I LOOK AT THE dirty dishes and I don’t feel the excitement I had felt when I had climbed and conquered the mountain of Rashaya. I don’t make eye contact with Salem as he stares across at me. He doesn’t know that I’ve been hanging out with Rami. I feel like a teenager having to sneak out of my parents’ house to meet a girlfriend, but Rami and I aren’t quite lovers. I’m not sure what he is to me. We enjoy each other’s company. I help him with his English. He relieves the loneliness I sometimes feel being so far away from my homeland and family even though I had chosen to leave them. There is something about my relationship with Rami that just feels right. I can’t explain it. I sometimes think about Denise and hope she’s okay, but there isn’t the heartache I thought I’d have without her in my life.
Salem suddenly stands in front of me and says, “Rami has a girlfriend. You remember Mirah, don’t you? She’s out in the restaurant with him now.”
My mouth opens, then closes. “That’s nice," I say, trying to sound happy for him. But I’m not. Jealousy reddens my cheeks and I’m almost tempted to head into the restaurant to confront Rami with his girlfriend.
“He’s not gay," Salem says in a low voice.
“Good for him," I scoff.
“You think I don’t know that you still socialize with him? I know everything.” Salem stuffs his large hands in his front pockets. The apron wrapped around his belly juts out slightly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t seen your nephew since the day he drove me home. That was the last time.”
“Good. Leave him alone, Amir. If I find out that you’re going out with him, I’ll kill you.”
I don’t know if he’s joking or not but I laugh anyway. “I’m really scared!” I yell, smashing a dish across the water, some splatters on Salem’s apron. The other cooks look up but then pretend that they can’t hear or see what’s going on. Salem lunges at me but I step back. “Don’t touch me," I say, my voice trembling.
He withdraws and returns to his work area, where he takes a knife and plunges it into a roast.
On my way to the washroom, I cut through the restaurant and spot Rami sitting at a table with Mirah. She’s throwing her head back in her annoying laughter and Rami looks at her in the longing way he’d gazed at me the first time we met at Salem’s dining room table; he appears to have a deep admiration for her. But when he sees me, his face grows serious. He glances at me but then turns away quickly when Mirah follows his gaze. “Oh, Amir," she says, her voice dropping. “Good to see you again. It’s been a long time.” She reaches across the table and rests her hand on top of Rami’s. I look at them holding hands but then Rami pulls his away and tucks them both under the table. “Rami, you remember Amir, don’t you?”
He nods, avoiding my eyes.
“Nice to see you both," I say coldly, then hurry to the washroom.
A few minutes later, while I’m washing my hands, Rami walks inside and leans against one of the sinks and says in Arabic, “It’s all an act. I’m only with her to please my uncle.” He reaches across to touch my arm but I draw back. “You’re the one I like, ya habibi.”
“Don’t," I say, trying to control the tremor in my voice. “Don’t lie to me.”
He tells me that he’s not lying, that he’s simply appeasing his uncle so he won’t suspect anything is happening between us. I almost believe him but then I remember the adoration on his face when he was speaking with Mirah. “It’s all right, Rami. Keep dating Mirah. You make a cute couple.”
Now pulling me into his body, he kisses me hard on the lips. I bite him and he winces back in pain. But this doesn’t stop him, he grabs me by the waist and pulls me closer to him. “I want you, badi yek, not Mirah," he reassures me, breathing hard. I barely struggle this time and let his tongue push inside my mouth. I grind my hipbones into his. Our genitals rub against each other so hard that it’s almost painful. I feel his erection. I want to fuck him right now. But just then, Salem walks into the bathroom. We pull away quickly, then turn on the faucets and stick our hands under the running water. We’re both panting.
“What’s going on?” Salem hollers, grabbing Rami’s shoulder and swinging him around. Water splashes on both Salem and me. He pins Rami against the wall. “What the fuck is going on here?” He glares at Rami’s bulging crotch and presses him harder on the wall. I try to push Salem away but he shoves me so hard that I fall against the urinals. And in a matter of minutes, the owner and some of the cooks are standing in the restroom, pulling Salem away from his nephew.
The owner shouts, “Halaas! Enough! This is a place of business, not your house. Leave your problems at home. Don’t bring them into my restaurant! You’re embarrassing me! The customers can hear you all the way out the front door.”
Salem finally gives up and covers his face with his hands. As I push past everyone and hover by the kitchen door, my eyes linger on Rami, who is now standing outside the washroom. I give him a weak smile before he grabs Mirah’s hand and pulls her up. I hear her ask him about all the commotion but he doesn’t answer her. I swing open the door and pick up a plate and scrub it like I’ve never scrubbed it before.
When Salem returns to the kitchen, his shoulders are slack and his eyes appear red and I wonder if he’s been crying, but then he flings on his coat and storms out the back door.
Hours later, I swing open the back door. Wet snow lands on my face as I make my way out of the restaurant. I don’t bother with my usual “good night” to the cooks, who mock me, the word queer sprinkled as freely as the spices they throw on the meals. Bastards, I think. I dig my hands deep in my pockets and hurry along, past the shawarma stand. The vendor waves at me and I nod my head but don’t take my hands out of my pockets. I quicken my pace.
I continue walking along the path where I had met Rami alone for the first time. The snow is melting and branches are sprouting green buds. I walk some more, almost expecting that Rami will appear but he doesn’t. I slip on the gloves he gave me because there is still a crispness in the air. In my bones, I feel winter’s last attempt at not dying and giving into spring. But I know there is no way to stop another season from coming. I sigh and wish Rami would come to me. I look down at my watch and wait.
But he doesn’t appear. I run on my way home. When I walk inside my room, I strip off my clothes and crawl under my sheets. As I drift to sleep, I toss and turn and feel Salem’s large hands tightening around my neck.