Abridged Stories Part 7: Shooting Stars

“Youssef, do you see those streaks? They’re called shooting stars. They say if you close your eyes and make a wish then it will come true as quickly as they shot across the sky.”

Baba (father) tapped my nose as my eyes were closed and my face wrinkled. I giggled and snuck one eye open. I saw him whispering to himself with his eyes closed and hands clasped in prayer below his chin. He opened his eyes as I stared at him. I could see the fragments of tiny rocks embedded into his scraggly black beard streaked with gray. The knees of his jeans were caked with dirt from working in the garden earlier this evening. I could see the black dirt under his fingernails as he stroked his beard.

“You were looking weren’t you?” He reached out with his arm to playfully push me as he laughed.

“Baba la (no father) I wasn’t! What did you wish for?” I sat up eagerly. What could it possibly be that my strong father would wish for? This is the man that I have never seen cry. The man that I have never heard complain. The man who could fix any problem we had at home. In fact my father was a man of few words. He spoke only when absolutely necessary. He was strict, but kind. “Maybe you wished for a mansion? Or a super fast car? Oh, I know 10000 pieces of baklava!” I nearly jumped up from a seated position.

“Now why would I want any of that? Praise be to Allah the family I have with me. A large house only brings distance between one’s own family. What joys can a mansion bring me that my own wife and children cannot?-”

“Baba stop with the boring scriptures. What did you wish for!” I pouted as I got up to squat and rested my hands on my knees, my chin on my hands. He smirked.

“If I tell you what I wished for then the wish wont come true Youssef. I’m sorry.” He patted me on the head. I brushed his hand off and scowled at him.

“You made that up you just don’t want to tell me!” I jumped up and pointed at him. A plume of dust appeared at my feet and vanished into the air behind me.

“Ibni (my son) please. This is part of a tale as old as the world. I promise you I didn’t make it up.” He held out his arm and pulled me in for a hug. I could smell the mixture of sweat, dirt, and a faint scent of tomatoes from his large hand around my waist.

I was 11 when my body first rejected this world. I was awoken by the smell of smoke and a man screaming. I had never heard my father scream before so this voice was foreign to me, but I could clearly see him crouching over of me. “Yalla (come on) we have to go!” I could hear the faint screams of people outside drowned out by large bangs, and accented by the low roar of flames creeping into our small home. My father grabbed me and my sister onto each shoulder as we rushed outside and around the back of our home. Through the smoke I could see flames engulfing the vines of the tomatoes my dad had grown just months prior. I could no longer smells the tomatoes on him, or the cucumber, or the cauliflower — just smoke. I don’t remember if I was choking on it or my tears but I could not breathe in that moment. I covered my mouth with my hand and squeezed my eyes shut in the hopes that I would wake up from what I thought was a dream. Instead, at eleven years old, I reopened my eyes to sight of burned corpses, bloodied people, and a weakening vision. I threw up on my father’s back but he never stopped running.

I was 13 when this world rejected my body but I wanted to capture it. I was able to attend high school a year early in this new town we relocated to. Baba was conscripted into the war and I hadn’t seen him in years. We survived off the money he sent home and any work my sister or I could get in the small town. Our mother was routinely sick and spent most of her time at home and did chores when she could. In the mornings I would prepare breakfast with the food available in town, typically from a man named Umar down the street. He was an older man who ran a storefront with dry legumes, vegetables, some fruits, some meats, and canned goods. He was one of the very few sellers left in the town. Over the last few years more and more cities and villages were destroyed in the war and people were driven to smaller and smaller locations. Many people came here just fractions of their former families. Many came here devoid of body parts — eyes, hands, legs. Many children now grew up without their fathers who were, for the most part, all either fighting or dying in the war. Many wives were left burdened with taking care of their family without income. Historically it had been very difficult for women to get jobs and so nowadays, in these trying times, the women are allowed to do anything that helps support what’s left of our societies. Nay, it is no longer about permission — these women have forcibly taken upon their backs the burdens of society and are helping rebuild our communities one day at a time. But mama was sick, this did not mean she wasn’t strong, but that we had to support her now as she has done for us her entire life. After preparing breakfast I would walk some one mile to school with my younger sister Hana. Everyday was the same path but a different view. Homes were constantly being rebuilt and destroyed. People were constantly living and dying. Old families were displaced. New families were introduced. Life, indifferently, kept going on. We would take our classes at an old, partly destroyed, recreation center in town. The separate grades had their own rooms in the building and we would come together for lunch and playtime. These classes were primarily taught by the men of the community but some were led by women when it related to languages or some skill work. I excelled at mathematics and french. Our french class consisted of only myself, a boy named Abdul, and a girl named Fatima. We spent a lot of time together both siting together in other classes we shared, during lunch/playtime, and after school when we had free time. Abdul had a film camera that he found in his parent’s belongings that we would play with even though it had no film inside. We would pretend we were a camera crew discovering a new area and were investigating the inhabitants. We would take pictures with the stray dogs (and feed them if we had snacks). We’d have interviews with other students during lunch or adults in town after school. We’d pretend we were models and walk down a “runway” we made with sheets of cardboard in the same uniform outfit we wore everyday and cleaned once a week. But one night I snuck out of the house when my mother and sister were asleep to meet with Abdul on the outskirts of the town. He told me to meet him in secret at night when we were in class earlier that day.

