It took a few days for the American soldiers to confirm my identity. People had bustled in and out of the unkempt cell I was in to interrogate and to take photos of me. The entire ordeal made me uncomfortable, especially when the soldiers had brought in a male doctor to give me a physical examination.
"I honestly don't mean to seem disrespectful, but may I have a female doctor instead?" I gave the soldiers and the doctor a pleading look.
"This is the only doctor we have on site," said a soldier.
"Or perhaps a female nurse?" I gulped and tried not to give up. "Please? I really don't...feel comfortable."
One of the soldiers opened his mouth to argue, but the doctor held up his hand.
"We do have a female nurse here," the doctor admitted. He seemed to be in his mid-thirties. "She can conduct the physical examination, but I still must be in the room to record the results because the U.S. government will only accept documents from authorized medical personnel in the case of hostages and such. Do you understand?"
I sat up straight and relaxed slightly. It wasn't the best alternative, but at least I did not have to have a man touch me. "Yes, I do."
The doctor nodded. "Go and get Stacy," he instructed the nearest soldier.
A few moments later, Stacy entered, dragging a portable cart that was filled with medical supplies. She wore camouflage pants, like the doctor, as American soldiers normally wore, with a black t-shirt. She seemed fairly young, perhaps a few years older than I was, and she had her blonde hair wrapped tightly in a bun at the back of her head. A badge was pinned over her heart with the inscription, Stacy Callahan, Military Nurse.
The doctor, whose badge read David Hudson, MD, proceeded to put on a surgical mask and gloves, and the nurse followed suit with the exception of the gloves. The doctor respectfully stood at the door to make sure nobody would be able to enter. Stacy began to take my vitals by inserting a digital thermometer into my mouth.
"Temperature, 97.8⁰ F," she told Dr. Hudson, who quickly scrawled the value on his clipboard. Stacy strapped the blood pressure cuff on my left upper arm and read the numbers to the doctor. Once all the vitals had been administered, she stepped in front of me.
"Hun, do you have something underneath your abaya?" She asked me and I nodded. "Good. Can you remove it?"
I obeyed, mentally grateful that Ahsan had given me a jilbaab some time back. As I removed my veil and pulled the abaya over my head, a strange scent wafted around me.
Only then did it occur to me that I had been shower-deprived for quite some time.
"I stink, don't I?" I asked sheepishly, fully aware that my face was reddening. The doctor smirked and Stacy chuckled.
"You'd be surprised how often we deal with these cases. No worries," Stacy said with a small smile in an attempt to make me feel comfortable. Gently, she placed her thumbs under my eyes and pulled down my lower eyelids. "You haven't been getting much sleep, huh? Your eyes are a bit bloodshot."
Then Stacy slid her thumbs below my jaw and paused, applying pressure to the area. She scrunched up her face and asked me, "Does it hurt when I press here?"
"A little," I admitted. "It feels a bit hard."
"Yes, it does." She looked over her shoulder. "Swollen lymph nodes?"
Dr. Hudson strode over to us, putting his clipboard on the table beside us. "May I?" He asked me. I nodded. He placed his fingers under my jaw as Stacy had done and pressed parts of my neck. "I agree, Stacy."
"Do...do I have a tumor?" I asked, a tight knot forming in my chest.
Dr. Hudson gave me a look. "Aren't your parents doctors?"
"Yes..." I groaned internally, knowing very well where this conversation was headed, especially since the doctor seemed to have studied my profile details.
"Well, I hope you know swollen lymph nodes don't necessarily indicate the presence of tumors, and not all tumors are cancerous," he informed me. Oddly enough, he reminded me an awful lot like Ahsan when he tried to knock some medical knowledge into my head. When I appeared clueless, Dr. Hudson explained further. "Lymph nodes are located all throughout the body, and they filter and drain internal bacterial fluids. Sometimes, a swollen lymph node indicates signs of colds, infections, and so on. The location matters also. For example, your swollen lymph nodes are located right below your jaw, so perhaps you have oral or thyroid issues. At the moment, they seem very minuscule, so I wouldn't worry too much if I were you. When you arrive at your new room, I suggest soaking a washcloth with hot water and gently press it against your neck."
Nearly all of what the doctor had said had gone into one ear and flew out the other, except for the last sentence. "New room?"
"Yes. This current one isn't all that sanitary," he said, eyeing the room we were in with disgust. "After this examination, we will take you there." He walked back to his original spot at the door and motioned for the nurse to continue.
