How much does your cause cost?

I was walking back home past nightfall, exhausted after the long day I spent in college. The street I used to take from the bus stop to my home was quite lively, and it was a short walk before I can finally leave all the day events behind me. It was a particularly tiring day after I lead an uprising in the biology lab. We were dissecting frogs since first year, and we are third-years now, and we were always used to anesthetize them by knocking them out. It’s a method carried out by holding the frog from its hind limbs and knocking them on the back of their heads to lose consciousness. I always thought it was cruel but said nothing… well, until today. I was surprised to find out that I was not the only one thinking that and getting enough with it. So, all the students in the lab refused to start the dissection before we were provided more merciful protocols to anesthetize the frogs, and the lab supervisor bent to our will after an hour of arguments. At the end of the day, I realized that people might hold a deep sense of righteousness in them for a long time without acting according to it, and that they might be waiting for a subtle push to do it.

I sighed, pushing all the day events aside. I couldn’t wait any longer to have a decent meal and hit my bed. I was pulling myself forward when a woman in front of me looked aside at one shop, her familiar face grabbing my attention. It took me one moment to realize it was my little brother’s tutor who used to come to our home to teach him. It’s been over a year since she came to our home to tutor him. When I migrated with my family to this country, my little brother couldn’t understand the language his teachers speak at the local school. This tutor was a migrant like us who was a teacher in our home country. She tutored him at home until he mastered this country’s language last year.

I started wondering whether I should go and say hi or not. The thought lasted for only one second before I laughed it off.

Wow, my sociable senses are acting up now. I didn’t even know I had them before. I thought with a snort. Besides, it’d be silly to say hi instead of marhaba to her.

Whenever I come back from college my brain is set on English. The moment I get home and hear my family speaking Arabic, I feel relaxed, like speaking a second language always consumes my energy and stresses me out, always afraid to say the wrong word or alter a pronunciation. I know it sounds silly if you haven’t experienced it yourself.

My thoughts were cut off with a startling shriek. It was the tutor’s scream as a thief has taken her purse and ran away toward the nearest alleyway. He was midway toward the alleyway when I could finally process what’d happened. The tutor and a punch of kids in the street were screaming “thief!”

I was confused to see that no one at all has moved a foot to stop him. A guy or two were looking in the thief’s direction, as if making up their minds on whether to follow him or not.

Well, they just need a subtle push, don’t they?

One moment I was standing there, the next I was sprinting to follow him. I passed by one of the unsure guys and smiled to myself.

It’s not too hard, see?

I heard a kid yelling over the tutor’s screams “she is pursuing the thief!”, and I knew then that they would be encouraged to follow me.

The screams and noises of the street were fading away as I got deeper in the alleyway. I listened carefully to catch any footstep sounds behind me, but all I could hear were mine and the thief’s ahead of me.

What are they waiting for? I wondered, clenching my teeth.

I reminded myself then of the brown belt I got last summer at the girls’ martial arts academy. I was aiming for black next summer, and a stupid petty thief won’t stand a chance against me. Still, I was quite tired after the long day I spent standing on my feet in the college labs. My right foot was swollen and twisting a bit under my weight. With the initial gust of adrenaline wearing off, my breath became short and shallow. I started questioning my spontaneous reaction leading me there, almost losing speed.

The thief was a slim guy, running forward with light sprints, and if I am to get him, I had to not lose pace. The screams and noises absence gave my senses the capacity to notice how dark, silent, and empty is the alley we’re running in, and the image of my brown belt pressed tightly around my waist started to fade to the back of my head, replaced by the dark corners and broken street lambs I was passing by. Although it was not so far, my home felt miles away. I’m used to coming back to its comfort after a long day out talking to strangers in a foreign language. I was in a sea of strangeness, struggling to stay afloat.

That’s what you get for playing the hero, Sabrina. I thought.

Well, I wish more of them would play the hero as well! If anything bad happens, at least I know I am right.