“Habibi where’s Fatima?” I asked him out of breath.

“I did not invite Fatima, I just wanted to see you.” He smiled a glowing smile matched only in brightness by the reflecting moonlight.

“Well what is it?” I eagerly wanted to know what was so important that we had to hide.

“I got real film! I begged and begged Umar to find some film that I could purchase and I saved and saved and finally he was able to come across some for my very camera!”

“WOW NO WAY! HOW MANY PICTURES CAN WE TAKE?” I jumped up and heard a stray bird take flight in fear.

“27 he told me, we need to be conservative!” He reached out and handed me the camera. “I want you to take the first picture, of anything you want.”

In shock I took the camera and couldn’t believe he’d let me choose first. There were so many things I had dreamed of saving on film and yet I couldn’t think of a single thing in that moment. Except for Abdul.

“Let me take a picture of you, Abdul!”

He blushed and I could see the red rise to his cheeks beneath the mix of dirt and freckles on his face.

“I don’t know if I would make for a good subject-” I took a picture as he spoke and the flash caught both of us off guard. I nearly dropped the camera in shock.

“Ayah! That was so bright!” Abdul yelled before he laughed. I couldn’t help but laugh too.

“There is actually something I’ve always wanted to remember. A picture I’ve always wanted. A shooting star!”

“I’ve never seen one, only heard of them.” Abdul said.

“Let’s sit and wait here and stay up all night if need be for me to show you. I want you to make a wish.” I smiled and guided him to the ground.

I put the camera up to my eye and sat back supporting myself with one arm stretched out to my side. As I watched the sky through the viewfinder I felt Abdul’s hand touch mine and I recoiled.

“Oh I’m sorry for scaring you Youssef, I didn’t mean to.” He said in fear quickly returning his hand to hide them in his lap.

There was a moment of awkward silence before I saw his face change and his arm rise. He pointed at the sky to a shooting star.

“Is that it Youssef?? It is SO much bigger in person.” Abdul’s face lit up.

“Yes I think so! They’re so much brighter than I remember and there are so many too I think Baba called this a meteor shower. Quick close your eyes and make a wish and-and don’t tell me or it won’t come true quickly!!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

I quickly closed my eyes and wished before hearing an unforgettable sound. A crash as loud as thunder. For what we thought were shooting stars were missiles aimed at our town. We ran back towards the town and split off to find our families.

“Go save your family, I will find you tomorrow!” Abdul shouted to me as he ran off down a street before turning a corner. The following day my sister and I helped look for survivors and helped clean and restore what was left of the town. The place where Abdul and his family were living at was replaced with a crater. I could see the tatters of the navy polo shirt he wore that night latched onto some rebar. My body betrayed me again and I vomited. A rejection of this world. I ran and ran and ran to the spot where we shared our photo. I wanted to the find the camera I dropped the night before during the commotion but all I found was smoke and rubble. Concrete and dust. Wood chips and dirt. I sat there wishing that I could feel Abdul’s warm hand again. I vomited again rejecting the thought that I rejected him when all I wanted to do was hold it. But in that moment I was scared. Because I realized that I liked Abdul far more than I liked anyone else. Maybe too much. I’ll tell you, though. In that moment I wished, perhaps even prayed, that Abdul wouldn’t hate me for rejecting him. That he would give me a second chance. It doesn’t matter I’m saying this because he’s dead now and my wish won’t come true anyways.

