stepping aside but she’s there frozen, waiting for me. She’s in front of me. I can smell her. She’s real. Should I touch her?

“You’re still here,” I say with a tear accumulating behind my left eye-lid.

Why isn’t she saying anything? She is smiling, but her eyes aren’t.

“I-how? How are you still here?”

Everything around me feels frozen. Everything is still. I think people are still looking.

“Ahmed, I was invited,” she says nonchalantly. Was that one of her clever jokes? I can’t believe it. I can’t stop laughing. Why isn’t she laughing? Why isn’t everyone laughing? I can’t stop laughing. I’ll hug her. I’m hugging her. I’m squeezing her. I’m still laughing. Why isn’t she hugging me?

“You’re still here!” I can’t stop screaming that sentence out in between laughs.

“Ahmed! Let me go!” Why is she telling me to let her go? I can’t. I won’t

“Let me go!” She keeps saying that desperately. But, I’m just squeezing harder. Laughing harder. Screaming louder. People are still looking. Someone’s hand is on my back. More hands are around my shoulders. More hands are pulling my arms off of her. Laila is slithering away. Why is she doing that? I think Magdy is choking me. I’m still screaming, “You’re still here.” They’re pulling me out and I’m trying to shake all of these hands off me. But, they’re too many. Every time I push one off another one appears. Magdy’s arm is still around my neck. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

______

“Ahmed.” I recognize that voice. “Ahmed, wake up.” I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep. My eyelids still feel heavy. It’s Magdy. He looks blurry, but I recognize his outline. My eyes hurt for some reason. I can’t rub them without worrying about them imploding.

“What happened?” I ask.

“What happened? What happened is you had a bit of a fit.”

My neck hurts. Sitting up pierces my abdomen.

“How did we get home? Is it still dark out?”

Magdy sighs.

“Yes. It’s 3 AM. We took a cab. You were out, though.”

My neck hurts a lot.

“You choked me out.”

Magdy chuckles uncomfortably before adding, “you were out of control, Ahmed.”

I’m slowly remembering. Laila was there. She’s not dead. She smelled good and was wearing my favorite sweater. The wool one with thin horizontal lines of various calming colors - yellow, blue, green.

“Laila…she’s still here…”

Magdy just looks at me with that rare despair I saw in his eyes at his mother’s funeral.

I remember that repressed tear behind my left eyelid from when I saw her. It’s on my face now.

“Ahmed,” Magdy grunts. “Ahmed, you have to calm the hell down. I don’t know what was going on with you last night. But… actually, though, what the hell happened last night?”

I’m trying to find a way to explain it. She’s not here anymore. But she’s alive.

“She’s alive,” I vocalize to Magdy. “She’s alive, but she’s not here.”

Magdy’s eyebrows are higher than usual. I don’t think I did a very good job at explaining what happened last night.

“Are you messing with me?” Magdy asks. “Because it’s not fun-”

We both jump at the sound of the knock.

Magdy grunts before standing up and walking to the door. I guess he could tell I couldn’t get up.

______

He’s been at the door for a while. I hear him whispering something.

“Magdy,” I call out. A few seconds later I hear more than one person’s footsteps. But only Magdy is at the door.

“Ahmed, Laila is here. I’m gonna let her in.”

I’m on my feet and felt no neck pain on the way up.

“I’m gonna sit with you,” Magdy adds.

Laila is here. Still wearing my favorite sweater. All the colors. She looks beautiful. She’s walking over to me. I feel like I swallowed an ice cube. My chest is shivering. But, my ears are burning. She’s right in front of me. I can’t look at her.

“Look at me,” she says. I try to ignore her.

“Please look at me,” she repeats.

My eyes climb up to hers.

“I’m alive,” she says with that cracky smile below her comforting droopy eyelids. “I’m still here… And I love you. And life will be wonderful. For both of us.”

She kisses my forehead then walks away. Magdy is still here. We both watch her exit the room, listen to her hesitant footsteps, wait an awkwardly long time for her to close the door. I sit down on the mattress as Magdy turns to face me. He walks over and sits beside me. He places his warm hand on my shoulder, but I’m not crying this time.

“I think that’s enough, isn’t it?” Magdy asks jokingly.

It’s not funny, but I can’t help smiling.