Sky
Noran Ghannoum
The golden sun had begun to disappear behind the dark silhouettes of the trees that lined the horizon, making way for the silver moon and dark sky. A gentle breeze brushed past the tall blades of grass that tickled Michel’s bare twig like legs. His big brown eyes stared at the sky after a hard and long day at work at the cotton fields. His hands were still stained with dirt, the same dirt that dirtied his aching feet and tattered clothes. Michel just kept staring at the sunset. He closed his tired eyes and let out a heavy sigh. Then he began to hum. A song his mother used to sing to him before she was hung.
He hummed. He just stayed there, gazing over at the retreating sun. Taking in the moment. Breathing in the blazing sun while it was still aflame, letting it shine on his dark skin. The breeze blew away his worries for a moment, prickling his damp skin with cool needles. His mind was cleared from the constant fear. He lifted his arms, taking it all in. Remembering every feeling, every detail, everything. For a second, just a mere second, he believed that he was…
Free…
Michel opened his eyes to see the field where he stood. The tall grass that swayed below him beneath the shadows, tipped with rays of disappearing light. He looked up to see the moon above. The darkness began to swallow up the sky. The stars began to twinkle their little lights. Michel smiled at the moon. The silver moon that hung above, showering the fields with its silver shine. The darkness soon settled in.
Michel sighed. Michel’s owners had left for some party and wouldn’t be back until midnight. Which was all too soon. Rich white folk got everything they ever wanted. And did whatever they wanted. But that wasn’t anything new in South Carolina in 1855. They could easily do anything they wanted, even to Michel; bury him alive, whip him until he dropped dead, press the muzzle of a gun to his forehead, order to hang him. Anything they wanted.
Michel was chained down by slavery. He was a nobody. No one more than a little Black boy. But it could’ve been worse. He could be dead. Michel had to be an obedient little servant if he wanted to live another day. Which he did. He did everything he had to survive. He remembered his mother’s last words. “Hope for the best...learn from the worst.”
To have hope, he had to live. He had to. Had to follow every rule. Had to work every day. Had to pain every second. Had to fear every white person. Had to stay a nobody. Had to fend for himself. Had to bear the heavy load he knew he couldn’t do. Had to sleep in a little dog bed that his owners had “generously” offered him; it was nothing more than scraps of old newspapers and a basket. Had to show his submission to the superior whites. Had to climb for the invisible peak. Had to lift boulders as big as the earth. Go days without food. Go weeks without sleep. Survive the next day. Keep his head down, never cry, never rebel, never say a thing.
Never be…
Free…
His owners called him in. They always called him by his first name. At least Michel had that. “Michel! Get over here! You’d better have had supper on the table before you had been standing out there!” The withering woman said. Michel nodded and headed back inside, dread filling his head. He made his way to the steps of the back door. The woman had her hands on her hips. “Well, did you?”
Michel nodded. “I prepared it earlier, ma’am,” was all Michel said.
The woman turned in her heel and made her way back indoors, her heels clacking behind her and her dress dragging across the wooden floors Michel had polished that afternoon.
Michel rubbed the back of his sore neck and turned to see the sunset one last time. Just one last time before he had to close the door behind him. He kept a smile on his face just for the sunset. A small smile for the sky. His only sign of hope. Hope that there would be another day to come. And one day he’d be free. Free to do anything he wished. Free to breathe, to speak, to vote, to play, to walk and to run, to dance, to sing! To sing his mother’s song to everyone one day. Free to lay on the fields and breathe in the sun and sing every song out there. Free to live a life equal to what Whites lived. Free to do anything he put his mind to. The possibilities were endless! Michel could do anything!
One day… He thought before he closed the wooden door behind him. One day….
The hard part was to never lose hope.
And...he never did...
The curtains were shoved aside, letting the sunlight flutter through the old glass windows. The golden rays hit her face and made her pale skin glow and her brown hair shine. Evangeline opened the window, breathing in the morning dew. The morning air smelled like the cool taste of fresh water. She opened her brown eyes and gazed upon the rising sun. The soft pink and yellow hues that painted the sky. Evangeline leaned on her hands, looking out of her small window of her attic room where her father had placed her.
Evangeline extended her arm to feel the morning air. To feel it out there. To feel the sun on her skin, her face. To feel the wind against her hands, the wind in her hair. She reached for the blue sky where she could see a bunny shaped cotton candy cloud. The soft pink sky. The gentle breeze.
But that wasn’t what she wanted.
She wanted that gun back in her hands. She wanted her armory back on. Her metal bow staff in her hands to train in the morning. Running in the morning dew. Discussing the dangers of war zones. Traveling overseas. Battling with her fellow women and men soldiers. Agreeing on one plan. Following through. Climbing those impossible heights, proving she was just as strong as a man.
No, she wasn’t just as strong…
She was stronger.