I was 14 when I became a man and received a package with the remains of my father’s uniform and his personal artifacts. We buried him somewhere. I don’t even remember which part of the country we were in. My mother, in her sickly state couldn’t bare the pain of my father’s departure nor the constant having to relocate. She became depressed and barely ate— her mind gave up long before her body did. These days my family barely interacted. My sister did not walk with me to school and my mother laid on her futon facing the wall most days. We were reduced to some bread in the mornings and maybe a shared dinner at nights. School was held in whoever had the space and resources to accommodate the kids. There weren’t many of us in this recluse but it was all hands on deck by everyone in this encampment. Some days we didn’t have school, some days we didn’t have food, but everyday we were always working and always fearing.

I was 16 when I became an orphan. I got into an argument with my sister that same night.

“Astaghfirullah Youssef, why make the same mistake Baba made? Why are you leaving me alone?” She battled the tears and the rock in her throat to yell at me. She was hurting in the same way as me over our mother’s death but I wanted to escape. I wanted a way out. My whole life was filled with pain and loss that another loss wouldn’t have changed it.

“The war needs to end, Hana. It won’t end if I stay here and run away.”

“And you will end this war? They need you?”

“Shut up! Don’t tell me who needs me and who doesn’t because I will do what I need to in order to save our people!” I slammed my foot and Hana stepped back in fear.

“Youssef, I need you.” The tears lost their battle against gravity and fell freely down her olive skin.

I think in that moment I made the second most regrettable decision of my life. I left the following morning and never saw her again.

In order to join the army I lied about my age and that my personal documents had been lost in the war. I couldn’t even grow a beard and barely looked an adult but I’m sure they needed the man power. They let me go to boot camp. It was an expedited 8 week training program in the eastern part of the country that fast tracked us onto the front lines. It was a hot summer morning in which we were introduced to our comrades and began training for the day. It was already an intense morning of learning call and responses, about weaponry, and tackling an obstacle course. I did pretty poorly on the obstacle course and realized the limits of my own heart and body. I was covered in mud and left sweaty and distraught by the end of the course and, with my head held low, went to lunch. I sat alone as a lot of the other men either already knew each other or picked out groups based on how they did at the obstacle course. It was there that I felt true loneliness — that they weight of my decision to leave Hana finally set in. I ate the scraps of food they gave us on a tray in silence at a bench no one dared sit at. That is until he sat down in front of me.

“Tough first day huh?” This bespectacled, tall, slim black man sat across from me. I stared at my sludge of food without looking at him.

“My name is Francois, what about you? I saw you struggling at the obstacle course same as me. I was behind you.” He let out a laugh and a grain of rice came flying at me. “Sorry about that!” He reached his hand over to wipe the rice grain off the table. I reared my head up.

“I wasn’t struggling! I’m just not used to this okay?” I felt embarrassed more than angry but I couldn’t make myself look weak on the first day.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to offend you, I just meant that we should look out for each other. I didn’t mean to imply anything by it — I’m just not so athletic myself and found myself alone till I saw you sitting here.” A half smile crept on his face obscured by some shame.

“Well I’m not alone or weak. I just don’t know anybody yet.”

“Well you know me, now I’m Francois. I was in university up until they drafted me a few weeks ago. I was really annoyed because I saved up so much money and worked so hard to be able to afford school and they just took that all away from me. I don’t want to kill another man. I was studying to become a journalist so that the people of this world could learn of what’s happening here. Just one article can influence a war far more than any weapon a government could create. I realize I’m rambling. What brought you here? I’m not going to lie you look kinda young.”

I was upset that he called me out on my age but his mission intrigued me far more than he insulted me. Just like him I also did not want to kill. I was so worked up over my death of my mother, over the loss of my father, over the constant relocation that I just felt like I wanted to kill the enemy. But who was the enemy? The soldiers who attacked and pillaged us over and over? The same men forced to join their ranks just like this scholarly Francois. It was not these men that hurt us, but the people of power who wanted it so. The thought of pointing a gun at a man just like Francois, who seemed pure of heart, revolted me. It was only day one and I already regretted my decision. I casted out Hana for bravado. I joined the war to avenge my family when I had no resolve to fight. I didn’t have the resolve my father held nor the compassion my mother shared. I was one half each of my parents — yet was awarded none of the characteristics that made them whole. I was an empty shell who had nothing but lost everything.

