⚠️ lame jokes ⚠️
'Come on, Baghdad. You can't look that bad in bikinis'. Gerry yells, from three floors down, right while I'm curiously looking down on my body wondering when the hell did my bruises on my hipbones become purple. Body consciousness and body shaming hitting like clockwork, as always, here at the Alice in Chains nerve training camp. And if I couldn't care any less about having my lover's hand prints on my skin, visible and all... I care a bit too much about Gerry's words. I mean, they don't affect me personally, his whole is comment is delusional in itself: guy pronounces 'Baghdad' like 'bag-dad' and probably would pronounce Iraq like 'eye-rack'. I ain't Iraqi, so his Baghdad name calling thing barely gets to my ears. What gets to my ears, loud and clear, though, is his nastiness. He keeps harassing me because I'm fucking Arab, for some reason undisclosed besides the hate he feels for everything I am and everything I do, and it's pretty fucking lame of him. Starting from the Beirut of this morning, all the way to the Baghdad of right now, I ain't having any of the delusional crap he keeps saying for the sake of riling me up with. From to Levant to Mesopotamia, zero fucks were given on my side. Reason why I just roll my eyes back in annoyance, sigh, flip the bird at him from my window ... and wonder what Arab country capital he will call me after, next.
'Baby, are you from Baghdad? 'Cause I wanna see you Baghdad ass up'. Sean chimes in, on top of his above average intelligence and of his natural sense of humour, with our feathered son on his shoulder, and Gerry's same, horrible way of pronouncing the word 'Baghdad'... and I look at him with heart shaped eyes. Because he's white as cracker, he is pretty sure I'm from Damascus, he's just cracked a Baghdad joke with the straightest face ever, and it wasn't offensive at all! More than a joke, it was a way to put Gerry back in his place and to compliment me for the non-Iraqi bum I've done nothing to achieve ! And honestly, even if I'm not originally from Iraq, and according to Gerry I am Iraqi and fat, I find this beautiful of Sean !
Hold on though... Beirut, Baghdad, Gaza, Giza, Damascus... who's gonna offer more ? And who's finally gonna guess my provenience right? Besides the all Syrian guy at the Syrian restaurant who offered free of charge fellatio encore to Sean and I, because I'm Palestinian and I'm funny?
Heard it, Cuntrell ? I am A COOL-FUN-PERSON-FROM-PALESTINE! You're the only person in the world who has a single hard feeling towards me... time to ask yourself a couple questions, right buddy ?
'I thought you were gonna say 'because your ass is bombastic'! I answer, cracking a stereotypical joke about Arabs and explosives ... and I have a pass for cracking jokes about Arabs and explosives, because I am Arab, and I know that all of these prejudices about explosives on us are pretty much dumbfounded. Arab privilege, you call it ! Everyone laughs at my comment, except Gerry. Gerry looks at me like he's gonna come upstairs and crucify me because I ain't having any of his shit today, and he can't stand my unquestioning tolerance. Sorry Cuntrell, I am PALESTINIAN ! We are tolerant, resilient people by nature ! And we are FUNNY and good spirited, always, no matter the adversities!
I put all of my national pride apart, with much difficulty... and I do a little spin on my spot for my beautiful, intelligent, funny, open minded non boyfriend boyfriend who's looking at me from three floors down. He winks, I wink back, and I feel like I may as well Baghdad ass up for him, at this point. He deserves it hundred percent, and I'm oh so ready to deliver. I arch my back and I stick my bum out in a sensual, yet playful manner. He fans himself, silly and cute as only he can be, then he pretends to shoot a Polaroid of me to capture this silliness in time... and once again, I realise that we are really made for eachother ! We are perfection, together, all the way from Levant to Seattle ! New degree of perfection unlocked, 4:55 on the clock: Baghdad jokes and silly hotel window skits with the daddy of my unborn daughter Syria, and of my firstborn Cock Soup ! I'm swooning !
