I come back. Baba stops for a minute and stares and Hamouda stops crying for just a second and stares back, like he knows what my father could do. My father looks at his father lying on the floor, looks through me, and then he’s down on the floor, right on top of Hamouda. At first Hamouda holds out his arm, thinking he’s going to have hugs or get picked up, but then he feels the weight of my father’s body and starts screaming even louder than before.

That’s how the police find him when they come. My father’s fire just goes away like it started raining inside him and he lets them take him, pull him off Hamouda, who I pick up from the ground as soon as the police pick up my father.

Scary is what is going to happen to us until Ma comes home. Scary is what Ma will do and if they’ll say it’s my fault.

I close my eyes tight and imagine she’s here. “It’s okay, little cucumber,” I whisper in English in Hamouda’s ear. “We’ll be okay. We’ll be okay, God willing.”

36 SORAYA Just Down the Road

36SORAYAJust Down the Road

I told Ma I was going to go with Hala back to Tucson because I wanted to visit Uncle Hamdi and Auntie Fay. I didn’t ask her, I just told her: “Ma, I’m going for a week. I have the money. I’ll help Hala buy her books and stuff.”

No idea what made Ma let me go—probably figured how could I get in trouble in Tucson at the end of summer with boring Hala and boring Uncle Hamdi around; probably thought they’d be good influences. Hala’s okay, actually. She just listens and doesn’t make you feel like you’re doing something wrong.

No idea in anyone’s head that I came to see Uncle Haydar.

But Hamdi won’t let me out of his sight. One day he takes me for a ride. Gets us Blizzards from Dairy Queen. Says, “It is a weakness of character, this need for a chemical shake mixed with candy, and stuffed thick into a cup.”

Whatever.

Then he says, “You need to understand something.” And drives us through their rinky-dink downtown, which takes all of one minute.

He drives down a wide street, then turns and pulls over. “I have to drop something off for Haydar,” he says, already halfway out the door. “You can’t come with me. You’ll understand in a few minutes.” He slams the door of his fly-looking, fully loaded Toyota Camry, engine running, air-conditioning blasting quietly, CD player grooving with some African drumbeat, and my heart in my mouth. No one said a word about Haydar. And how come it’s all of a sudden and I can’t go too?