Little Bird

Her home and love is Syria. Amal was born and raised in the paradise that is her country. The narrow alleyways, with their twists and turns, are the passages to her heart, and the sound of the flat drum is the beat. Although she could leave, it is a country that would always beckon her back–for Syria is always with her.

Amal was born to a simple man and woman. Her childhood was built under her baba's beard, and its soundtrack was his throaty laugh. And her mama's loving kindness was what molded her. They weren't rich people, but they were happy. She had her parents' love and a country that gave her meaning and belonging. Without them, she was nothing.

She had no words to describe the feeling she had the day they were taken from her in the cruelest of ways, leaving her an orphan. Now she was without family or country. But as long as she was standing, Syria lived within her. And as long as she lived, she would never forget that day.

The day that everything changed.

Thunder roared around Amal as she gripped the rough, wet rope. It tore at her skin as she braced herself against the tumultuous waves that crashed into the small life raft. Although the storm raged loudly, she could still hear the terrified screams of her fellow passengers. Waves rocked the tiny inflatable boat violently, making her sick to her stomach. Amal was surrounded by darkness, except for the brief flashes of lightning that stabbed through the sky and illuminated the terrified faces of those around her for brief moments. Their faces, all sharing the same look of distress and sorrow, would always be etched into her memory.

Another clap of thunder sounded as the raft made a giant leap over the angry waves before crashing down hard, sending the craft toppling around like a toy boat.

Ya Allah, where are you? Help us! Amal said to herself as she clutched the boat for her life.

The wind howled angrily as it blew furiously around her. She just wanted it all to stop. After another stab of lightning illuminated the violet sky, she glimpsed the familiar figure of her friend toppling overboard. Without thinking, Amal jumped to action, pushing past a few people to the side of the life raft where Hala had been sitting. She reached out to her, screaming for her to take her hand, as the woman struggled to stay above the surface.

The giant life vest she wore proved useless against the fury of the night's storm. Salt water stung Amal's eyes as it splashed in her face, blinding her momentarily, but she refused to lose sight of Hala.

She's the only thing I have left! Ya Allah, please! she cried. She watched helplessly as the woman was enveloped by another large wave and succumbed to the darkness below.

Amal searched the water frantically, but Hala never came up. She sat back, feeling empty and hopeless, with numbness overtaking her limbs from the coldness of the water that soaked her body, though she couldn't tell if the chill was from her broken heart or the coldness of the water coating her skin. Amal took in her surroundings almost emotionlessly. These were her neighbors: some she knew and some she didn't, but what they shared at that moment made them all the same. They were all unwanted, left to fend for themselves and to be eaten by the big black monster that was the ocean below.

Another wave crashed against the boat, and Amal wasn't holding on. There wasn't enough time to grab hold of the boat, and instantly she was thrown into the icy black water. The battering waves pushed her down as she struggled to swim. Amal couldn't keep up; her tired body grew weak, and she closed her eyes and gave herself to the waves. People nearest to her reached frantic hands out to try to save her, but it was no use. As salt water filled her lungs and the coldness overwhelmed her, she just let it be.

There's nothing to live for anyway, she thought as she let herself slip into oblivion.

Amal

Saint Joseph's Hospital

Present Day

Amal was bathed in darkness so deep and thick it weighed her body down like there were mountains of sand covering her. She listened carefully for anything that would let her know that she was alive. The screaming and the sounds of the ocean that once deafened her were gone. Her surroundings were still, and the more she concentrated, the more her hearing improved.

She could hear a steady beeping noise. Not like the sound of a car–this was the sound she had heard on television on hospital shows. Even though the rhythmic beeping kept her company, there was a stillness about the environment. The silence made her want to cry. Her chest ached with sadness as she fought the tears and tried to be strong. If these were her last moments, she didn't want them to be spent sobbing.

Suddenly she became aware of her arms and her legs, wiggling a toe just to be sure. Not knowing what death would feel like, she had seen enough dead bodies to know they didn't move. She then moved her mouth around, like she was rolling a piece of hard candy around her teeth, and felt the heaviness of her eyelids; the thought of opening them made her tired. If she could move her body, then surely she could open her eyes. Uncertain where she was or what was there, she listened and waited. There was still a faint beeping in the background, now mixed with the hum of mysterious, low voices.