"Alright, hun, I'm going to unzip the back of your dress and I'm going to pull it down just a bit so I can check for lumps around your chest." Stacy watched my face morph into uneasiness and she peered over at the doctor. "How about we turn around so your back is facing the door?"
I complied, thankful that Stacy was very nice and understanding. She unzipped the back of my jilbaab, spun me around slowly, and cautiously pulled down the flaps on both sides so that the neckline was just above my breasts. While she performed her duty, the doctor sucked in his breath sharply and stormed over to us.
"What is it?" Stacy asked him with a puzzled expression.
"Jesus Christ," Dr. Hudson muttered to himself as he stood right behind my back.
My back!
"Hayat, were you flogged?" He asked as he inspected the protruded welts.
"What!" Stacy shrieked as she raced over to stand by Dr. Hudson. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God..."
Feebly, I nodded while my back faced both of them.
Stacy dragged the zipper down further to see how far the lashes had extended. I hardly felt pain there anymore, my back was numb. She stopped at the base of my spine.
"I've never seen anything like this," Dr. Hudson said. "Do you remember how many lashes?"
"I have no idea," I told him truthfully. "I remember him counting to twenty, and then I blacked out."
"Twenty? My God..." Dr. Hudson pressed his fingers against some of the welts. "Wait, you said him? Who are you talking about?"
"Faizan. As far as I know, he was one of the main leaders of Al-Tho'baan. But he was shot dead by one of his own militants."
"Really?" He stepped in front of me. "Do you know who?"
I nodded, hoping that I could save Ahsan. "He's the taller of the two militants who were with us in the jeep."
"I see." Dr. Hudson exchanged a look with Stacy. "Anyway, surprisingly your back is stitched up, rather well, might I add. How did that happen?"
"Uhm...there was a doctor on site." That was honest enough.
"Hm. Alright then. You may put your abaya and veil back on. We'll lead you to your new room."
I did as I was told and followed the doctor and the nurse down the hallway. "Doctor?"
"Yes?" He replied with a smile.
"Where are we exactly, like the city?"
He answered promptly after turning at a corner. "Amman."
Amman...
Amman?!
"We're in Jordan?" I asked incredulously.
"Yes." Dr. Hudson gazed at me with concern. "Weren't you interning in Jordan?"
"Yeah, but I didn't think I'd come back here from Syria!"
"Ah, well, as far as I am aware, the soldiers drove you all here. It's not safe to have interrogations over in Syria." He stopped in front of a white door. "Well, here we are."
"I had some clothes sent over earlier," Stacy told me. "Hopefully they fit. And feel free to use the towels and sheets, everything has been freshly washed and dried. There are a few snacks inside also. I'll come by later today to bring you warm dinner."
"Thank you." I smiled as they turned on their heels to go.
"Just do the washcloth procedure I told you about," Dr. Hudson said. "Since the swollen lymph nodes are nothing to worry about as of now, I suggest waiting to get a scan done once you're back in New York."
"Alright. Oh uhm, how long do I stay here exactly?"
He shrugged. "Depends on the protocol. I do know that we've gotten in touch with your contacts, Natalia and Marcelo, and they'll be arriving in a day or so."
Normally, people would list their own parents as contacts when going abroad. However, at the time I applied for this particular internship, my parents and I weren't on very amiable speaking terms. And so, I wrote down the names of my friends instead. I stared at the doctor. "They're coming here?"
"Yes." He opened the door to the room. "There's a phone next to the bed with a list of numbers, including both of ours, in case you need something. Make yourself at home."
I thanked them both once again before stepping inside and locking the door. I scanned the room, my jaw dropping at the sight of a real bed and actual pillows. As if that wasn't enough to make me overjoyed, on the left there was also an attached bathroom and a mini fridge! With my mouth watering furiously, I raced over and knelt by the fridge, wondering what I should devour first. There was an array of fruits, some bread and fruit jam, a few water bottles, and an assortment of chocolate bars.
I grabbed a chocolate bar and was prepared to eat it whole when I suddenly remembered that it had been ages since I had properly cleaned myself. Unwillingly, I put the chocolate back and headed towards the bathroom, where a pile of fresh clothes awaited me. I had grown so accustomed to wearing an abaya that it felt odd to wear anything else. Stacy must have sensed that too because along with clean undergarments, a jilbaab and abaya were neatly folded on the bathroom counter-top. Adjacent to the sink was a little bag with a new toothbrush and a travel-sized tube of toothpaste. I reached out for the brush and frowned. It felt strange to hold a toothbrush after so long and I absentmindedly stared at the paste, in an attempt to remember how to brush my teeth. Eventually, I dragged the toothpaste across the top of the brush, dampened it with a bit of sink water, and lazily looked up at the mirror to begin brushing.