She frowned at the sky. The goals she set for herself after fighting in the war now felt so far away, only a few months ago they were only a few steps away! What happened?! Why was she in her father’s attic? Why was she wearing a dress? Why was she wearing a flower in her hair? Why was she locking herself?
“Ev!” her father called from the floor below.
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah…”
Her father leaned against her open door frame. “I’m going to the market. Make sure you clean the kitchen. I’ll be back soon.” he left without another word.
Evangeline sighed. She made her way down the stairs and opened every window as her father closed the door behind him without even saying ‘Bye’. Evangeline grumbled as she did the dishes. Like every day since she returned from the military. She mopped the floor. Like every day. She folded the laundry. Like every day. She cleaned up the study from her father’s mess. Like every day. She cleaned her father’s bedroom. Like every day. She vacuumed the stairs. Like every day. She prepared breakfast for her younger siblings. Like every day. She received the mail while catching the eyes of her neighbors sons. Like every day. She stayed quiet doing it all.
Like every day.
Evangeline closed the front door behind her and leaned against it. She let out a heavy sigh. The broom that leaned against the counter had caught her eye. She remembered to sweep the porch. She sighed again. She took the wooden broom and headed back outdoors. She dragged the broom across the porch, huffing out heavy breaths, annoyed by her white heels. Her feet ached as she took those steps. She kept sweeping with the broom...sturdy and strong. The broom was just like the bow staff she practiced with back when she had to battle train for war. She remembered her captain telling her to practice a strong stance, flexible and quick.
Evangeline kicked off her heels and broke off the bottom part of her broom, leaving her with a strong staff. Evangeline swung her staff, beginning her routine that she had memorized by heart. Jumping off the porch, swinging her staff, yelling out her positions. She stretched in a certain way that ripped her dress along the seams. But did Evangeline care?
...no.
She kept at it. Letting her brown hair fly wildly free in the wind. Quickly switching her position and striking her staff, bringing her body to a strong and stiff position. She laughed as she stabbed the staff at the dirt below her, remembering when she planted the American flag on German territory again. She let out heavy breaths, smiling.
She knew how hard it was. Evangeline remembered how difficult her training was. How impossible it was to stay focused at age twenty two for hours, even days at a time. She remembered the Nazi’s submarines, launching their torpedoes out at sea. The endless war that she had fought hard and long with a metal over her chest. The war had almost ended her life. She survived the explosion of her ship with twenty five of her soldiers and her chief.
She shook away the memory of fright, hunger, thirst and exhaustion. Evangeline tried so hard not to look back. But it would be a scar she would forever live with.
Evangeline could only look forward. Only hope that war would never again return to her memories...or anyone else’s. Only hope that she could toss away her chores and touch her dreams again. To brush her fingers against the skyline and draw out her goals. Her captain had told her that the sky was the limit for her. But that was a lie. The sky wasn’t the limit.
Society was.
Evangeline’s dark brown eyes were caught by the shocked stares of the neighbor's boys. Their jaws were to the ground and their eyes were the size of balloons. She smirked. “I fought in the war,” she said, before headed back inside to her room in the attic. She looked out the window again and let out a sigh. One day she would be anything she wanted again. She could serve in the military again. She could fight next to man. Be treated like a soldier, regardless of her gender. She could be a worker, not a house maid. One day she could speak, vote, run, jump and train like she did before.
One day….Evangeline sighed as she closed her window, turning to wake up her little siblings. One day…
Her hope was like her bow staff.
She would never let go.
A student muttered under his breath as the Muslim student made her way down the hall. Asiya bit her lip, but kept walking forward. It had only been the first ten minutes of school and already...she was receiving glares from her classmates. People were walking on the other side of the hall and rushing to get to class when they saw her. Their eyes were glued on her, glaring her down or taking steps back in fear. Some people even began recording.
The date: Wednesday, September 12th, 2001.
There was a deep feeling in Asiya’s stomach. A bottomless pit where her stomach was dropped. She couldn’t feel her legs, they went numb. She kept her eyes locked on the floor, her pulse raced in her ears. She walked faster and faster, trying to get to class. Asiya rushed up the stairs, careful not to trip over her long green skirt. Her feet began to hurt as she finally reached the top of the stairs. Asiya pulled her hijab down a bit, trying to hide a bit more of her face. The binder in her arms served as protection from the stares too as she sped down the halls. Her heart was still racing, no sign of stopping.
Asiya accidently bumped into someone in the hallway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”
“Watch where you’re going!” the student yelled at her. “While you’re at it, watch who you’re bombing too.” Everyone in the hallway shouted and pointed fingers at Asiya as she hurried to her class, humility heating her face.
Asiya took her seat in her first hour class; farthest corner, near the window. She sighed as she saw that the teacher wasn’t there. He was out running some errands. That meant she had just a few seconds to herself. Just herself. No one else. No one staring or yelling or pointing fingers or calling her a terrorist. Just her.
