chapter 14

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Mother was in shock.  And when Father came into the room to find the bloody, unconscious body of a man on his living room floor, he was in shock, too.  But they dutifully helped me nurse Kamal back to health and he stayed in Rafi’s old room.  His wounds were bad, almost too bad, but we managed.  Kamal’s back was spit open in too many places to count and he had a black eye.  Plus the rest of his body was riddled with scrapes, cuts, and bruises.  But with so much time sitting by Kamal’s bed I had some time to think.

            First I thought of Rafi.  I was sitting in his room with his “replacement”, although I knew there really was no replacement for Rafi, or Kamal for that matter.  But I had decided that Rafi was the past.  I loved him to death, he was my brother after all, and I would always miss him, but now he was just a memory from my life prior to Kamal and my foolish attempt to mess with the government.  He was a distant memory, always there but not so prominent anymore.  I let go of my brother.

            Then I began to think of Kamal and the possible life I could lead with him.  I knew that I loved him and when he woke up (I refused to believe that he wouldn’t), I would ask him if he loved me back…

            Mother then sauntered into the room.  She stood at the door, staring into my eyes for a moment, then walked over to my bed, sat down next to me and hugged me.  We sat there, surrounded in each other’s embrace for several minutes.  Then she released me.  I almost wanted to hug her again.  The only other time in my life she had truly showed me love was half a year ago when Rafi didn’t show up for his visit.  But this time it felt like true compassion meant only for me.

            I was so caught up in how wonderful it was to love and be loved by my mother that I didn’t realize she was crying until she spoke.  “Layla, I’m so sorry...” she tried to continue but she broke down and began to sob.

            “Shh, Mother, it’s alright.  And um, thank you,” I said, trying to calm her down.

            “For what?  I’ve never understood why you did the things you did until now.  I didn’t understand my own daughter until she was 16 years old!”

            “Mom,” I had never called her anything other than Mother or “ma’am” before.  She looked about as surprised as I felt but I figured it was time for change.    “It’s alright, I love you and I guess I do need to thank you.” She was about to interrupt me but I held up my hand, something I never would have done before now.  “None of this would have happened to me, these great things, if it weren’t for you.  You pushed me, and at times, I admit,  made me mad.  I never would have met Kamal, never would have saved his life, or never would have felt the need to slap the Taliban in the face if it weren’t for you.  Think about it M-Mom, if it weren’t for…you…”

            She took a deep breath and looked me straight in the eye, her tears clearing.  “And thank you,” she whispered, “for opening my eyes.”

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