I remember my own imaginary trips. “I can’t really call them trips; they are more like going a little further than the park.”

She sighs, “I don’t know.”

Now it is my turn to doubt. Maybe Manijeh doesn’t even have what I think she is hiding like a jewel. She only has a sick husband with a dark, suspicious heart.

In that case, I should make her some coffee. That is what I do. Singing, I walk barefoot in the kitchen from one side to the other. Manijeh has brought the plate close to her face and is staring at the pattern. The kids are playing a noisy game.

She says, “What an interesting plate!”

I don’t understand what she means. I look at the plate in her hand. She laughs.

“He will leave you. You know he will. You should leave first before you are left alone and turn into a loser.”

She fans herself with the plate.

I feel I shouldn’t say anything. Her trust is not complete. She may get scared and pull in like a turtle. I nod my head, pretending that I understand her, but in reality, I don’t. So, a few minutes later I say, “It won’t happen by changing where you live. You will have the same problems in the next place.”

“How do you know?”

She is right. How do I know? How many times have I changed houses? How would I know what I’ll be like in another life?

Chapter 28

28

Shadi is doing her homework. “Maman, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

I say, “Don’t chew on the pencil.”

She takes the pencil out of her mouth. “OK. Tell me.”

“I am already a grown-up.”

Now she has put the pencil in between her toes.

“I have already become what I wanted to be.”

Shadi takes the pencil out of her toes.

“Maman . . .” She pushes her bangs away. “Be serious.”

I think, “Well, . . . I want, I want . . .”

All of a sudden I say, “I want to be a dancer.”

Amir lifts his head up from the newspaper and looks at me. I repeat what I said, and ask Shahin to put some music on so I can start practicing immediately. I get up and dance. First I imitate Mahin. The kids laugh. They clap and Shadi jumps up and down like a monkey. They ask for another dance. “Imitate Aunt Ashraf!” I push the table aside to make more room. The kids have stopped doing their homework. The house is filled with joy.

Amir says, “You should have said ‘a clown.’”

Now, I quit imitating and start dancing like I used to. Imagining I am dancing in a special and unfamiliar place makes me excited. For a few seconds I forget where I am. I am twirling so fast that no one can even catch up with me.