Titanic

You’ll like it. It was a huge success in America. He put a bag of M&Ms in my hand when he said it. You ready? Let’s go. He had been excited since he found out I hadn’t gone to a movie in seven years. For some reason I wasn’t excited. I was nervous, afraid I’d do something wrong. What could a person do wrong at the movies? I hung onto his arm as we walked. I went up the steps in the dark, my heart pounding in my ears. I really am here, Saqr can’t touch me. I was thinking about Saqr, not the film, and that was unfortunate. I remembered Hayat, remembered that night.

We’d been on the phone for three hours, awake after everyone had gone to bed, so she could tell me about the movie that was taking the world by storm, winning eleven Oscars—Titanic. The sea and love and death and drowning. I listened for three hours while Hayat told the story. She described the burgundy dress covered in black lace and crystal beads, the scene where they stood on the edge of the ship, Jack the gambler and Rose suffocating under the pressure of a life forced upon her and controlled by someone else. She described the moment when Rose stood on her tiptoes and was raised off the ground as if she were flying. “She really was flying, Fatima!” Hayat swore to me. “Do you think it was a special effect?”

“I don’t know, Hayat.”

“Maybe they raised her up on a string.”

“Did you see a string?”

“Even if there was a string, you think the director would let it show?”

“I don’t know.”

“They aren’t careless about stuff like that.”

“Who?”

“The Americans. They take movies very seriously.”

“How would I know that?”

“Well, you know now, I’m telling you.”

After three hours of hearing the story told down to the very last detail I found myself crying.

“Fatima, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Why are you crying? Are you sad Jack drowned?”

“No.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“I miss my mom.”

I was an orphan. It was so obvious—it was phosphorescent—and glaring me in the face.

After that Hayat didn’t tell me about the films she saw, and if I asked her she’d wave with great indifference and say, Oh . . . it was boring, you’re lucky you didn’t waste your time on it. That’s how Hayat fought my orphanhood.

The movie started. Faris wrapped his arm around the back of my seat. Slowly he got closer and closer. He wanted to sit comfortably with his arm around my shoulders. That is, for me to feel comfortable with his arm around my shoulders, for us to get comfortable with each other. My body stiffened. I pretended to be a piece of wood, a piece of wood watching a movie, while his hand started searching for my fingers, squeezing them together, touching my skin gently, filling me with questions: why can’t I accept this man’s love?