I snorted at my foolish self, really? Did you consider the worst that could happen?

My body was pushing ahead by its inertia, with no real will from me keeping it going. Visions crept at my head, and for a moment, they were all I could see. I cursed everyone that was standing in that street, the tutor lady and me included. I wished that at least one other person followed the thief with me. I wished I could hear anything other than the echoes of our footsteps pouncing back from every foreign, dark wall around us.

You can turn back now, you know? I was surprised it didn’t occur to me till then.

A light at the end of the alleyway grabbed my attention, with the thief’s dark slim figure cutting through it. The thief took a turn to the right and went out of sight. I took one moment for thinking, although, in that situation, I was allowed none.

C’mon Sabrina, that bag might have some pretty important documents and stuff. Plus, if that thief wasn’t more afraid of you than you’re afraid of him, he wouldn’t be running now.

At the end of the day, the tutor was a migrant like me, and as migrants, our most valuable belongings are our passports and residency documents. If she had those documents in that bag, then it’d explain all those screams.

I sped up, putting more effort into the contraction and relaxation of my sore and fatigued muscles, and reminding myself of my mates’ grim faces whenever it was their turn to face me as we practiced in the academy. My brain recalled the scene of everyone just standing there and watching the thief run away amongst the screams of the tutor.

Those jerks should learn to act up more. I’m tired, darn it! I gritted my teeth, turning right at the thief’s trail before I lose him.

After the turn, I found myself in a narrower alleyway, and the thief was way ahead of me, at the far end of it, where it opened to a wider side street. I picked up speed, despite every cell in my body telling me otherwise, but the thief has already reached the street and took another turn to the right and out of my sight. I could never make it then. That chase seemed pointless at that point and my pace faltered. I was thinking of calling a taxi once I get to that street, but a violent screeching sound cut all the thoughts in my head off. The horrible, loud sound on the asphalt was followed by a vehicle light beam twisting at a wide angle, followed by a horrid cry. I don’t know how fast it did happen, but I found myself huffing on the side of the street, watching a guy with his face covered with a helmet mounting a bike and looking down at the ground a few meters away, there was the thief’s body lying helplessly in a very uncomfortable position. I don’t know what I felt at that moment but I can swear it was nothing nice. My stomach lurched, making it clear it wanted everything in it out. As I imagined him under the helmet, the bike rider stared briefly at the thief’s twitching body then steadied to take off. Its sound pulled my attention from the body and I recognized it for the first time. It was a delivery bike for my favorite fast food restaurant in the area. The rider looked around in every direction before taking off, and I’m pretty sure he could see me standing there staring at him. I started doubting that he would take off at all before taking care of his only witness as he hesitated to pull his foot from the ground. My stomach made that crazy lurch again. My body involuntarily bent over and my shoulders shrunk on themselves as my chest and abdomen stressed sharply. I felt my stomach acid burning in my throat as my eyes were forced shut with pain.

Bad reflexes, I thought, with the grieve situation I was in. I heard the engine roaring and embraced myself, but instead of getting closer, the sound was going far away. I gulped and reopened my eyes and the rider was nowhere to be seen. I steadied myself and took a deep breath, fighting the burning acid in my throat away. I walked to the thief’s body slowly, not daring to get too close, and found the bag thrown ahead of him, closer to me. When I saw it, I realized that I had forgotten for a moment why I was there. I sighed, cursing myself again, and bent down to take it. I started to walk away, but another lurch in my stomach forced me to stop and look back. Cursing the thief, I called the emergency line and reported the bike and theft incidents. I went home with the bag with me and hit the bed for a hopelessly sleepless night. At a first glance, I thought that what I learned from the uprising in the college lab contradicted with what happened in the street, but then I realized that when a person fights for what they believe is right, people might follow them, and they might not, as well. It depends on how costly going in the right path is, and how ready people are to pay.

At the break of dawn, I went back to the bike incident site. It was empty when I arrived, and I decided there to take the whole week off.