FIRST, A BOMB FALLS TWO BLOCKS FROM WHERE we’re standing, and the ground rumbles and breaks.
Second, the singing stops, as if someone shut off a TV, and panic ensues.
Third, memories rush past my eyes as my body refuses to believe I’m reliving last year. Even though I was expecting it, my body doesn’t care.
I shake my head quickly. I can’t shut down or I’ll die. Hesitation is my death sentence.
“We have to get out of here now!” I hear Kenan yelling, but so many shapes are rushing past my eyes, they begin to blur. A hand latches on to my arm and drags me in the opposite direction from where the bomb fell. I stumble after Kenan, praying he doesn’t let go. Bodies swarm past us, trying to push us apart in their urgency, but his grip doesn’t weaken. I try my best not to trip over my feet as urgency turns into desperation.
“Salama!” Kenan’s voice rises above the din of chaos. He can’t turn his head in my direction or we’ll both stumble.
“Keep going!” I yell before he stops.
“I have to get out of here,” one man keeps screaming, moving against the current. “I have to go, please. The bomb fell on my home!”
I keep pressing forward despite the hysteria choking me.
Another one falls, lighting up the sky. Closer this time. Screams rip the night apart, and my knees buckle.
“Salama!” Kenan’s hand tightens around my wrist, and he stops in the middle of a stampede to help me up. People curve around us now, running.
Kenan grabs me by my shoulders and hoists me up. His eyes burn determination into mine.
“Salama,” Kenan says eerily calmly. “Don’t panic, and don’t let go of my hand.”
I nod. His hand slides into mine, and we make a run for it with the crowd once again. I hear guns going off and another bomb falling. It must be an all-out clash with the Free Syrian Army now. Kenan turns right, separating us from the mob, and ducks into alleyways. The shouting doesn’t stop, and it’s not only coming from the protest. Buildings have crumbled onto sleeping children, and mothers are crying desperately for someone to pull their babies out. Guilt tears my gut for not turning back and helping, but I know I’d be as good as dead if I did.
I know where we are. Layla is still a bit far from here, but there’s another place we can seek refuge.
“Wait!” I shout, and Kenan pauses for a second. I dash in front of him, taking his other hand, and run. “I know where to go.”
“Where?” he shouts over the din.
“My old home.”
“We need to run faster. The FSA might have lost their ground here.”
“Snipers.” A pit drops in my stomach.
“Or the military.”
I glance back. “You need to get rid of your phone.”
God forbid if we’re caught and they find the videos on his phone.
They’d skin him.
His hand flexes in mine. Our footsteps echo against the broken
pavement. “Can’t do that.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry. If we’re caught, I won’t let them hurt you.”
I bite down a retort. He’s just saying that to make himself feel better.
There are no innocents in the eyes of evil. Luckily we encounter no one on the streets, but I can feel the bombs closing in. I pull him faster and my lungs protest. Every intake of breath feels like fire. I bite my lip to ground myself and push on harder.
People have started spilling out of buildings, their eyes wide with fear.
The roads are beyond saving, but there’s nowhere for the people to go. I hear children crying and people praying for mercy. A man carries an infant in his arms as his wife rushes out with him. They part for us, and I don’t look back to see what they’re doing. I pray they have the sense to flee.
“God, please, save us!” I whisper.
A shell falls nearer; its blast sends glass shards that just about grazes our
clothes and skin as we run past. They sting enough to make us hiss, but we’ve dealt with worse pain. The bomb has blown up a neighborhood I used to go to for knafeh. I stumble again, coughing from the debris, and Kenan lifts me up, his hands strong and steady. I pull him again and we run.
I try not to think of the people who were breathing just fifteen minutes ago.
How fifteen minutes can make all the difference in the world. I block out the sounds of a crying baby I know are a figment of my imagination.
We’re finally far enough away to slow down and catch our breath. I reluctantly let go of Kenan’s hand and he falls into step with me. Our breaths are harsh, ribs creaking as our anemic blood tries to supply oxygen.
I’m both shivering and sweating and try to focus on steadying my breath.
Kenan doesn’t say anything, and I don’t find solace in speaking either.
We hear the bombs in the distance, and each stabs a new hole in my heart. I don’t want to see the expression on his face. I don’t want to know if it’s sadness or anger or desperation. Whatever it is, it’s going to scare or break me, and I don’t want either. His back is hunched, and every time a scream reaches us, he constricts even more.
We walk through my old neighborhood, where my apartment building stood eons ago. Local shops stacked beside each other are faded, the signs almost impossible to read. There’s no one here trying to salvage their family’s business. Not a soul wanders the streets, and it brings chills to my body. This place is haunted by the ghosts of those who lived here, screaming for a justice that’s not been delivered. The shops have been ransacked, equipment thrown around, windows broken. The pharmacy I interned at has been bled dry.
My old building is around the next right corner, and my heart thuds the
closer we get.
I haven’t been here since July.
My footsteps are engraved all over this place. My ten-year-old self flashes past me giggling, climbing out of the school bus with her friends, running home, backpack swaying with every step. Fifteen-year-old me stumbles past, eyes glued to the book she’s reading, late for her study sessions. Seventeen-year-old Salama walks hand in hand with Layla, Shahed, and Rawan. Happy with today’s shopping spree, each carrying the delicious shawarma from the restaurant a few feet away. All these lives rush in front of me. I can see the light bouncing off my hopeful, healthy face. I
can see my confident strides and clear eyes. The whole street comes to life, flowers blooming at the sides of the pavement, traders singing their wares, and iris petals dancing in the wind, carrying the smell of yasmine elsham.
“Salama!” A voice cuts through my daydream like cold water.
I blink as the darkness replaces my hallucination and I inhale sharply.
“Salama,” Kenan says again, and I turn to him. “Everything all right?”
He’s worried; soot covers his clothes. There are nicks lining his arms and cuts on his face. He looks nervous, glancing around to see what I was looking at.
“Yes,” I say, and my voices catches. Clearing my throat, I try again.
“I’m okay. It’s just overwhelming being here. Back home.”
He hesitates before smiling sympathetically. “I can’t imagine how difficult it is.”
Of course he can imagine, but his selflessness overshines anything else.
“Let’s go.” I walk past him.
I feel Khawf walking beside me and he murmurs, “This place is imbued with your trauma. Do you see why you need to leave, Salama?”
I give a quick nod, carefully hiding my tears as I try not to think that only a few steps from here is where Mama’s body lay mangled.