'Well, you have a nice ass... and a bomb in your suitc...'. Gerry speaks, but before he can finish his very unwanted and very unnecessary comment about the sauciness of my non-Iraqi derrière, Sean elbows him in the guts and yeets him into the pool like he's worth two potato peels at most. I agree with Sean, I think Gerry is worth two crab legs on a good day, and I love to see him suffocating with chlorine, as Sean shrugs like he ain't the same guy who yeeted him into the pool. But why did he react ... that way? Because he saw what I saw, and he noticed Gerry's overly curious stare on my bum? It was pretty obvious and vomit inducing, Bessie saw it too, and she's eeeeeww'ing from right beside me. Or was Sean's assault triggered by Gerry's near attempt to call me a terrorist again? I swear I don't have a bomb in my suitcase. I swear my country doesn't even have an army! I am a good person ! My mom is a doctor and my dad is a merchant... we are honest, hardworking, cultured, well established, indigenous, unarmed Palestinian people!
'Brother, we're gonna get issues at airports if you bring her 'round'. Gerry speaks, amidst drowning and getting his phlegm out into the pool. And I laugh, because he's gross, and very optimistic to think that I'll stick around the Alice in Chains camp for long enough to have a whole airport security experience with them. But what's funny is that, getting his phlegm out into the pool, he's just pronounced an effortlessly perfect, Arabic kha ! He just needs to add '-hire' and that's how you pronounce my last name. Get the phlegm out, and add HIRE! It's Khair, not Chair !
Gerry is suffocating and learning how to pronounce the seventh letter of the Arabic Abjad, and I am laughing my ass off, exchanging silly looks and giggles with my best friend and my non boyfriend boyfriend... but I'm also frowning, and feeling a bit nervous. Gerry thinks that on a day like today of a few months from now I'll be hopping on an international flight with the Gang, probably to Europe, and this should make me feel acknowledged ... but I know that this will never happen, and it makes me feel like shit. This whole stint, touring and non touring wise, is either gonna end when Sean finds one of his usual skinny brunettes to replace me, or when he finds out the secrets I'm having with him. Because no, not being hundred percent honest with him about the fact that I'll be leaving this country forever next summer wasn't very much of a good idea... considering how close we've grown and the kinda feelings we've talked earlier today. He loves me, I love him twice as much, and I'm really fucking everything up by keeping my mouth shut about some stuff of vital importance.
I sigh, from the top of my emotional immaturity and recklessness, and, as an unconditional reflex ... also from the top of my body consciousness. I look down on my body, too voluptuous for my tastes, and even for the standards of the man who's, according to things I've heard about him, exclusively into chicks from ninety nine pounds down. Aware of that, and humbled by my estimated weight of above ninety nine pounds, I grab a checkered sheath of mine from the bedside table, and I hurriedly knot it around my hips. Discreetly covering my body from the navel to the knees, like mama Khair taught me to do, when I'm at the beach and there's men around. Bet mama Khair would have no idea I'm doing this not to preserve my body from the male sight, but because a kalb keeps aggressively telling me that I'm fat.
'Take that fucking thing off and get the fuck down, sunshine'. Sean scruffs, abundant with the f-words, and his tone only goes more mellow as he approaches the end of the sentence. And when he calls me sunshine, and my legs turn into cherry jellos because I fucking love that nickname, I realise that I don't have much to worry about. And that I ain't got a single reason to cover my body, because I'm perfect just the way I am. I mean, I ain't, but he thinks I am, looks at me like he really believes it... and that's literally the only thing that counts.
'Jesus Christ, he's so fucking smitten. So, we were talking about your smile and your bruises ...'. Bessie chimes in, dragging me by the arm, and interrupting my session of blowing kisses at my beautiful, smitten habibi and at our just as beautiful, feathered little habibi who's hanging from the chunks of his necklace. I didn't make that one necklace, but it's pretty ethnic looking ... and I promise I'll bead him one of my own, real soon, because guy seems to have a weak spot for them ! He was wearing a chunky, ethnic necklace the night I met him at Cuntrell's place. He was wearing a whole different one when I caught up with him in Oakland. He was wearing yet another one yesterday, the one that I unhooked from around his neck and ran away with. Now he's wearing maybe the fourth, similar styled necklace... and I can see a pattern ! But I am queen of patterns and beads ! I am crafty, crafty Arab lady! And I am good, good girlfriend ! He's gonna get a Levantine looking necklace real fucking soon... the least he expects it!