The event that happened yesterday was traumatizing. Asiya couldn’t help but cry all the way home last night. She was a shaking nervous wreck when she arrived at her house the night before. The explosion, the falling buildings, the frightened people running for their lives. It scared her. She was afraid. But...were people going to hold her responsible?
Asiya gazed at the window next to her. The blinding pure sun showered its rays on her face. The sun hovered above the buildings that lined the skyline. The cotton candy clouds that littered the sky made Asiya think of her fluffy bed. The ray had begun to light up the streets with it’s glorious light. It made Asiya smile. She sighed and looked at the window again.
This time, she saw her reflection. She didn’t see a terrorist. She saw Asiya. A green eyed girl with long eyelashes and smooth tanned skin. A pink hijab wrapped around her head. She wore a long skirt with simple flats and a long blouse. She was a student. Asiya wasn’t what the others thought she was. How could an all A student with a perfect record of phenomenal behavior be a terrorist?
That thought made Asiya smile even more. She pulled out her supplies for class but kept her eyes out the window. The sky couldn’t be any bluer than what it was. She wanted to run in the fields, smell the morning dew of her face. Do anything she pleased. Anything she said ever wanted.
Without having others judge her.
She would draw her face in the air. See the world from a bird’s eyes view. Travel the world. Hover over the heads of others and show them how to fly. Teach them how to reach up and touch the sky. Fly through clouds. Maneuver winds and chase them down. She would be a pilot, flying all kinds of airplanes and jets and who knows, maybe she would fly an aircraft! What if she could fly in the US Air Force?! That would be amazing. Being in the air with no one else around. Flying and putting her mind as ease as the clouds flew by. The power and speed of a million men in her hands. The cool tricks that they did in the air. She could only imagine how many weapons those military aircrafts could have in them.
Asiya wanted to draw in the sky. She wanted the sky in the palm of her hands. Asiya could leave the world behind, she just wanted the endless blue sky clouding her vision. She wanted the clouds to revolve around her. She wanted to show the bird who could really fly. She wanted to feel the speed. To jump on a plane and breathe in the open air. To lift her arms up and feel...free. Feel no gravity pulling on her. She wanted to fly higher than any pilot had ever flown before. She wanted to mark the unmarkable territory. She wanted to chase the winds. Reach out and touch the sky. The idea of fifteen tons of metal in midair made Asiya think of other wild crazy ideas she could do.
But...would she be able to do them without judgement in her life? Ever? Was she bound to the fact that because of her hijab, her modesty, she would forever be judged? And if she ever drove a plane, would they entrust her? Would she ever be able to provide comfort and safety to her passengers after what happened the day before? Would Asiya have to be this professional, perfect little angel all the time? Was that how she was going to live her life.
Asiya looked at her reflection again. To her, she was just a normal girl. A normal teen girl with a normal teen life. She had her friends, her family. She groaned at the announcement of homework and cheered when they didn’t have any. She joked around and played card games. She had a few tricks up her sleeve too, a way to beat everyone in every game. Check mate, Chess was one of her favorites(the Queen being her favorite ‘weapon’ of choice). But to others...she was different. Dangerous.
Especially after what happened yesterday….
Asiya let out a sigh, feeling her heart sink again. She lifted her pencil and began writing down the assignment in her planner, trying to distract herself from the others who began to enter the classroom.
Students began to file in, whispers and rumors had already begun to spread like a viral illness. The stares Asiya received were disgusting and shocked. No one sat near her. Everyone kept their distance. The tension was rock hard. Asiya’s muscles tensed up, grinding her teeth. She tried to swallow down the overwhelming fear but knew she couldn’t.
“Terrorist,” a white boy spat at her from across the room. Conversations began to rise and their body language was hurtful towards Asiya. Pointing fingers and name calling. Asiya tried to hold back her tears in her corner as the teacher entered the room. She didn’t want any more attention.
Asiya looked at the window again. Her tears sparkled against the bright sun in her big green eyes. The corners of Asiya’s lips curved upward even as the tears fell down. A plane had flown over the school, drawing a perfectly straight line in the sky. So strong and predictable, but frail and unknown. Asiya looked up in awe, wiping away her tears and smiling at the endless sky. She never forgot about those planes that flew up high. Those planes that could take humans to unbelievable peaks. Planes that flew over land and sea. Planes that could chase the winds and pick up speed and rip right through the pale blue sky.
Planes that could help Asiya reach up and touch the sky…
Help her reach her dreams….
Locked up inside. Masks nearby and stocked up. Windows closed. Doors shut. Everything was spotless. The small house was empty...except for Liam. The sixteen year old was done cleaning the entire house like his mother had asked before she had left for work that morning. Liam pulled down his mask from his face and let out a heavy breath. The kitchen was clean and the living room was spotless.
