i learn sage is palestinian -- two nights after we have divided and conquered the apartment -- from a phone-call conversation in their mother-tongue to their mother, in the middle of the night.
sage speaks arabic.
i do not.
i have never been good at understanding (the languages of) others.
but somethings i have picked up from the washing line of boyfriends my mother has hung out to dry. foreign men with dirt brown skin and dirtier glares. all with tongues woven by different countries and histories though synonymous in their misogyny and their superiority complexes.
some languages are universal - like desperation. or silence. or suffering.
sometimes it is the context that fosters understanding:
the punctuation. the accent(s). the (latin) origin.
these are the jigsaw pieces i use to understand the profile of what they are saying, when i over hear them talking to their mother at a truly ungodly hour.
their first few words are pleading.
a language i picked up from my mama after she begged man, after man to stay as they broke her jaw and heart in two. i understand it so well that i hear its translation, before i hear the arabic;
please save me, please save me, please save. they say again and again and again.
there is a muffled noise on the other end of the phone, perhaps a choked sob or shattered glass.
then more pleading, but this time from their mother. her accent is different to sage's; deeper and thicker.
she is fluent; sage not quite.
then come back, my baby. come back home.
i feel sage wince rather than see it. what google can only translate to;
i can't. it doesn't exist.
their mother does not understand, though. maybe it's the faulty (internet) connection.
sage moves on and asks their mother a question instead.
this time i am the one who does not understand; i think it is to do with family.
the line grows quiet.
there is mention of someone called nakeeb. maybe a brother? maybe a lover?
there is mention of hamas. of israeli soldiers. of suicide bombers.
the line is quiet -- once again -- this time on our end.
translation;
i am not coming home. there is nothing for me to return to.
the call ends. and sage lets the phone drop to the ground. there is a muffled noise as it lands on hard wood. perhaps a choked sob or a screen-shattering.
silence wanders into the room. her lack of volume is deafening. still, i make no attempt to challeng her. instead, i watch sage's silhouette drown in an inky black grief that is entirely their own.
i wonder then, who is nakeeb? do they deserve to be cried over?
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A/N: updates will be happening twice a week from now on because uni is starting back up soon. Enjoy!