But hey, back on the right track, Victoria. Bessie is tugging me by the arm like she's eager to know the reason why I'm so smiley... and the reason why I have man prints on both sides of my iliac region. She knows that both things are direct consequences of mingling with the guy in urgent need of a haircut whom I was exchanging smitten looks with until a second ago ... but she wants the Cherry x Sean tea, she wants all of it, in your face, tongue burning, and I'm ready to give it to her the way she wanna. À la Seattle Gossip Committee.
I mean, could it be any other way? The last time I talked to Bessie about my affair with Sean, I had tears in my eyes, hurt in my heart, and she was trying to cheer me up. I was mad at him and swearing I was gonna head back to Seattle because I was done with his crap. Now I'm bouncing off the walls again, smitten, all smiley and sex marked... and I reckon, I'm the happiest I've ever been for real. No hoax, no exaggeration. Bessie is right as always, here. She don't know shit just yet, but she's fucking RIGHT !
'Oh, so... Sean and I had lovely fellatio! Dish and non dish !' I speak, saving the saucy details for later, in a very Tori way to let my best friend know that I'm moved on from the fellatio drama of last night ... and that Sean and I are back together. Stronger than ever, if I gotta say. Fellatio is now my second favourite joke of ours, second only to our lame Syria jokes, and I have a hard time not laughing my ass off whenever the word gets mentioned. Whether it's food or blowjobs we're talking about, it cracks me up and makes me feel like maybe I acted a little too proud last night. His fuck up remains, and it was kinda bad... but I should've been kinder to him, that's for sure.
'Which means, you gave him head and he brought you to the Italian restaurant? Does he still think you're Italian ?' Bessie chuckles, and I get the hysterics because I reckon she's painting a very accurate picture of Sean and Tori being Sean and Tori. Everyone but Gerry knows about the fellatio incident, and Bessie is now enjoyably teasing me over it. Everyone knows that Sean and I fuck, and Bessie is kindly telling me that she knows we're often at it. With and without mouths and tongues at work. Bessie knows about Sean and I's date at the Italian restaurant of some days ago, in full detail ... and she clearly remembers that Sean would've sworn I was Italian. And he believed I was a 'buongiorno bellezza, caffè' kinda chick until he saw me booking a room for myself with ID's written in Arabic, much to the disgust of the reception employee.
'Nooo, and no! He thinks I'm Syrian and bought me these... Damask roses!' I squeal, pointing to the gorgeous bunch of exotic roses sitting on my nightstand. Bessie looks at my flowery, make up present from Sean with a sweet smile on her lips, like she's sincerely happy for all the cutesie attentions I'm getting by the man I'm in love in with... and I giggle like an idiot. And swoon. Because I can't believe that Sean woke up in the morning with two thoughts in his mind: getting cultured about Levantine Arabia, and earning my forgiveness once and for all, with or without the flowers. He really fucking rode his Kawasaki all the way to the flower shop, and really asked the flower guy for the most Middle Eastern flowers they had. For me ! For meeeee ! For me, how fucking sweet is that ?
Well, I am not Syrian, close enough though ... but when I saw these flowers that so remind me of home, the drumsticks and the note attached to the whole present, I had a near damn stroke. And I realised that, all pissed off-ness aside, it was him all along. My beautiful, sweet, clowny and thoughtful mr. Honda Four. Man after my heart. Man of cluelessness, but of wholesome one. A bunch of Syrian jokes and a Syrian, falafel based lunch after, now he would swear that I'm from Syria. Like my mom would swear on the fact that his name is 'Sham', and he's shami... I mean, Syrian. But I'm not that ! And he ain't that ! He is Irish, partially so at least, and I'm an all Palestinian girl ! We'd make pretty looking, gritty, personable and funny babies ... if we only wanted to ! But we have plans to get rid of Little Syria (not the restaurant downtown Denver, but the potential baby in my uterus) within the next few hours, hopefully before bedtime ... and I think that wanting the same thing is beautiful! Cock Soup will agree, cause he gets a little bit clingy, whenever there's a mention of a baby sister inside of me !