Liam let his back slouch as he plopped on the couch, letting out a breath. He had been up since his mother had left at five o’ clock in the morning. It was noon now and Liam had spent his entire day cleaning and preparing a lunch for his mom. He was exhausted, but surely not as tired as his mom working in the ER all day. His mother used to work at the local clinic but was now ordered to work at the hospital full shifts at a time in the Emergency Room.
Liam ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair and let out another breath. He looked at his phone, realizing his friends were going out to play some football. Liam respectfully declined the invite and reminded them to wear masks and gloves if they had any.
Med nerd? Germaphobe? Clean freak? His friends were laughing at his warning, but Liam was serious. Covid-19 was nothing to joke about. He made sure he made his statement clear. After five minutes of arguing with his friends, they ended up wearing gloves and masks like he said.
Liam sighed in relief. He sat up and looked over at the TV. He could relax. He could just glue his eyes to the screen. He could talk on the phone, laugh and joke or talk about the protests that have been happening. But Liam couldn’t bear to make himself cry again. He hated the fact that black people were killed by the hands of police. That they had to work so hard to live their lives. Just thinking about it made Liam feel the urge to cry again. He couldn’t bear it. But he never understood why it made him cry. He wasn’t the one who was at risk. He was a white male. Still...he couldn’t help but feel empathy for the families. He knew his other white friends would say “Just another Black man dead.” But Liam had to feel the empathy. He was rare. He looked past the illusion of color. He looked past the skin people were in.
He had a gift.
Liam wiped away the tears in his eyes. He let out a sigh and sat up. He slouched his way up the stairs and to his now clean bedroom. He sat down at his window and looked out. Nothing new. The birds chirping, the sun shining, the clouds floating in the air like heavenly fluff. The streets were empty, the cars in the neighbor’s driveway were still. The trees rustled in the gentle breeze that blew outside. Other than that...everything was still. Eerily quiet. It seemed as if time had stopped or humanity no longer existed and all that remained were their belongings.
Liam rubbed his tired face with his hand, remembering the history assignment that was due the following week. He brushed it off, unmotivated to do anything. He had just cleaned the entire house. He was more than satisfied with his work. Instead of pulling out his homework and doing that, Liam grabbed a book he was reading, Criss Cross, the twenty seventh book in the Alex Cross series(he loved the series about the FBI homicide detective). Liam sat down and sighed. He opened his book but then realized...the book didn’t seem to appeal to him. He didn’t understand why. Why had he pulled out his most favorite book of all time then not wanting to read it?
That wasn’t like Liam.
Then again, nothing was like anything anymore.
Liam closed his book, feeling sick to his stomach, knowing that feeling. That feeling of imprisonment. That feeling that everyone shared. Liam leaned his head against the window and looked out into the afternoon day. The faded clouds in the sky dusted the sky. The trees were every shade of green. The shadows danced as the wind hissed through the trees. Liam’s tired blue eyes then stared into his reflection. A classic white boy with short blonde hair and bright blue eyes. His cheeks still had that baby fat in them. He chuckled, remembering how his father used to say it wasn’t the face that made the man but the heart.
The heart…
Liam widened his eyes as an idea hit him. He grabbed his phone and looked for novels, articles, videos. Something to educate himself. Something to teach him how to listen. How to feel and grieve, but listen. Eventually he found a podcast and plugged in his earbuds as he stared into the distance. He listened and paid attention to every detail. The way the speakers spoke and described themselves. The way they discussed the recent events and riots. The protests and news. The way they had grieved for relatives and friends. They kept talking about how this whole time was a historical one. That the way people acted now would affect the future. They spoke about the president, both sides of the argument. One was praising him the other was criticizing him, in the best way possible without trying to start a fist fight. Liam bit his lip as he listened to the two who began to argue, he knew for sure that one of the men was white and the other was surely black. Liam didn’t choose a side out loud and kept his thoughts to himself. He just listened. But he knew who was right and who was wrong. Liam looked up into the sky and let out a sigh.
This was what the world was.
But that doesn’t mean that this is what it will be, Liam thought. He kept listening. He kept staring up into the sky. He kept educating himself. Liam stayed quiet, lowering his voice so that others could speak, silently supporting them behind closed doors.
Liam couldn’t help but smile at the voices he heard. Couldn’t help but relax. There was violence and riots and protests and arguments and hatred...but this society was getting somewhere. Slowly taking one step at a time. All it took was for someone to raise their voice. And for others to just listen. The longer Liam listened, the bigger his heart grew and the more passionate he became.
Liam’s hours turned to days, melting into weeks, forming months….he didn’t know how long he would be in the safety of his home. But every day at noon, he sat down at his window and listened. He knew he was privileged every day, so he listened. Soon his circle of white friends began to listen too. Just sitting at their windows, listening to voices of those who couldn’t be heard before. Liam had opened himself a door.
A door that would open up to the rest of the world.
That door...was hope.
The golden sun will set,
The silver moon will rise,
Learn to lift your chin to see the diamonds that shine,
...that shine in our beautiful sky...