That is when I froze in place.
The person in the mirror was an absolute stranger.
I set the tooth brush down on the edge of the sink and my hands flew to my face, disbelieving what I had seen. My cheeks were heavily gaunt and sunken, as though someone had sucked out the fat with a straw. My fingers brushed across my cheekbones, which were bony and entirely too prominent. My lips had darkened and were chapped. The whites of my eyes were an ugly blend of red and yellow, accompanied with dark circles that heavily lined my eyes. I leaned over on the counter-top with one hand on my face and the other touching my reflection.
No wonder the soldiers hadn't believed who I said I was initially. The Hayat in the photo and the Hayat staring back at me were two completely different people. There was hardly a resemblance.
Ripping my hands away from my face and from the mirror, I tore off my veil and threw it in the trash, revealing horrible hair that was greasy at the roots and dry at the ends. Thin lines of dirt were embedded in the creases of my neck and across my collarbones.
I wanted to vomit at the sight of myself.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed a weight scale by the door. Values were written as both pounds and kilograms. Hesitantly, I stepped on it with caution, watching the red dial swing back and forth until it landed on a number.
One hundred and twelve pounds.
Before I came to Jordan for my internship, I was at one hundred and thirty pounds. I had lost almost twenty pounds since my arrival in the Middle East. Tears welled up in my eyes at how much I had changed, physically and emotionally, and I wondered how long it would be before I set my life back on track.
That is, if I ever did.
I shook my head to ward off negative thoughts and resumed brushing my teeth without looking at the mirror, allowing the minty taste of the toothpaste to fill my mouth. It felt wonderful to ruthlessly spit it all out. Afterwards, I stripped myself of my clothing, dumping it all in the trash, and avoided looking at the mirror as I stepped inside the shower area.
I turned on the hot water and instantly regretted it. The boiling water pelted every inch of my skin, burning all of my scars and open wounds. I bit my lip from the pain, but I eventually gave in. It came to the point where I wasn't sure if the water streaming down my face were from the shower-head or from my hot tears. Scrubbing the dirt away and watching the pale, brown water swirl down the drain was liberating. I felt as though I had just shedded away the old skin that I had been trapped in for quite some time. After squeezing a generous dollop of shampoo on to my palm, I massaged all areas of my roots, determined to bring my hair back to the way it was, before conditioning my ends.
Little streams of hot water slipped down my back as I washed the shampoo suds off of me. My skin was burning from the mellow droplets morphing into sharp little blades of fire, snapping me back into reality. When I was done, I reached out for a towel and wrapped it around myself, tiredly leaning against the wall as the water droplets were being absorbed. After wringing my hair to let the excess water escape, I grabbed a thinner towel off of the shelf to dry my hair. As I kneaded my roots with the towel, I was instantly reminded of the time when Ahsan had towel-dried my hair and smacked my hand away when I had tried to do it myself.
My shoulders slumped in despair.
Where is Ahsan now? Where are the others? Are they safe? Did they get hurt? Are Ahsan and Murtaza okay?
Within the knots of my heart, an eerie feeling emerged, insisting that the two ex-militants were brutally beaten and then killed.
No.
That can't be true. It's just a bad feeling, that's all. It can't be anything more than that.
I shifted my pessimistic focus to the clothing that was lying on the counter-top. Freshly laundered clothes had a particular refreshing scent and I found myself absorbing the woodsy fragrance before slipping everything on. I decided to wait a bit longer before putting on the new veil that Stacy had left me since my hair was still damp, and inspected my skin once again. I had scrubbed every area of my body with such force that pink lines had now grazed my skin, but I didn't care, as long as I was clean. But I knew that no matter what I could do to bring myself back to how things used to be, my efforts would solely be in vain, especially since the flogging session had left permanent pink, bumpy welts all across my back. Even if I ever have serious memory loss as I age, those welts would always serve as a reminder of everything I had gone through during my time in the Middle East. There was no doubt about that.
After retreating back inside the room, I strode over to the mini-fridge and coveted the chocolate bar that was on my mind for the past hour. While I had half a mind to stay up until Stacy brought me dinner, the real bed was awfully tempting. I laid on it, wrapping the sheets around me tightly, and tried to shut my eyes in peace.