After that Francois and I would train together, eat together, and spend our free time together. He taught me all about the writing and ethics classes he took in university and I taught him the ways of survival. I taught him how to chop wood, sew clothes, cook certain foods. He would tell me stories about the city, the real city, and about his big university campus with trees, with computers, with restaurants, and apartments and more. It was alien to me — I was used to learning in the recesses of someones small and broken home and sharing 75 square feet between my family. I couldn’t imagine having 400 square feet to yourself. I wanted to go to university when this was all over and meet all the different types of people Francois told me about. At the end of our fourth week we were all given a small stipend and the weekend off. Francois and I went to a small town nearby.

It was nearly sunset by the time the bus dropped us off in town and Francois and I went to a restaurant. We ordered chicken shawarma plates and some glasses of water. Since we were in uniform the owners decided to give us our meal for free and we thanked him profusely. I felt like a fraud because there was no way I would make the difference this man was expecting. Francois looked at me while rimming the edge of the glass cup.

“I have an idea and a reason behind why I decided we should come to this town. Hear me out.”

I looked at him with intrigue and slight confusion. It’s true that I didn’t know why he chose this small town over the more popular areas the other guys went to but I didn’t question it.

“What is it?” I put rested my elbows on the table.

“I think there’s a way that we could both make an impact without ever raising our guns. It’ll take some effort and slyness but I think we can do it.”

He had my full attention now. The waiter brought our food over and set it down in front of us on the table but I barely noticed.

“It’s quite expensive and will take most of our stipend but we should acquire a camera and a lot of film. There’s a reputable camera store here that I heard of that we can get it all from and maybe even haggle a discount with our uniform. My vision is simple — you shoot, I write, and we tell the world. Wherever they send us we will capture the reality. Whatever we hear we will capture those voices. I want the world to see our struggle and maybe they too will come to our aid the same way they’ve done so in so many other countries. We’ll have to be clever such that no one notices that we haven’t fired our weapons. This will be our vow: no killing. We would be no better than those in power who order us to kill. We must fight this war with ink and film. But no one can see your camera and no one should know that I write. That is all I ask of us. To keep this in secrecy until it’s time to let the world know.”

The water beaded and fell down the sides of our water glasses in the time he took to tell me his plan. The ice no longer visible.

“And who will we tell when it’s all done?” I had only one question. I stared at him as to telepathically understand everything he had been pining over.

“My professor at my university Dr. Ibrahim. He will know where to guide us and he will fight with us for sure.”

I couldn’t help but smile at his sense of conviction. For how long has he been planning this? For how long has he had this sense of morality and justice? He went to university with a plan to change the world while I joined the army in the hopes to die. Only Allah knows.

I was 17 when I discovered betrayal. Over the course of 8 months Francois and I drafted a tale of the missions we were sent on. We created documentation of the atrocities committed by the enemies, pictures of unfair subjugation of our people in villages we were sent to liberate, interviews of prisoners of war. We learned to understand the language of the grieving. A language interspersed with silence, muddled by tears, and underlined by loss. Every night I was plagued by nightmares of the people we met. What impacted me most was not the dead bodies, or the destruction, but the survivors. The images of mothers holding their dead babies and children. The slurring of words by soldiers as they struggled to talk about the loss of their families at home. The amount of times I held out my hand to guide a lost child to what was left of their homes. Nothing prepares you for the sense of injustice and loss that war brings. Nothing you can read in history books amounts to the reality of the situation. No amount of empathy will match the pain of those who have suffered from the strife of war. But you cannot feel empathy if you don’t know it’s happening. Even if it’s just a fraction, even if it’s just a few more people that know and talk about it — we will make sure the world knows.

We found ourselves lucky one day when we were sent to the same city that Francois went to university. The war was closing in on us and we had to defend the biggest bastions of society we had left. The few pillars left untouched. Francois woke me up one early morning to tell me he received a telegram from his professor with a time and place to meet up with our documents. Francois had messaged Dr.Ibrahim a few weeks ago so that we could give him everything. He was a man with stature and connections. He had the name that people would listen to, not Francois’ and definitely not mine.