Noran Ghannoum
The golden sun had begun to disappear behind the dark silhouettes of the trees that lined the horizon, making way for the silver moon and dark sky. A gentle breeze brushed past the tall blades of grass that tickled Michel’s bare twig like legs. His big brown eyes stared at the sky after a hard and long day at work at the cotton fields. His hands were still stained with dirt, the same dirt that dirtied his aching feet and tattered clothes. Michel just kept staring at the sunset. He closed his tired eyes and let out a heavy sigh. Then he began to hum. A song his mother used to sing to him before she was hung.
He hummed. He just stayed there, gazing over at the retreating sun. Taking in the moment. Breathing in the blazing sun while it was still aflame, letting it shine on his dark skin. The breeze blew away his worries for a moment, prickling his damp skin with cool needles. His mind was cleared from the constant fear. He lifted his arms, taking it all in. Remembering every feeling, every detail, everything. For a second, just a mere second, he believed that he was…
Free…
Michel opened his eyes to see the field where he stood. The tall grass that swayed below him beneath the shadows, tipped with rays of disappearing light. He looked up to see the moon above. The darkness began to swallow up the sky. The stars began to twinkle their little lights. Michel smiled at the moon. The silver moon that hung above, showering the fields with its silver shine. The darkness soon settled in.
Michel sighed. Michel’s owners had left for some party and wouldn’t be back until midnight. Which was all too soon. Rich white folk got everything they ever wanted. And did whatever they wanted. But that wasn’t anything new in South Carolina in 1855. They could easily do anything they wanted, even to Michel; bury him alive, whip him until he dropped dead, press the muzzle of a gun to his forehead, order to hang him. Anything they wanted.
Michel was chained down by slavery. He was a nobody. No one more than a little Black boy. But it could’ve been worse. He could be dead. Michel had to be an obedient little servant if he wanted to live another day. Which he did. He did everything he had to survive. He remembered his mother’s last words. “Hope for the best...learn from the worst.”
To have hope, he had to live. He had to. Had to follow every rule. Had to work every day. Had to pain every second. Had to fear every white person. Had to stay a nobody. Had to fend for himself. Had to bear the heavy load he knew he couldn’t do. Had to sleep in a little dog bed that his owners had “generously” offered him; it was nothing more than scraps of old newspapers and a basket. Had to show his submission to the superior whites. Had to climb for the invisible peak. Had to lift boulders as big as the earth. Go days without food. Go weeks without sleep. Survive the next day. Keep his head down, never cry, never rebel, never say a thing.
Never be…
Free…
His owners called him in. They always called him by his first name. At least Michel had that. “Michel! Get over here! You’d better have had supper on the table before you had been standing out there!” The withering woman said. Michel nodded and headed back inside, dread filling his head. He made his way to the steps of the back door. The woman had her hands on her hips. “Well, did you?”
Michel nodded. “I prepared it earlier, ma’am,” was all Michel said.
The woman turned in her heel and made her way back indoors, her heels clacking behind her and her dress dragging across the wooden floors Michel had polished that afternoon.
Michel rubbed the back of his sore neck and turned to see the sunset one last time. Just one last time before he had to close the door behind him. He kept a smile on his face just for the sunset. A small smile for the sky. His only sign of hope. Hope that there would be another day to come. And one day he’d be free. Free to do anything he wished. Free to breathe, to speak, to vote, to play, to walk and to run, to dance, to sing! To sing his mother’s song to everyone one day. Free to lay on the fields and breathe in the sun and sing every song out there. Free to live a life equal to what Whites lived. Free to do anything he put his mind to. The possibilities were endless! Michel could do anything!
One day… He thought before he closed the wooden door behind him. One day….
The hard part was to never lose hope.
And...he never did...
The curtains were shoved aside, letting the sunlight flutter through the old glass windows. The golden rays hit her face and made her pale skin glow and her brown hair shine. Evangeline opened the window, breathing in the morning dew. The morning air smelled like the cool taste of fresh water. She opened her brown eyes and gazed upon the rising sun. The soft pink and yellow hues that painted the sky. Evangeline leaned on her hands, looking out of her small window of her attic room where her father had placed her.
Evangeline extended her arm to feel the morning air. To feel it out there. To feel the sun on her skin, her face. To feel the wind against her hands, the wind in her hair. She reached for the blue sky where she could see a bunny shaped cotton candy cloud. The soft pink sky. The gentle breeze.
But that wasn’t what she wanted.
She wanted that gun back in her hands. She wanted her armory back on. Her metal bow staff in her hands to train in the morning. Running in the morning dew. Discussing the dangers of war zones. Traveling overseas. Battling with her fellow women and men soldiers. Agreeing on one plan. Following through. Climbing those impossible heights, proving she was just as strong as a man.
No, she wasn’t just as strong…
She was stronger.