Amal was about to panic, but she heard Baba's voice in her memory, saying, One step at a time, Little Bird, as if he were talking to her right then. The pain she hadn't felt in a while hit hard in her chest. She missed her baba and mama, but what would they want her to do? Knowing they wouldn't want her to succumb to fear, she strained with everything in her to open her eyes.

As soon as they opened only a crack a blinding white light flooded in, making her shut them quickly. Her head pounded, like her brain was trying to kick its way through her skull. She didn't know if it was because of the light, but was determined not to let that stop her. So Amal tried one more time, just slower this time, until she could faintly see her surroundings.

She was in a white room with the sun pouring through a window to her right. Blinking her long black lashes, Amal tried to adjust her eyes to the light. How did I get in a hospital? she thought while looking around.

And as if on cue, a bouncy woman in pink scrubs, with blonde hair and two ponytails that bounced as she walked, came in whistling some lighthearted tune. Her shoes made a rubbery squishing sound as she stepped. The nurse saw her before she could pretend to be asleep again.

Morning, sleepyhead! the nurse announced her presence brightly. I'm so happy to see you're finally up! So tell me how you're feeling. The nurse moved her hands over Amal's body, checking her pulse and blood pressure with ease. Look at me. She took a small flashlight from her pocket and shined it in Amal's eyes, which made her head swim.

Her accent was so thick that Amal could hardly understand what she was saying. Amal just tucked her hands in her lap and looked down.

There's no need to be scared, sweetie. You're safe now, said the nurse. We're here to take care of you. Poor little thing like you being found washed up on the beach. I know you must be terrified. The nurse gently smoothed the hair out of Amal's eyes after she put her flashlight away.

So that's what happened, Amal mused. Found washed up on the beach. She wasn't satisfied with that thought–wondering where she was and why she wasn't dead.

I'm sorry, I didn't even introduce myself, said the nurse. I'm Jaclyn, but everyone calls me Jackie. If you need anything, just call me. Amal watched as she pointed to the remote on the side of her bed. Amal nodded her head to show she understood.

Jackie left the room the same way she came in. She walked like she was bouncing on springs, with her ponytails swishing left to right.

Amal guessed it was near noon when Jackie came back with her lunch. The tray held pizza, a cup of fruit, apple juice, and a little white cup with ice. Amal hadn't realized how hungry she was until she saw the food sitting in front of her. Food, where she was from, was scarce. She was lucky if she got bread and water. So she hungrily and shamelessly ate as Jackie watched her.

You don't talk much, do you? asked Jackie. Amal just ignored her and kept eating. Well, you're going to have to talk sooner or later. We need to know what happened.

That was enough to make Amal slow her eating. Amal looked up at the nurse with her big honey-brown eyes, not sure what to say.

I'm not here to hurt you. You can talk to me, Jackie said with a soothing voice.

Amal put her tiny plastic spoon down and just peered down at her plate. She didn't want to be rude, but she didn't want to talk either.

I don't want to right now, Amal said. Hearing her voice startled her, as the words came out in a croak. She couldn't remember the last time she had heard her own voice. After sitting in perpetual silence for more than a week, she had forgotten what her voice was like. Soon she was aware of her throat and how much it hurt. The pain brought back memories of the salt water that had rushed into her lungs, filling them up like water balloons.

Jackie smiled. Now we're getting somewhere. You don't have to tell me anything now, but the doctor and the people from social services will want to know. How about you ask me a few questions? You have to be curious about where you are.

Amal was curious as to how she had gone from being in the ocean to a hospital bed. She swore she had died that night, but she knew the nurse had no answers for that. No one could answer that, as only God knew, and she wasn't sure if he would let her in on the secret or not.

Ummmm . . . , Amal mumbled and quickly shut her mouth. Nurse Jackie looked at her curiously until she realized Amal wasn't going to say another word.

Okay. Let's start with this. What's your name? Jackie asked. Amal just sat with her head down, not daring to look the woman in the eyes. Come on! It's not fair that you know my name and I don't know yours.

Fair enough, Amal thought. This nice lady had brought her food. She could at least tell her what her name was. My name is Amal Al-Ansari, she croaked before covering her mouth with her hand. A plastic bracelet dangled from her arm, and when she raised her hand it slide down her thin arm.

Okay, okay! Now we're getting somewhere! It's nice to meet you, Amal. Jackie held out a hand, and Amal placed her small hand in hers and shook it awkwardly.

Do you have any questions for me? Don't be shy! Ask me whatever you want, the nurse exclaimed.