But peace was nowhere to be found.
At one point, I had believed that Faizan's death would mark the end of my problems, when in actuality, it only paved the road for new issues.
When would I be able to go back to America? Do I even want to go back home? What happened to Tala? Now that she's completely orphaned, where will she go? What will she do? Will she convince herself that she's reached an ultimate dead end and try to commit suicide? What about those children? Were they taken back to Aleppo or are they still around here? Will they be sent back to their homes or will they have to wander around, aimlessly and hopelessly? And what will happen to Murtaza? What's his story? How much trouble will he get into? Will he cooperate enough with the American soldiers so that they may let him go unharmed? And...what about Ahsan? Will he tell the soldiers the entire truth? Will he be able to start his life anew? If so, will he go back to finish his medical education and make something of himself? Will he forget me when we both go about our separate lives? Would it be better for both of us if we forgot each other? Do I even want to leave him here? And what will happen to Saad? Who will take care of him when I go back to-
Oh.
There is no Saad.
I bit my trembling lip and blinked frantically to stop myself from crying even though I was presently basking in solitude. Crying wasn't my problem; it was the pain that is associated with each tear, the memories I would have to relive, and the depression that would linger with me for days to come.
Despite the fact that my mind was racing with thoughts, I forced myself to get some sleep, even if it would be just for a little while.
***
The sound of an ungodly boom came from the door.
Ugh, Ahsan!
This guy won't ever change!
"Why don't you ever let me sleep in peace!" I shouted at the door as I turned over in bed. The booming had stopped. "Just give me five more minutes," I said and then added, "Or even five seconds!"
The banging resumed with full force.
"Ahsan, please, for the love of God, stop trying to break down the door!"
He didn't listen.
Nothing new.
Irritated, I threw the bed sheets aside and brushed the hair away from my face as I stormed towards the door and furiously swung it open.
A frightened Stacy stood in the hallway, a tray shook in her trembling hands.
I blinked a few times before reality had dawned on me. "Oh my...I'm so sorry, Stacy. I...was sleeping and thought you were...someone else. I'm so sorry for scaring you. I-"
"Ah, no worries," Stacy told me cheerfully as she straightened herself. "You had me startled for a bit until I realized you were having a nightmare."
...a nightmare I wished had come true.
"How are you feeling now?"
"Well, I don't know," I replied honestly. "I'm just glad I smell nice now."
"You surely do!" She gave me a throaty laugh. "Here, take this tray. I got you some breakfast."
"Breakfast?" I stared at her, puzzled. "I thought you said dinner."
"I did," she said slowly. "But that was last night. You slept the night away and I figured I'd let you rest until morning, hence the banging on the door."
"Oh..." My eyebrows shot up. Time was flying by, more so since I have been in Amman for more than a couple of days. "Do you know where the others are?"
Stacy watched me carefully. "What others?"
"The children." And the militants.
"Oh, they're still on this hospital campus in another ward. Some of them are terribly malnourished. Later, we may relocate them back to where they're from, or to a refugee camp."
"Oh, alright." I dared to ask her something else. "And what about the militants?"
"Nothing is certain as of yet." Stacy shrugged, making it obvious that she couldn't care less what happens to them. Then again, in normal circumstances, I'd also feel the same way. "Enjoy your meal. Also, when you're done eating, come down to the lobby. It's lonesome in this part of the hospital even when it's a busy day. There's a TV and you'll at least have people to mingle with downstairs to help ease your mind for a bit."
I thanked her for the food and pulled up a chair to sit at the table inside the room. It was a humble meal, consisting of flatbread, hummus, a small container of yogurt and some fruit. I took a quick sip from the cylindrical flask that contained sugared black coffee and the hot liquid sloshed down my throat, awakening every part of my sluggish body - while also burning my tongue. I learned my lesson too late, but still sipped the coffee slowly, allowing it to ignite energy throughout. Staring at the food tray made me feel awfully guilty. All those children were incredibly underfed, and here I was: munching on an apple slice all by myself.
Did the children get food too? Is Tala okay? Did they starve Ahsan and Murtaza? Am I only getting special treatment because I am an American citizen? Is anyone wondering about me like I am about them?
Stacy was right. This part of the hospital was rather lonely. I did not even recall seeing occupied rooms along the hallway. All this time, I was so used to having somebody, anybody, with me. And now, my emotional loneliness was in absolute equilibrium with my physical loneliness - a horrible phase to be absorbed in.