She frowned at the sky. The goals she set for herself after fighting in the war now felt so far away, only a few months ago they were only a few steps away! What happened?! Why was she in her father’s attic? Why was she wearing a dress? Why was she wearing a flower in her hair? Why was she locking herself?
“Ev!” her father called from the floor below.
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah…”
Her father leaned against her open door frame. “I’m going to the market. Make sure you clean the kitchen. I’ll be back soon.” he left without another word.
Evangeline sighed. She made her way down the stairs and opened every window as her father closed the door behind him without even saying ‘Bye’. Evangeline grumbled as she did the dishes. Like every day since she returned from the military. She mopped the floor. Like every day. She folded the laundry. Like every day. She cleaned up the study from her father’s mess. Like every day. She cleaned her father’s bedroom. Like every day. She vacuumed the stairs. Like every day. She prepared breakfast for her younger siblings. Like every day. She received the mail while catching the eyes of her neighbors sons. Like every day. She stayed quiet doing it all.
Like every day.
Evangeline closed the front door behind her and leaned against it. She let out a heavy sigh. The broom that leaned against the counter had caught her eye. She remembered to sweep the porch. She sighed again. She took the wooden broom and headed back outdoors. She dragged the broom across the porch, huffing out heavy breaths, annoyed by her white heels. Her feet ached as she took those steps. She kept sweeping with the broom...sturdy and strong. The broom was just like the bow staff she practiced with back when she had to battle train for war. She remembered her captain telling her to practice a strong stance, flexible and quick.
Evangeline kicked off her heels and broke off the bottom part of her broom, leaving her with a strong staff. Evangeline swung her staff, beginning her routine that she had memorized by heart. Jumping off the porch, swinging her staff, yelling out her positions. She stretched in a certain way that ripped her dress along the seams. But did Evangeline care?
...no.
She kept at it. Letting her brown hair fly wildly free in the wind. Quickly switching her position and striking her staff, bringing her body to a strong and stiff position. She laughed as she stabbed the staff at the dirt below her, remembering when she planted the American flag on German territory again. She let out heavy breaths, smiling.
She knew how hard it was. Evangeline remembered how difficult her training was. How impossible it was to stay focused at age twenty two for hours, even days at a time. She remembered the Nazi’s submarines, launching their torpedoes out at sea. The endless war that she had fought hard and long with a metal over her chest. The war had almost ended her life. She survived the explosion of her ship with twenty five of her soldiers and her chief.
She shook away the memory of fright, hunger, thirst and exhaustion. Evangeline tried so hard not to look back. But it would be a scar she would forever live with.
Evangeline could only look forward. Only hope that war would never again return to her memories...or anyone else’s. Only hope that she could toss away her chores and touch her dreams again. To brush her fingers against the skyline and draw out her goals. Her captain had told her that the sky was the limit for her. But that was a lie. The sky wasn’t the limit.
Society was.
Evangeline’s dark brown eyes were caught by the shocked stares of the neighbor's boys. Their jaws were to the ground and their eyes were the size of balloons. She smirked. “I fought in the war,” she said, before headed back inside to her room in the attic. She looked out the window again and let out a sigh. One day she would be anything she wanted again. She could serve in the military again. She could fight next to man. Be treated like a soldier, regardless of her gender. She could be a worker, not a house maid. One day she could speak, vote, run, jump and train like she did before.
One day….Evangeline sighed as she closed her window, turning to wake up her little siblings. One day…
Her hope was like her bow staff.
She would never let go.
A student muttered under his breath as the Muslim student made her way down the hall. Asiya bit her lip, but kept walking forward. It had only been the first ten minutes of school and already...she was receiving glares from her classmates. People were walking on the other side of the hall and rushing to get to class when they saw her. Their eyes were glued on her, glaring her down or taking steps back in fear. Some people even began recording.
The date: Wednesday, September 12th, 2001.
There was a deep feeling in Asiya’s stomach. A bottomless pit where her stomach was dropped. She couldn’t feel her legs, they went numb. She kept her eyes locked on the floor, her pulse raced in her ears. She walked faster and faster, trying to get to class. Asiya rushed up the stairs, careful not to trip over her long green skirt. Her feet began to hurt as she finally reached the top of the stairs. Asiya pulled her hijab down a bit, trying to hide a bit more of her face. The binder in her arms served as protection from the stares too as she sped down the halls. Her heart was still racing, no sign of stopping.
Asiya accidently bumped into someone in the hallway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”
“Watch where you’re going!” the student yelled at her. “While you’re at it, watch who you’re bombing too.” Everyone in the hallway shouted and pointed fingers at Asiya as she hurried to her class, humility heating her face.
Asiya took her seat in her first hour class; farthest corner, near the window. She sighed as she saw that the teacher wasn’t there. He was out running some errands. That meant she had just a few seconds to herself. Just herself. No one else. No one staring or yelling or pointing fingers or calling her a terrorist. Just her.
