It was after seven o’clock that evening of Thursday, 7 July that Mom’s cellphone finally, finally rang. By then, I think, we were all exhausted from the endless terror of waiting. From constantly fighting to control the awful pictures that kept painting themselves in our minds. I know my stomach ached – physically – as though the hours of panic had ripped their eagle claws deep through my insides.
And then Mom’s cellphone rang, playing her favourite song: Jeremiah was a bullfrog, was a good friend of mine. It took her a moment of fumbling before she answered.
“Kyle?! KYLE!! Oh my God, Kyle! You don’t know what it’s like to hear your voice! Are you okay …? Yes, we’ve been trying and trying to reach you too … Even their hotline was busy … Oh, thank God you’re alright! We’ve been going out of our minds …”
There were tears in my dad’s eyes, running down his cheeks. I think it was the first time I ever really saw him cry.
“Hello, my son …”
I had to wait quite a while before it was my turn. And then I didn’t know what to say. Kyle, as always, kept the conversation going. As though nothing was wrong. As though suicide bombers hadn’t been blowing up the London Underground where he was a daily traveller.
“So, squashed-pumpkin face. Are you and Faheema in the first netball team yet? You haven’t let me down, have you?”
*
But it was only the next morning at breakfast that the bombshell fell. Mom and Dad were passing eye messages. I noticed that while I was eating my cornflakes, but still I wasn’t ready for what came next. Outside, the winter sun was shining. My head was feeling better. And I had finally overcome my jealousy of your first-team gig. I had talked myself into being glad for you, happy that you’d had such a great opportunity.
Dad cleared his throat. “Louise, your mom and I both agree about this: after the terrible time we all went through yesterday, we’d prefer it if your Muslim friend didn’t come round here any more. Alright?”
What?! I was stunned, Faheema, I’m telling you. What did you have to do with any part of Thursday afternoon?!
I tried to argue, tried to make them see sense. There was a terrible, sick feeling deep down in my stomach. “But Dad, Mom, what are you talking about? Those bombings have got nothing, nothing, NOTHING to do with Faheema. This isn’t fair! This isn’t right!”
But Dad wasn’t interested. “I don’t want to discuss this, Louise. You don’t know these people the way Mom and I do. They all stick together, these Muslims. They all support each other. They all secretly support this terrorism against the West. Underneath, they’re all the same, Louise. Every last one of them. You’re too young to understand that yet.”
Mom joined in. “Yes, love. You’re getting big now. Next year you’ll be in high school. It’s time to start keeping to your own kind. You should be looking for friends who live the same way we do and think the same way we do. Friends like Annette. Or Susan down the road.”
*
At the river that afternoon, I ranted on and on. But you missed the point completely. On purpose, I think!
“Oh, your poor mom and dad!” you said. “That must have been awful! That must have stressed them out like crazy! No wonder they are so upset. I don’t blame them!”
I stared at you. Behind your head, our twin waterfalls formed beautiful twin rainbows side by side in the spray. “But, Faheema, don’t you understand? They say you can’t come to our house! As if you had something to do with all of this!”
“Give them time,” you said. “It will take them a while to get over it. And anyway, you still haven’t asked me how the match went yesterday. Even though you deserted me.”
You always could do that, you know, Faheema. You always could make me feel better, take my mind off things that were awful and frustrating and driving me crazy.
“Okay. How did your netball go, Madame Olympic Gold Medallist?”
“We lost. Seven-two.”
“Of course you lost. You’ve never been in a team that won. Ever.”
“Well, it wasn’t my fault.”
“Okay, how many times did you actually manage to catch the ball?”
“Twice. But still, it wasn’t my fault. It was Marcie. She just couldn’t shoot straight.”
“Oh, and it had nothing to do with one Wing Attack being so short that the ball kept flying over her head?”
“Hey, I’m not so bad.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Am not.”
“You are! You’re dreadful.”
“And you? I suppose you’re the bee’s knees at netball, Louise. Hey! You’re the bee’s knees, Louise! The bee’s knees, Louise, the bee’s knees, Louise … That’s a good one, don’t you think? I’ll have to remember it for next time Mr Abrahamse wants a poem from us!”
I was laughing again. You could always make me laugh. Always! And behind your head, our two rainbows arched all the way across both of our waterfalls, the one as curved and beautiful and steady and perfect as the other.
You were suddenly serious. “I missed you being there, Louise. It wasn’t much fun all on my own.”
*
I gave my parents time, lots of time, just as you suggested. I waited all through August and September, even though I was getting really impatient. Then all through your month of Ramadan.
That was the first Ramadan that you were joining in the fasting properly, remember? No food or drink from dawn to sunset. Not even a sip of water. And I worried so much about you.
“Are you okay, Faheema? You aren’t feeling dizzy, are you? Do you want to sit down? Should I carry your bag?”
But you just smiled at me with your dimples extra deep.
“Stop fussing! It’s no big deal. This is a joyful time, a chance to feel closer to God, see? You have to see the forest, not the trees, Louise … hey! The forest not the trees, Louise. I must remember that one.”
But even so, I left my lunchbox in my case at break times. How could I possibly eat when you weren’t even allowed water? And when I got home, I slipped the food into the bin before Mom could notice.
And I waited all the way till early November, two weeks before your sister’s wedding. I waited till I could speak to Mom alone while Dad was still at work.
“Mom, can we go and find a dress for Yasmiena’s wedding? You promised, remember?”
My mom stared at me for a long time. She made me feel as though she hardly knew me, as though she didn’t know where I’d appeared from. As though I wasn’t even her daughter but some foreign, alien being.
She answered at last and her voice sounded harsh and bitter. “How can you, Louise? After all we went through that afternoon in July? Your brother could have been killed, do you understand that? If he’d caught his normal train, if he hadn’t decided to go to work early for some overtime, he could have been on that train outside Edgeware Road station. He could have been in the carriage that got bombed. And now … now you want to go and party and celebrate with these people! Don’t you care about your brother at all?”
What could I answer to that? I realised then that all the time in the world wasn’t going to help. Mom’s cellphone rang: Jeremiah was a bullfrog …
She turned away from me to answer it.
*
But you had some good news. At least there was that!
Just after Yasmiena’s wedding, just as we were writing our Grade Seven end-of-year exams, our very last exams of primary school, your father called you into his study. For once, he had switched on all the lights so that the books on his many shelves shone. He was still glowing from the joyous celebrations, still so happy that your sister had truly married the son of the imam. He told you that he’d reconsidered, that he had decided you could attend Riverside High after all. Yasmiena was proof, he said, that his daughters could attend a secular school and still grow up to be devout and dedicated Muslim women. It wasn’t necessary for you to attend Habibia College to learn what was upright and decent. Your afternoon studies at the madrassa were sufficient.
“There you go, Louise,” you said with your eyes shining as we sat together on the river bank. “We’ll still be seeing each other all the time. School every day and here at Gap Falls. Plus, you can come to my house any time you want. I told my mom you were sick for Yasmiena’s wedding. I didn’t say anything about the London Underground bombings. So it’s easy. We can still be best friends. ’Cause I’m telling you, I don’t want anyone except you for my best friend.”
But the sun wasn’t out that day. Low clouds spread across the sky. And there were no rainbows curving across our waterfalls.