Maybe going down to the lobby wasn't such a bad idea after all. Even if I didn't speak to others, it would be nice to observe what people typically do in their day-to-day lives before I venture out into the world on my own.
I decided not to wear the niqab, and just wrapped a hijab instead. Even though there was an elevator on stand-by, I decided to take the steps. The long folds of my new abaya swished around me as I took a few flights of stairs to get to the lobby, where many people were lounging in the waiting area.
Mothers wiped the drool off of their young children's faces. Fathers sat their children on their laps. Toddlers instantly befriended one another and played their own version of tag. The elderly were led to their seats by their grown children. Some people paid attention to whatever the TV was showing, others concentrated on their newspapers. Some people entered the building, while others exited. Everyone was living their own lives, without having any major worries.
I used to live that way too.
"Hey there, Hayat!" Stacy beamed and waved from the receptionist's desk, motioning for me to come forward. "Glad to see you've joined us. It's a little bit busier here than normal since it's vaccine season for the kids, hence why you see a bunch of little humans running around. Cute, aren't they?" Her eyes joyfully scanned the premises.
Yes, the children are very cute.
I should know. I had one of my own, too.
Had.
Stacy rambled on about how she wanted to take an early retirement from the military so she could settle down and have a family, but my attention wandered to the happy families in the waiting area until she called my name.
"Well, Hayat?"
"Huh?" I snapped my gaze back to her, and apologized for my absent mind. "I'm sorry, what did you just say?"
"I asked if you'd like a cup of tea," she said, offering her flask to me. "It's sizzling hot!"
"Oh, no thank you. I just had the coffee you got for me for breakfast."
"Are you sure?" She brought her lips to her cup. "Can't go wrong with a nice, soothing cup of tea!"
"Yes, I'm sure." I gave her a smile, albeit a tiny one. "Back in America, I would normally have coffee in the mornings and tea-"
"-In the evenings," a vaguely familiar feminine voice finished my sentence.
I spun around and my hand flew to my mouth as I came face-to-face with my best friend. "Nat?"
Wordlessly and tearfully, Nat ran over to me, holding her arms out in invitation and I flung myself into her embrace with a strangled sob. She buried her face into the crook of my neck and cried on my shoulder, not caring that all eyes were now on us.
"H-Hayat," she called out to me in a trembling voice. "I was so w-worried that something horrible h-happened to you. When I found out, I had a panic attack. I was so shocked, I really couldn't believe it!" Nat pulled back, clasping my shoulders and holding me at arm's length. "You...you lost so much weight and you look so tired. Hayat, we missed you so much, I can't even begin to tell you how much-"
"Nat," I said, and she instantly focused her attention to me. "Just shut up and let me talk for once," I reprimanded her jokingly with a teary and crooked, smile.
She snorted lightly before pulling me into another bear hug that was so suffocating, I thought my insides would burst. Nevertheless, the gesture made me genuinely smile after a long time.
"I'm sorry we were so late," Nat said, brushing away her brunette strands from her face. "There was so much formal paperwork and this was the earliest we could-"
"We?" I asked as my eyebrows furrowed. "Who are we?"
Nat stepped to the side in response, revealing Marc, whose sleepless face smiled as he approached me. I was grateful that he at least had the decency to make eye contact and avoid gawking at me as though I was an explosive science experiment.
"Great to see you again, Hayat. We missed you," he said warmly, giving me a quick hug.
It felt weird.
I felt weird.
I remembered the days when the three of us would hug, even Marc and I, though it was not often; solely on birthdays and on the last days of the academic years. I didn't think much of it then, but now it felt wrong. Marc may not have thought that this moment was any different from the previous times, but to me, there was something different.
I was different.
I hastily returned the hug, so as not to seem rude, and took a step back. His smile faltered for a nanosecond, but it was hardly noticeable.
Stacy, who probably did not notice the brisk awkward moment, spoke up. "Well, I'm glad the three of you have finally reunited. Hayat, why don't you take them to your room? I'm sure you all have lots to catch up on."
Nat linked her arm in mine as we went up the stairs, with Marc trailing closely behind. As we reached the door to my room, my heart pounded as I came to the realization that I would have to tell my story to Nat and Marc.
"Nat," I said to her, while giving the briefest of glances to Marc to indicate that he was also included. "There's something I have to tell you."