The event that happened yesterday was traumatizing. Asiya couldn’t help but cry all the way home last night. She was a shaking nervous wreck when she arrived at her house the night before. The explosion, the falling buildings, the frightened people running for their lives. It scared her. She was afraid. But...were people going to hold her responsible?
Asiya gazed at the window next to her. The blinding pure sun showered its rays on her face. The sun hovered above the buildings that lined the skyline. The cotton candy clouds that littered the sky made Asiya think of her fluffy bed. The ray had begun to light up the streets with it’s glorious light. It made Asiya smile. She sighed and looked at the window again.
This time, she saw her reflection. She didn’t see a terrorist. She saw Asiya. A green eyed girl with long eyelashes and smooth tanned skin. A pink hijab wrapped around her head. She wore a long skirt with simple flats and a long blouse. She was a student. Asiya wasn’t what the others thought she was. How could an all A student with a perfect record of phenomenal behavior be a terrorist?
That thought made Asiya smile even more. She pulled out her supplies for class but kept her eyes out the window. The sky couldn’t be any bluer than what it was. She wanted to run in the fields, smell the morning dew of her face. Do anything she pleased. Anything she said ever wanted.
Without having others judge her.
She would draw her face in the air. See the world from a bird’s eyes view. Travel the world. Hover over the heads of others and show them how to fly. Teach them how to reach up and touch the sky. Fly through clouds. Maneuver winds and chase them down. She would be a pilot, flying all kinds of airplanes and jets and who knows, maybe she would fly an aircraft! What if she could fly in the US Air Force?! That would be amazing. Being in the air with no one else around. Flying and putting her mind as ease as the clouds flew by. The power and speed of a million men in her hands. The cool tricks that they did in the air. She could only imagine how many weapons those military aircrafts could have in them.
Asiya wanted to draw in the sky. She wanted the sky in the palm of her hands. Asiya could leave the world behind, she just wanted the endless blue sky clouding her vision. She wanted the clouds to revolve around her. She wanted to show the bird who could really fly. She wanted to feel the speed. To jump on a plane and breathe in the open air. To lift her arms up and feel...free. Feel no gravity pulling on her. She wanted to fly higher than any pilot had ever flown before. She wanted to mark the unmarkable territory. She wanted to chase the winds. Reach out and touch the sky. The idea of fifteen tons of metal in midair made Asiya think of other wild crazy ideas she could do.
But...would she be able to do them without judgement in her life? Ever? Was she bound to the fact that because of her hijab, her modesty, she would forever be judged? And if she ever drove a plane, would they entrust her? Would she ever be able to provide comfort and safety to her passengers after what happened the day before? Would Asiya have to be this professional, perfect little angel all the time? Was that how she was going to live her life.
Asiya looked at her reflection again. To her, she was just a normal girl. A normal teen girl with a normal teen life. She had her friends, her family. She groaned at the announcement of homework and cheered when they didn’t have any. She joked around and played card games. She had a few tricks up her sleeve too, a way to beat everyone in every game. Check mate, Chess was one of her favorites(the Queen being her favorite ‘weapon’ of choice). But to others...she was different. Dangerous.
Especially after what happened yesterday….
Asiya let out a sigh, feeling her heart sink again. She lifted her pencil and began writing down the assignment in her planner, trying to distract herself from the others who began to enter the classroom.
Students began to file in, whispers and rumors had already begun to spread like a viral illness. The stares Asiya received were disgusting and shocked. No one sat near her. Everyone kept their distance. The tension was rock hard. Asiya’s muscles tensed up, grinding her teeth. She tried to swallow down the overwhelming fear but knew she couldn’t.
“Terrorist,” a white boy spat at her from across the room. Conversations began to rise and their body language was hurtful towards Asiya. Pointing fingers and name calling. Asiya tried to hold back her tears in her corner as the teacher entered the room. She didn’t want any more attention.
Asiya looked at the window again. Her tears sparkled against the bright sun in her big green eyes. The corners of Asiya’s lips curved upward even as the tears fell down. A plane had flown over the school, drawing a perfectly straight line in the sky. So strong and predictable, but frail and unknown. Asiya looked up in awe, wiping away her tears and smiling at the endless sky. She never forgot about those planes that flew up high. Those planes that could take humans to unbelievable peaks. Planes that flew over land and sea. Planes that could chase the winds and pick up speed and rip right through the pale blue sky.
Planes that could help Asiya reach up and touch the sky…
Help her reach her dreams….
Locked up inside. Masks nearby and stocked up. Windows closed. Doors shut. Everything was spotless. The small house was empty...except for Liam. The sixteen year old was done cleaning the entire house like his mother had asked before she had left for work that morning. Liam pulled down his mask from his face and let out a heavy breath. The kitchen was clean and the living room was spotless.