We arrived at the Liberal Arts wing of the university and headed to a room dictated in the message. Room 200. Next to his wooden door was a modest sign with the words “Dr. Ezekiel Ibrahim. Professor of Ethics.” We knocked the door and a heard a scruffy voice tell us to come inside and the door opened.

“It’s a pleasure to meet the both of you, well I've met you of course Francois but it is nice to meet you, Youssef. It’s quite commendable what you came here to do.”

He gave us firm handshakes and guided us to two leather chairs in front of his messy desk. Plastered on the walls were pictures of Dr.Ibrahim with his family mixed in with awards and certificates. He seemed to be a very established and accomplished man and the type of person I would like to be in the future.

“I’m led to believe that you two have uncovered and amassed a lot of information entailing this war. Information that would be pivotal to even ending this war some may say. I haven’t yet seen any of it but I can only imagine the amount of courage it took for the two of you to accomplish this feat.”

“It took more than you could imagine sir. The thing no one talks about is the emotional toll it takes on the journalists themselves. I know I only took a handful of classes in my short tenure here but I hope that we could shed some light on the media aspect of things. Maybe even for a future lecture of yours.” Francois was so well spoken. I was too nervous to join the conversation.

“And I could never begin to understand the peril you’ve put yourselves through to for this moment. I will say it again, it must have taken tremendous courage and tact to pull this off and come straight to me. However, there are moments in life that are beyond our comprehension. Things like warfare are vastly too complicated for just any one of us to understand. The scale in which war actually happens and the depths to which they impact are too nuanced for a single person to grasp.”

For some reason I felt uneasy. I didn’t understand why he began to talk as if war was complicated. War is simply just wrong and there is a good side and a bad side. The attackers and the defenders. The scale is the ones involved, the depths are the people impacted. What more was there to understand? Dr. Ibrahim continued.

“Did you guys make any copies of what you found? Have you shown what you found to others?” He leaned in.

“Oh, no we haven’t. Now I feel a little stupid that we didn’t since anything could have happened between then and now. Besides you were the first person we wanted to show in case what we found wasn’t significant anyways. We thought you’d be the best person to guide us before we did anything.” Francois sat up in his seat.

“I see. Well, because you have come this far I will at least share with you a tidbit of information that I know. This war cannot be stopped just yet. The circumstances as to why are not things I can divulge but just understand that this war is a necessary one. This cleansing is a necessary cleansing.”

My heart stopped. I could see sweat beading from Francois’ temples and his chest beginning to rise and fall rapidly. The adrenaline surged through my body and it found the words to echo. I found courage where I knew Francois could not.

“What are you talking about Dr. Ibrahim? You’re an ethics professor how can any of this be ‘necessary’ or ‘just’? What is it you are saying to us right now behind your vague words? Are you saying that my mother and father died for a bigger cause that I don’t deserve to understand?” I tensed up my fists on my lap.

“I’m truly sorry for the loss of your parents. Family is the one thing in life that you cannot replace and one of God’s gift that you must love and endure. For what it’s worth if this were any other time I would have found a place for the both of you here instead of the frontlines. But I cannot allow you to release this information, I am so sorry.” His demeanor was cold.

“…What?” Francois finally let out a whimper*.*

Before I could say something the door behind us slammed open and our Sgt and a few of our comrades walked in.

“For orders of treason you two are under arrest.” My sergeant said with conviction. One of my pals in our squad, Zain, marched over to me to take the boxes of information away from us. He couldn’t look me in the eye. Two others, Rakim and Hamza, came over to put handcuffs on us while slamming us against the wall.

I did not understand what was happening. I did not know why Dr.Ibrahim had betrayed us. Why did my parents die? Why was I even here? Tears escaped my eyes as my face was hard pressed into the flaking concrete wall. I could hazily see the shattered glasses of Francois and the shock that emanated from his face from behind them.

[Excerpt from a redacted document entitled “On The War of ———————— by Youssef K——”

There was a night so clear that I swear I could count every crater on the moon if I had all night.

On patrol with Francois I told him the tale of how my father used to take us out at night to stare upon the night sky. I told him how I’d try to guess my father’s wishes every time and that he’d never waver to tell me.

“If you could wish for anything right now what would it be?” he asked.

“If I told you then it won’t come true. But I wish one day to stare upon the stars and have a missile take me. That way I go out with hope because right now it’s hard to come by. But now that I’ve told you it won’t come true. My suffering will just continue.

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