Tamara woke up, her mouth dry and her eyes moist and sticky with sleep. Her face contorted as a wave of nausea passed through her. Her eyes still shut, she reached over and smacked her hand against the nightstand looking for her phone. She picked it up and saw a missed call from Jimmy. She got up, washed her face, and got dressed. She had a quick cup of coffee and then asked her mother to drop her off at Al-Nasr compound.
"It's pool day," she told her mother.
She got to Jimmy's house, picked at a bagel as she waited for him and Tim to get dressed, and then they all made their way across the three hundred-house compound to the pool. They sat at the far end, and were alone with the exception of a middle-aged couple sitting at the other end of the pool. Sam rolled over onto his stomach and took a cigarette out of his bag. He started to empty out the tobacco with a small plastic stick.
"What are you doing Tim?" said Tamara.
"I'm going to roll a joint."
"What? Are you insane? We're in public! There's a couple sitting right over there!"
"Relax man, I'm going to pour the mix into this cigarette. It'll look like we're just smoking a Marlboro."
"How the hell are you going to do that without ripping the cigarette paper?
"Don't worry about it."
Tamara felt uneasy. She sat up and leaned forward, turning her face constantly from one end of the pool to the other, watching out for the compound guards and the curious gaze of the couple.
"Tammy, relax," said Jimmy, "the lady's asleep and the guy is flipped over on his stomach and facing the wall."
"Yeah but what if the guards come by?"
"Don't worry. We'll see them before they see us, and then Tim can just toss the thing in his bag."
Tim managed to successfully roll the joint, and they shared it as quickly as possible. Tamara was worried, worried about the smell, about the guards, about the couple, but she gave in anyway. She was an accomplice one way or another; she figured she might as get something out of it. No guards came by and the couple's suspicion was never aroused. They sat by the pool for about an hour, and then made there way to the abandoned tennis court.
"Hey Tammy, how about a blow back?" Said Tim.
"What's a blow back?"
"It's heaven, that's what it is. Come on, just trust me, you'll love it."
"Okay, why not."
Tim put the joint in his mouth the wrong way around, careful not to burn his tongue on the cherry. He leaned in close to Tamara's face, cupped both their mouths with his hands, and let out a long breath. A wave of smoke flooded Tamara's mouth. She inhaled deeply, pulling her head back and squinting. She coughed, closing her eyes. She placed her palms on her knees and bowed her head. When she opened her eyes, she saw that familiar gray mist, that silver fog that blanketed everything, that made everyone's skin sparkle and made plants and buildings look like they were bejeweled with glimmering drops of dew. She felt light, like a helium balloon. Her voice sounded distant. The boys' voices sounded rhythmic; their words sounded elongated and smooth, like the sound of a cello. She heard a hum vibrating in her ears; it felt tribal and primitive.
"That's the call to prayer," said Jimmy. "Come on, let's go back to my house."
She grabbed on to the fence and pulled herself up. She pressed her face against the metal, peering out at the row of houses. She saw a kid leaving her house and running to the little park across the street. She watched her bounce up and down, and she heard the hum again, a little louder this time. She stared at the girl. You're lost...little girl...tell me who are you? They walked out of the tennis court. They had only taken a couple steps when Tamara stopped suddenly and grabbed Jimmy by the elbow.
"Jimmy, Jimmy. I can't feel my legs."
"What? Oh shit, do you think you can make it to my house?"
"I can't feel my legs."
"Shit, shit. Tim, what are we going to do? My house is at the end of the street!"
"Calm down," said Tim, "come on, you grab one arm and I'll grab the other, but be subtle."
They both held on to her and tried to drag her softly and inconspicuously towards the house. It was five thirty in the afternoon on a Friday. Parents lined the streets like ants, enjoying hanging a weekend afternoon with their children. Families were in the park, in their front yards, walking along the sidewalks and driving by. Uptight, middle class America was concentrated in that compound.
Tamara's legs gave way after a few steps. Her knees started to shake and she lost balance, collapsing onto the sidewalk. She buried her face in a bush and threw up the little she'd had to eat. The little girl from the park and her mother stood by watching. The girl seemed perplexed, while the mother appeared both concerned and disgusted. Tamara lifted her head up and wiped her mouth on her shirtsleeve. She heard voices that were barely audible, like people speaking to her through cones from a distance. She looked up at Jimmy and Tim and watched their lips move. A black cloud crept over her eyes and she felt her pulse pounding heavily through her temples like a prisoner trying to escape from a windowless cell. Her weakness was palpable. She saw her face mirrored in her mind's eye--saw it go pale. She felt transparent, naked. The boys picked her up and carried her to Jimmy's front steps, apologizing to the mother and her child and blaming the disturbance on food poisoning. She lay with her head in Tim's lap. Her hearing was back to normal and her eyesight was clearing up, but the gray mist lingered.
"You need to eat," said Jimmy.
"I'm not hungry."
"Come on, we'll just go to Tasty Bell juice stall. Trust me, you have to eat. You just pulled a whitey."
"A what?"
"You smoked too much. Your body had a negative reaction to it. Come on, lets go."
"Okay, fine."
Tamara slept through the fifteen-minute drive to the juice stall. She woke up and got out of the car, staring at the little cube-like building surrounded by sand, a Ka'aba shining forth out of nothingness. The restaurant was overflowing with South-Asian construction workers who had just finished their shift, and the local guards from the nearby compounds. They sat at a table in the corner and ordered three shawarmas and three fruit cocktails. Tamara laid her head down on the table and waited for the food to arrive, trying to drown out the noise that was exacerbating her nausea and dizziness. The food arrived and she nibbled at it slowly, lifting her head only to take a bite, and then gently lowering it back onto the table. A symphony of thoughts played out loudly in her head. Blurred images like smudged, wet paintings invaded her mind. She wished she could just wallow in darkness, just for a moment, just to clear her thoughts and ground herself in reality. She watched words carve themselves onto the inside of her scalp. She saw a compass scraping a labyrinth of randomness onto her skull. She lifted her head slightly and opened one eye, peering at the guards that sat at the surrounding tables.
They're looking at me. Please don't look at me. If they find out, I'm done for. If they find out, they'll whip me. I don't want to be whipped. They'll deport my dad; he'll lose his job. Disowned, I'll be disowned. No, not disowned, but they'll never treat me the same again. Look at them. They're so smug, smug guards with no guns, smug guards with nothing but the Word. So self-righteous all the time, walking around with a big cane ready to beat you for so much as whispering about sin. Sin. Sin, sin, sin. I'm right here holy man; I'm right here waiting, but you don't know do you? I'm just a girl, a girl that's a little tired and is resting her head on the table. I'm just a sweet little girl, incapable of even thinking the taboo. No, the profane is beyond my mental grasp holy man, the sacred is all that haunts me. Judges, judges, always watching with your empty eyes, always judging with your nothingness, always imposing your futility.
A dark, skinny hand with dirt-lined fingernails dropped a plastic plate with the bill on it onto their table. Tim paid, and they all left, dropping Tamara off at home on the way. She walked past her parents who were having a drink in the living room, said hello, and told them she was tired and was going to go to sleep. She threw herself onto her bed, face down, and with her left hand, reached over to the nightstand and lightly tapped at the stereo until she hit the play button. This is the end, beautiful friend, the end...this is the end, my only friend, the end.
