Erase and Rewind (Full Book)

Chapter Two: Tattoos

Do not forget. Keep looking.

For the last three years, Malik received the same message via email on August thirty-first. Emails, in his mind, were associated with assignments, college applications, or the occasional scammers claiming he'd inherited a castle from an unheard-of uncle in Timbuktu. But it all changed when the automated emails began pinging their way into his phone.

The irony? The email originated from an account Malik used to own.

Do not forget. Keep looking.

Malik tried to remember when he had typed the message or set up the automated delivery. He concluded it must've been the result of a drunken act as he tried to cope. It made the pit of his stomach fall. And whenever he thought about it, he attributed the feeling to the "no talking about it" policy his family had implemented.

As if Mena had never existed.

Uncle Botros cleared his throat next to Malik. "Ahem."

Malik sighed, his focus returning to the day's sermon. The orthodox church was full of pious men and women. Like his own family, they were of either Greek or Egyptian origins. The pews segregated the women and children from the men. The immigrant community was a harmonious group. Disputes revolved around food, although his mother was adamant Egyptians made better moussaka.

"Remember," Father B said, "God's door is always open."

Malik's mother, in her black dress, wiped the tears running down her cheeks. His sister Sarah's mass of curls leaned against their mother, her arm sliding around their weeping parent. Malik's chest felt tight, but he'd run out of tears long ago.

His eyes locked on the girl sitting next to his sister instead. She caught him looking, and her cheeks flushed a light pink.

She was on his list, not for her average looks or average personality, but to prove a point.

Yup. It was a fun game, an exercise in irrationality. Liz's parents and his own had been friends for over twenty years. He and his siblings had played and even gone to countless family gatherings. Liz never swore, never drank more than a sip of wine, and didn't have boyfriends, at least that Malik was aware of. She was the epitome goodie-two-shoes. The type of girl his parents, or rather his mother, would welcome with open arms. The plan was to date her. It would be a preamble of sorts to him coming—

"Amen."

The word ricocheted between the church walls, and Malik joined the solemn chorus with practiced automation. The families began to rush out in shuffles as the service was over. Some held Father B back with frantic questions, which he answered in his typical patient manner. His mother rattled question after question, which usually meant wasting a good half an hour sweltering in the heat. How the priest managed to stand those robes was beyond Malik.

"Jake." Sarah chased after her son. Jake decided on the grand idea of picking flowers from the church's garden and handing them out to the other kids. It was the perfect timing for Malik to make a move.

He caught Liz's flushed face as her mother prodded her in Malik's direction. After all, it wasn't uncommon for devout moms to push their daughters into getting married at a young age. They believed marriage prevented a person from straying into a path full of sin.

Or something of the sort. Malik must've snored through that sermon too.

"Hi," Liz said over the laughter of an elderly couple.

"Hey," Malik said.

"How've you been?"

Awful. "Good. Yeah, it's good to see you."