Wounded: Our Journey Home

Wounded- Chapter One

          I placed Mama's pills on the tray beside her juice, looking towards the living room to see her staring at the TV. Her depression has become worse over the last few months. She's been up and down with her mood, but that's what you get with Bipolar disorder. She hasn't been herself in a while.

          It's been so hard to take care of her with her ups and downs; it pains me to see her like this all the time. I miss the mother that raised me. The woman that never gave up when it came to raising me without a father.

          I looked away from her, grabbing the tray.

          "Mama," She continued to stare at the TV, not moving a muscle. "Mama, I have some food for you."

          "No," She whispered, tears in her eyes. Sometimes she cries for no reason. Mainly it's because she's scared about what's happening with her body.

           "Mama, If you take the medicine, I can go get your favorite ice cream."

          At this, she smiled at me and patted my head.

          "I love you, habibti."

           I smiled. "I love you, too."

          As I began to stand up, Mama turned the station to someone I wasn't ready to see again. Jafar was on the screen, singing to all of his fans. I'm proud of him for not failing, but I miss him. It's been so long since we talked. I would be lying if I said I wasn't angry at him. Angry that he's been gone so long, angry that he was so willing to leave me, angry that he broke my heart. I understood that he's been dreaming about being just like every Islamic nasheeds singer out there, but I didn't expect him to go back on a deal we made before getting married. Now here I am, in Riverside, taking care of my sickly mother, and trying to make it big in the writing world again. I gave up my dream of writing when I failed a while ago, but something clicked when Jafar left. A feeling that if he could pursue his dream, I could pursue mine.

          "When was the last time you spoke to him?"

          I sighed, picking up my phone to contact my sister in law, so she could run a few errands.

          "It's been over a month."

          Mama looked at me with sympathy. A look I've been getting ever since he left. Everyone thinks I'm taking this too well, and that anytime I'll explode.

          "I'm fine, Mama."

          "Ayah, he's your husband. Go talk to him."

          I sent the text to Jamila, and turned to see Mama still looking at me in concern.

          "Habibti, it's not healthy to avoid your spouse in a situation such as this one. If your f-father was in calling distance I would..."

           "Hey," I took her hand in mine, comforting her. It's always been hard for her to talk about him. All I know is that they were in love, had me and lived the life they planned. But it all crumbled when he drove his truck off the bridge, trying to get here for her birthday. I was only four when it happened.

          "I'll call him now," I assured her softly. She nodded, a tear traveling down her cheek. I let go of her hand to go outside.

          After hesitantly dialing the number, I waited for him to pick up. After what felt like hours, someone answered.

          "Jafar's phone," Allen, his manager answered. I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath. "Is this another news station?!"

          "No, Allen," I rolled my eyes again. "Is Jafar there?"

          "Ayah," He stated dryly. "He's signing autographs at the moment. Can I take a message?"

          "You can tell him his wife wants to talk to him."

           "I'll tell him when he's done."

          "No, Allen," I said, pacing. "I would like to talk to him now."

          "Well, I can't do that right now beca--"

          "Who is it?" Jafar asked, making me freeze. Its been so long since I've heard his voice.

          "It's the wife," Allen spit out.

           "Give me that!" I could hear Jafar yelling at him on the line before he came on. I don't know how Jafar found him to be his manager, but he needs a new one.

          "Ayah, I'm sorry about that."

          "I don't get why he's still around," I said, voicing my opinion.

          "He's rude, I know, but he's one of the best. But never mind him. Why did you call?"

          I stopped pacing to sit on the porch.

          "I need a reason to call my husband?"

          He sighed, obviously regretting his words, "Of course you don't, I'm sorry. How've you been?"

          "As good as can be expected taking care of Mama."

          A long silence passed by before either of us spoke. We just have nothing to talk about anymore. Our last conversation was just the usual questions. We don't have that spark anymore. Sometimes I wonder why we're still married.

          "I might come to town," He said after a while. He's been saying this for the last couple of months. His parents miss him as much as I do, but every time he says he's coming,
something comes up.

          "For real this time?"

          "I was serious about coming the last time, but--"

          "Allen lined up an opportunity that you couldn't pass up," I finished for him. "You said that the last couple of times. If you do come, I'll be suprised if I remember what you look like."

          "Don't do that."

"Do what?" I asked stupidly, knowing exactly what I was doing. "For all I know, you could have a beard, colored your hair--oh, you could have a punk rock look--"

         "Ayah," He stopped me while chuckling. "I will send you a picture so that you can see I'm the same."

          "I'll be looking forward to it," I replied, smiling, "But if you are coming, you--"

          "Jafar, it's time for you to go on!"

          Jafar moaned in annoyance. "Ayah, I have to go, but I'll skype you later tonight."

          "Okay," I whispered more to myself, knowing that it is a 10% chance of him actually doing it.

          "Asalamu Alaikum."

          "Wa Alaikum Salam," I said, barely getting the words out before he hung up.

What has happened to us?

-*-

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