Liam let his back slouch as he plopped on the couch, letting out a breath. He had been up since his mother had left at five o’ clock in the morning. It was noon now and Liam had spent his entire day cleaning and preparing a lunch for his mom. He was exhausted, but surely not as tired as his mom working in the ER all day. His mother used to work at the local clinic but was now ordered to work at the hospital full shifts at a time in the Emergency Room.
Liam ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair and let out another breath. He looked at his phone, realizing his friends were going out to play some football. Liam respectfully declined the invite and reminded them to wear masks and gloves if they had any.
Med nerd? Germaphobe? Clean freak? His friends were laughing at his warning, but Liam was serious. Covid-19 was nothing to joke about. He made sure he made his statement clear. After five minutes of arguing with his friends, they ended up wearing gloves and masks like he said.
Liam sighed in relief. He sat up and looked over at the TV. He could relax. He could just glue his eyes to the screen. He could talk on the phone, laugh and joke or talk about the protests that have been happening. But Liam couldn’t bear to make himself cry again. He hated the fact that black people were killed by the hands of police. That they had to work so hard to live their lives. Just thinking about it made Liam feel the urge to cry again. He couldn’t bear it. But he never understood why it made him cry. He wasn’t the one who was at risk. He was a white male. Still...he couldn’t help but feel empathy for the families. He knew his other white friends would say “Just another Black man dead.” But Liam had to feel the empathy. He was rare. He looked past the illusion of color. He looked past the skin people were in.
He had a gift.
Liam wiped away the tears in his eyes. He let out a sigh and sat up. He slouched his way up the stairs and to his now clean bedroom. He sat down at his window and looked out. Nothing new. The birds chirping, the sun shining, the clouds floating in the air like heavenly fluff. The streets were empty, the cars in the neighbor’s driveway were still. The trees rustled in the gentle breeze that blew outside. Other than that...everything was still. Eerily quiet. It seemed as if time had stopped or humanity no longer existed and all that remained were their belongings.
Liam rubbed his tired face with his hand, remembering the history assignment that was due the following week. He brushed it off, unmotivated to do anything. He had just cleaned the entire house. He was more than satisfied with his work. Instead of pulling out his homework and doing that, Liam grabbed a book he was reading, Criss Cross, the twenty seventh book in the Alex Cross series(he loved the series about the FBI homicide detective). Liam sat down and sighed. He opened his book but then realized...the book didn’t seem to appeal to him. He didn’t understand why. Why had he pulled out his most favorite book of all time then not wanting to read it?
That wasn’t like Liam.
Then again, nothing was like anything anymore.
Liam closed his book, feeling sick to his stomach, knowing that feeling. That feeling of imprisonment. That feeling that everyone shared. Liam leaned his head against the window and looked out into the afternoon day. The faded clouds in the sky dusted the sky. The trees were every shade of green. The shadows danced as the wind hissed through the trees. Liam’s tired blue eyes then stared into his reflection. A classic white boy with short blonde hair and bright blue eyes. His cheeks still had that baby fat in them. He chuckled, remembering how his father used to say it wasn’t the face that made the man but the heart.
The heart…
Liam widened his eyes as an idea hit him. He grabbed his phone and looked for novels, articles, videos. Something to educate himself. Something to teach him how to listen. How to feel and grieve, but listen. Eventually he found a podcast and plugged in his earbuds as he stared into the distance. He listened and paid attention to every detail. The way the speakers spoke and described themselves. The way they discussed the recent events and riots. The protests and news. The way they had grieved for relatives and friends. They kept talking about how this whole time was a historical one. That the way people acted now would affect the future. They spoke about the president, both sides of the argument. One was praising him the other was criticizing him, in the best way possible without trying to start a fist fight. Liam bit his lip as he listened to the two who began to argue, he knew for sure that one of the men was white and the other was surely black. Liam didn’t choose a side out loud and kept his thoughts to himself. He just listened. But he knew who was right and who was wrong. Liam looked up into the sky and let out a sigh.
This was what the world was.
But that doesn’t mean that this is what it will be, Liam thought. He kept listening. He kept staring up into the sky. He kept educating himself. Liam stayed quiet, lowering his voice so that others could speak, silently supporting them behind closed doors.
Liam couldn’t help but smile at the voices he heard. Couldn’t help but relax. There was violence and riots and protests and arguments and hatred...but this society was getting somewhere. Slowly taking one step at a time. All it took was for someone to raise their voice. And for others to just listen. The longer Liam listened, the bigger his heart grew and the more passionate he became.
Liam’s hours turned to days, melting into weeks, forming months….he didn’t know how long he would be in the safety of his home. But every day at noon, he sat down at his window and listened. He knew he was privileged every day, so he listened. Soon his circle of white friends began to listen too. Just sitting at their windows, listening to voices of those who couldn’t be heard before. Liam had opened himself a door.
A door that would open up to the rest of the world.
That door...was hope.
The golden sun will set,
The silver moon will rise,
Learn to lift your chin to see the diamonds that shine,
...that shine in our beautiful sky...