I'd just really like to know where the bathroom is.

Jackie burst out laughing, showing her dazzling smile. You know, I think you're just the cutest thing. Come on. Let me help you.

Normally, going to the bathroom would have been no big deal. At home, Amal was always zooming about in the safety of those walls, but now the once-simple task became tedious and painful due to the events that had put her in the hospital. She wasn't prepared for how badly her body and lungs ached; moreover, nothing could prepare her for what was to come. She could still taste salt water in her mouth, mixed with the taste of bile. It burned her teeth and throat.

When she rolled over to sit on the side of the bed, the room seemed to spin around, making her dizzy. Jackie must've noticed, because she put a hand on Amal's shoulder and said, Take your time, sweetie.

And that she did. She sat at the edge of the bed until the room stopped spinning, and then attempted to slide off to the floor. As soon as her feet touched the floor, her legs felt like jelly and almost gave out. She was happy the nurse was there to help her, or else she would've surely fallen.

Easy now. It's not a race. We'll get there when we get there, Jackie said reassuringly while holding on tight to her arm. Once Amal gathered enough strength she took a few weak steps. See? You're doing good! Only a few more.

Amal took her time, walking shakily, until they were finally at the bathroom door. The nurse helped her onto the toilet, then gave her some much-needed privacy. All the while, she chatted on about her favorite foods, books, and everything in between. Jackie was definitely a talker. Amal could tell that she loved her job. She distracted her with her lighthearted conversation that made her feel normal for once.

How old are you, love?

I'm twelve. Amal's voice echoed slightly in the stark white bathroom.

Oh, I remember when I was your age. I was a troublemaker, though. I stayed on punishment. My mom never spanked me, but boy, could she talk. My brothers and I would get in trouble, and she would lecture us for hours. One night she talked to us until the sun came up. Of course we still had to go to school. Nurse Jackie laughed, remembering her childhood. You okay in there?

Yes, I'm almost done. Amal had a bit of a hard time relieving herself as she was sore all over, but after sitting there for a few moments she finally did. She couldn't find any water to wash with, so she did the best she could.

Looking back at the situation, she wasn't sure what had happened to trigger the waking nightmare. But as soon as she heard the sound of flushing water, she wasn't in the hospital anymore. She was back on the boat, and the same feeling of being unsafe and panic washed over her. The sky was dark, and she could feel the rope cutting into her hands again. She looked at them and they were bleeding. The smell of blood and salt water was so overpowering that she had to make a conscious effort not to throw up. The floor rose and fell under her feet, swaying wildly with the wave that was underneath her. She gripped the sink to keep herself steady. What's happening to me? Lightning cut through the bathroom with a deafening rumble and landed right beside her.

Stop it! Stop it! she screamed, placing her hands over her ears. She shut her eyes tightly, trying her hardest to rid herself of the horrifying hallucination.

She lost her balance and hit the cold floor with a smack. Her hospital gown splayed out around her, but was she on the floor or in the icy ocean water that once claimed her small body? Jackie ran in, grabbing hold of her on the floor, and pulled Amal to herself.

It's okay! You're fine!

Jackie shook her a bit as she tried to snap her out of it, and when this didn't work she yelled for another nurse and said some other things Amal didn't understand. She clawed at Jackie's arms trying to get away, writhing like a wild animal until she felt a pinch on her left shoulder. And like that, it was over. She blinked rapidly as she tried to clear her vision. The storm was gone in an instant; the shot brought her back to reality as Jackie tucked her into her arms and took her back to the bed. Her eyelids became too heavy to hold open, and she realized she was falling asleep. She tried to fight it until she just couldn't help but close her eyes.

A few hours later, under warm white sheets, Amal's eyes popped open. She was back in the hospital bed. Although her head was foggy, she could make out strange voices outside the room. Amal wasn't sure what they were talking about, but she had a feeling that they were talking about her.

So we're thinking PTSD and what else? asked a gruff, masculine voice.

Oh, okay. Just keep an eye on her, said a subdued voice.

Amal wanted to get out of bed; she wanted to know who was talking and if they were talking about her. As she attempted to pull the covers back to get up, she felt a sharp pain in her arms. She couldn't lift them. Both her arms were bandaged and shackled to the bed. She panicked when she saw the underside of her nails held dried blood: these were recent injuries. The last thing she remembered was going to the bathroom. The last voice she had heard was that of the nurse.