'Oh, Shon. He's making progress ... keep telling the tale? I'm curious'. Bessie teases me, and I nod at her words because I'm proud of the progress that my curious, curious hunk is making in debunking the mystery of my nationality, day after day. Today it was Damascus, tomorrow it will be Haleb, hopefully in a few days it will finally be Amman, the capital city of the country that issued my scam passport, and then ... bam, Bethlehem, my beautiful hometown ! But I also frown a bit, because I remember having told Gerry I am 'Bethlehem, not Beirut', when he was annoying me on my way to Sean's room this morning. But when Sean asked me when I'm going back home, mid foreplaying, this morning, I pulled a secretive prankster, I decided to confuse him for no apparent reason, and I had him believe that Damascus is the place I call a home. Eek. What hold does Gerry have over me, y'all? And how is he better caught up than Sean, when where in the world I'm from is none of blondie's business ?
'We had amazing sex this morning, we took a nap... then we had lunch at the Syrian restaurant, we came back here, we had amazing sex again and we took another nap!' I summarise the state of the art of my little world on the road with Sean for Bessie, keeping it very stingy with the details. Not because I am secretive, but because if I go into full detail, this exchange will never fucking end ... and we can't procrastinate time anymore, now. The guys are waiting for us at the pool, and I can feel that they're squirming in impatience all the way from my room. Plus, Sean and I are very impatient to do something about the little Syrian girl in my uterus... and we've set the clock to get rid of her after we've had some pool fun and a shower. Destination: the family planning clinic right outside Denver, more specifically, doctor Al-Yasiri's room ! It's an all Arab kinda thing, here in Denver, and I'm vibing for it !
'On this bed, Tori?' Bessie asks, getting her acting in check, and acting grossed out to find out that Sean and I had sex on the same bed she's half laying on. She's laughing, faking the pukes, and looking at me with the eyes of someone who wants an answer, altogether. And the answer is... yes ! We had sex in his room, first: he stuck a baby Syria inside of me, we talked feelings or the closest as it gets to that, and I fell asleep on him cradled by our lame jokes and Bessie's relentless looking for me at his door. Then we woke up, and we got decent to head for lunch at the Syrian restaurant. We had lunch at the Syrian restaurant, we grabbed some coffee, I lured him into a bookshop because I needed a new read in my native language, I found it, and we headed back to the hotel. We moved all of his stuff to my room because his is a post-hurricane, indecent mess, and mine is an all tidy and good smelling girly dome. We laid down, cuddled a lot, and had sex again. More or less on the side of the bed where Bessie is, cause that's where he bent me over and did me from behind. And that's where I rode him until he stuck another baby Syria inside of me. Then we took another nap, and we only woke up when our buddies knocked on my door and asked us if we were feeling a group dip. Sean said no and put a pillow over his head because he just wanted to 'fucking sleep, fuck's sake'. I said yes and dragged my elusive king out of bed with brute force. Now he's at the pool, I'm gossiping with my best friend, we are procrastinating... and I honestly think that it's beautiful. Life is beautiful. With my friends and my beloved, life here in the US is much more beautiful than life in my native. The only problem, is that it ain't for a long time, and I better not get accustomed to it.
All homecoming thoughts aside, mandatory and unnecessary at the same time that they are, the real question now is ... why the hell haven't I told Bessie that Sean told me he loves me, in all of this ? The answer is more simple than it seems to be: I'm being dramatic cryptic, and I'm saving the big piece of news for the right moment.
'Right where your butt cheeks are !' I giggle, and Bessie doesn't flinch one bit at my naughty confession. She just smiles at me, and I smile with the entitlement of someone who knows better... because I know that if my bed is immaculately clean and safe to sit on for a friend, it's because loverboy's cum has all ended inside of me! Two big, big, warm shoots of it pumped through me and rocked my world, and I want a third one before I do the reasonable and get the morning after pill. Bess doesn't know it yet, but if I don't see doctor Al-Yasiri within a reasonable time span, she's gonna be an auntie in nine months from now! And just to make this about me, I have much better plans for myself, than going back to Bethlehem with a half white newborn under my arm and a US bound baby daddy I'll never see again. That wouldn't be very halal, virgin until marriage, pride of the parents, only date in your culture-like of me !
