What was everything? All my torments as a child? All my hopes for the life of a normal child?
I desperately wanted someone to call me friend. Someone to whom I could confide my hopes and dreams.
Could Iqbal, that little soul who had clung to me in war; who had tried to lift the heavy rifle and failed, be my friend?
I am so lonely, so distraught. Who is my father? Do I even have any parents?
“Please, dear God. Are you there?” Is there a God? “Can you help me?” How do I pray? I remember as a child., “Our Father who art in heaven. Are you there? Please speak to me. Please let me hear you. Our Father who art in heaven - - -“
I am so lonely.
These thoughts raced through my head as we drove through the night. In the dark I could barely see my father’s profile as my eyes flicked quickly to the left. He had said nothing since we left. I could no longer see his fierce eyes. So be it. If he didn’t want to talk, I would think about Iqbal. Could we have a future? Maybe like father and son. I think I could be a very good father…or maybe just as friends. That would be better. He would finish school. I would get a job. William said he was very bright. We could move to somewhere quiet and peaceful. Maybe my father could come to visit.
Dare I ask him? I needed to know. I would hazard a question. “What did you think of Iqbal?” Silence hung in the air like a balloon.
Finally he cleared his throat and replied. “I hardly had a chance to speak to him, but he seemed like a pleasant young man.” The conversation came to an end as I continued my endless drive back to the sandstone house.
As my thoughts continued to tumble, my hands gripped the steering wheel. Sweat threatened to blind my eyes.
My father shifted in his seat. He seemed to turn slightly in my direction. “Where did you find him?”
I didn’t want to hear that question. I needed to answer him. This was neither the time nor the place to tell him the whole story. I would eventually do it, but not here. Could I make something up without telling him a lie? What could I say? This is such a mess. My father wants to be friends and here I am trying to deceive him. “Please, God, if you are there, help me out of this one.”
The sunset had turned to night; the night to rain. A steady downfall turned the black pavement to white glare in the headlights. A set of on-coming lights in the distance turned to four as I tried to blink the sweat from my eyes. Troubled thoughts flew to that bloody field in Afganistan as my body jerked and the car swerved.
Kalli Deschamps (USA)