Amal sat for a while trying to remember, looking at her arms. They stung with pain every time she moved them. In a way, she liked the pain; it helped clear her head. She didn't know how long she had been awake, but when she tried to hear more of the voices outside the room, they had stopped.

The door creaked open, and a black man in a white coat quietly walked in. When he saw Amal sitting in her bed and looking straight at him, his demeanor changed. He was short and, by his features, looked like he was in his early thirties. Though he was brown, his face was full of freckles, which made him look childlike. He put on a friendly face and introduced himself, but Amal wasn't listening. She'd had enough of men to last her the rest of her life. She didn't trust them and wanted nothing to do with anything male. They were vile creatures as far as she was concerned. All of them except her baba.

The doctor held out his hand, but Amal didn't take it. She didn't want to shake his hand, so she just stared at her arms while he asked her questions.

What's your name? What happened the night you were found? Where are your parents?

The last question struck a nerve, and she locked eyes with the doctor for a moment before saying, I don't remember anything, and my parents are dead.

She then turned her head away from him, refusing to say anything else. She didn't know if he was still standing there, and she didn't care. After a few moments, she heard the door close, before drifting back to sleep.

Before that tragic day, Amal had had a normal life. She had a family, went to school, and loved to play with the kids in her neighborhood, who were more like family to her, not just friends. Amal and the neighborhood kids were a group of about thirty. They would walk the streets talking and laughing or would sit in the park a few blocks from where Amal lived and play games. Soccer was their favorite thing to do, and they had made their own teams. The Reds and the Blues are what they called themselves, and they took their teams very seriously. Amal was a Red, and she was known for being an excellent goalie. Nothing got past her, even on a bad day. Their parents and the rest of the people in the neighborhood even got in on the action, and every Saturday they would bring drinks, cook food, and enjoy the game. After the game was said and done, the winners were rewarded with ribbons made by Amal's mom. After, they would eat and enjoy each other's company until the wee hours of the night. Her life was simple, but she was happy, and that's all that mattered.

It was a usual Sunday afternoon when Amal's sister, Jannah, was preparing for her upcoming wedding. Amal sat on Jannah's bed, surrounded by the bridal wardrobe their mother had been making for Jannah since she was little. Amal had one as well; however, she doubted she'd ever need it. She thought marriage was weird. She had told her mother it was just an excuse to dress up and have a big party, just to become someone's maid.

Her mother simply laughed and said, You think all I do is clean up?

She saw what her mother did on a day-to-day basis: wash dishes, do laundry, dust, and cook dinner. So she said yes.

Well, you may be right about some things. I do clean and cook, but I enjoy it. I love my family, so I do those things. If I didn't, I wouldn't be a good mother.

Amal thought about that. She thought about how hard her life would be if she didn't have her mother's help and the help of her sister. She hated the idea of her sister leaving and living elsewhere. She was so used to having Jannah there with her. For Amal, her sister was like a substitute mom.

Jannah's room was a pale yellow. The scent of the incense burning around the house snuck its way between the cracks of the door, like a ghost, slipping sneakily inside the room and leaving a rich scent in its wake. The aroma was thick and clung to all their linens. Her sister had always been a neat freak-everything had a place. Her craft supplies and books were neatly stacked against the wall. Her closet was even color-coded, down to her shoes, which were set by height as well as color. Each drawer in her dresser held specific things, and that's the way she liked it. Everything had its place, so it was strange to see her room in such disarray, even if it was just a few dresses on the bed.

Jannah turned to Amal, holding up a heavily beaded dress in magenta, plum purple, and red. What do you think? Should I wear this first?

Well, I think–

Or this? Jannah cut Amal off midsentence and grabbed another equally heavily beaded dress. It was bright blue with pink and gold detailing.

I think–

But I just don't know! groaned Jannah. I feel like I should wear Mama's dress as well. What do you think?

Amal threw up her hands in frustration. Well, if you'd let me talk! I think you should wear whatever you'd like. It's your wedding. Plus, you look great in everything, anyway.

Amal had always loved her sister. Where other siblings often fought, they never had that problem. And if one made the other mad, they knew just how to make each other laugh, so arguments never lasted long. Jannah had always been beautiful, even when she was just a little girl. And she would probably age with grace like their mother. Although Amal had only seen a few pictures of her mother when she was younger, Jannah's resemblance to her was undeniable. Amal could tell that