'You guys make eachother happy... in a number of ways. You are so adorable. So real'. Bessie chimes in, rubbing my cheek and showing me yet once more her beautiful, even smile. All natural, like her boobies. I smile back, and I try to fight back the urge to release the tears that are beginning to form into my eyes. Happy tears, for the most part. Because when I moved here, I had no idea I would've ended up meeting a few people who'd change my life forever. Bessie and Chrissie above everyone else. I didn't think I would've found love, but I found it on a random guy with little, soulful dark brown eyes I casually met at a party full of dirty musicians. I fell in love with him at first joke ... I mean, sight. I mean, Honda Four sighting. He fell in love with me, at his own pace I've never wanted to investigate. Now we're here, and after a few days spent studying him, I know that besides having beautiful eyes, he also has a beautiful heart that mirrors them. He makes me happy and I do my best to make him happy. Not that he needs me to, he just has to blink once to have the world at his feet ... but sometimes it's good to know that there's someone who would give away their last cigarette during a nicotine withdrawal to see you smile. I'd do that and then some, for Sean. When he smiles for me, whether I've cracked a joke or I've just lounged around him being myself, I almost forget about all of my problems. But just because I feel like it's true, that I don't have a single care in the world, it doesn't mean that it is. It it is not real. We are real. But us, together ? For longer than ... ten months, at most? It's unrealistic. And my best friend is really tryna give me hope to believe otherwise? Come on.
'Yes, and I so fucking wanna go back home, Bess'. I sigh and sniffle, wiping more tears off my cheeks, and trying to rub off all of these thoughts hitting me all over again, all of a sudden. Bessie is right, Sean and I are a cute little thing together. We have a beautiful connection and we're building the seeds of a beautiful, potential relationship. What for, though? Everything we're doing with ourselves ain't meant to last, everything's ephemeral, and the harsh reality check fucking kills me every single time. Y'know why? Because I've found a guy who feels exactly like my swing in the backyard of my family house, and I don't wanna let him go. When I'm with him I feel like I'm swinging, eating my own hand picked fruit, reading a good book on a warm, sunny, no air raid day... but I know I can't bring him home with me. I know we will get to the point when he will be my backyard swing no more. And it makes me feel like we're doing everything in vain. Why couldn't this be just ... friendship? Or lust? Why did we have to catch feelings ?
'Tori? Let yourself be free and happy. For a long time, here with us. Seattle is your place, we are your people. We will help you out. You deserve freedom, my sweet'. Bessie alerts herself, when she sees me laying on my side, wiping a few, now pretty sad tears streaming down my cheeks. It's incredible how my mood can go from 99 (not my body weight in pounds) to 0 in one second, but I reckon it's an effect of being in love with someone I can't love the way I would like to... and I embrace it, even if it makes me feel like an idiot and look like a hysterical sap. I'm crying my heart out in Bessie's presence, and I ain't even opening up about what's happening in my mind. Imagine the mess I'm going to be, the day I'll have to talk about this crap with the guy I love. And imagine how many tears will be shed, the day I will have to bid forever farewell to friends that are pieces of the heart for me. Bessie knows what's going on with me because my homesickness makes me feel like crap in almost daily waves. She is telling me to let myself be free and happy, for a long time, in company of all the people who love me and that would do everything to make me stay here. I deserve to be happy and free, everyone in this world does ... and honestly, I'd be okay by just knowing that I'm a human. But Seattle isn't my place. My place is back home, with my family and my animals. Mom, dad and the dogs are the only people I'd make a change in my life for. Because they gave me life, and they kept me safe even when all odds were stacked against. My dog fucking took a bullet to save me during a shooting in the middle of the street, last year ... and you expect me to leave her where she is, forever, not giving a damn about what she did for me? You expect me not to just fucking want to be with her now, and give her cuddles that would never be enough to repay her for having saved my life?
Maybe I should get my shit together and just finally let either one of my buddies yeet me into the motherfucking pool and drown my thoughts. Am I right ?
Or maybe I should thank Bessie because she's a gem of a friend... and then I should ask her if she called Stone !
Baghdad. My mind is SO Baghdad at the moment. I need to Baghdad up a little.