afghangirlscifi

Science fiction stories chronicling Afghan women and girls.

Monday, November 05, 2007

Minda 9

After a time my initial optimism fades. Yes it's wonderful no one here appears antiSemitic. Even more wonderful no one yaps about my infamous mother.
But still, I can see I just am not making any friends. They're friendly as opposed to hostile, but still seem afraid of me (go figure).
Now Aunt Naomi has me a bit concerned. Whenever I overhear phone conversations, it's usually medical woes. And yes I realize lotsa grownups exagerate for effect.
Still I have no way of judging this myself. Merely being a doctor's kid doesn't mean you know all this stuff. Not like he ever even talked to me much.
Better to err on the side of caution. And so it is I just am not forthcoming on any topic I'd consider as stressful for her.
The first report card comes. I hold my breath as I pass it over.
Her eyes scan it, "good," is all she says. My relief is palpable, now I'm breathing again.
I recognize the new girl Rachel that the principal delivers to our class. Daughter of a TO businessman, so what's she doing here, especially with that freaked out look?
Her eyes search the class, light up with recognition when she sees me. Recess time she is unshakable. Time to lay down the law, "now Rachel listen up, for your own good. My mother was involved in killing your set of people. Meaning, your parents will go ballistic if they discover you hang out with me."
Stricken look, "only my Mum is here."
I sense some big story behind this.
That evening I mention her to Aunt Naomi, whose knowing look indicates she is privy to the big secret. Still, not like she'll share it with people my age.
Next morning, the king of all surprises. Rachel smiles easily, "I told my Mum about you."
Ah ha, am I right or what?
"She says no big deal. Not you who did it. Better a Jewish friend than none at all."
I groan inwardly, but how do you argue with that?
After school we're in my room at Aunt Naomi's. I'm lying on the bed and she's lounging back in a chair with her feet up.
Rachel asks, "ever visit the prison, I mean after your Mum did the time machine thing?"
"Didn't want to, but Aunt insisted. Zero security roundabout. Anyone wanders in or out. After all, not like those people could go anywhere if they bothered to escape."
We both laugh.
"So there I am, going into this Day Room. Didn't even recognize her, they all look pretty much alike to me, a sort of manufactured, not real, look. Now try sitting there and talking when the neighbors are talking of gruesome ritualistic murders in a Satanic cult."
"So Minda, not going back?"
"Not on your life, too freaky."
"Go on, don't think you fool me so easy. Lots more to it than that."
I blush, "all right smart ass. Everyone in the place, inmate and staff, acts like Mum is the Queen of Siam." Blush hotter, "she's still proud of having done it."
"And there's more."
I take a deeeep breath, the better to control my overriding urge to grab Rachel by the throat and. Ok, back to being calm, I say in level tone, "yep, I hate her for sticking me with this." And of course, by now I'm crying.

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