Dreaming of Highways and Home

Rt. 66 Bridge, Bethany, Oklahoma

Photo by Debbie

“Being alive constitutes an aristocracy which there is no getting beyond.  He [or she] who is most alive, intrinsically, is King [or Queen].”

            -D.H. Lawrence

BENEATH A RAMADAN MOON

“What’s that round disk you are lighting?  Tobacco?” 

“Oh my God,” said Medina.  “Nooooo ! This is charcooool!  To burn the tobacco in the hookah.  It’s peach flavored, you know?” 

It was, peachy.  But being an Okie, I was slow to the take, causing Medina to ask, “Oh my God, haven’t you ever smoked a Hoooookah?  Where have you been?  Oh my God!  You know, you have to suck the thing, like this . . .”

I spoke of migratory birds, that perhaps they are the only creatures not ruined by hominal butchery in this country.  Then Ariana reminded me that birds are imprisoned in the mile-long drainage ditch running the length of the nearby street, an iron grate covering the top.  When she walks the birds follow along underground, flying, trying to escape, screaming like a Parwan prisoner.  I said I thought those were frogs not birds.  To think that they may be birds is horrifying.   

Then a couple of jets took off, splitting the full moon with the afterburners, causing the earth to tremble.  The terrifying noise woke the mynah birds in a nearby mulberry.  The branches shivered in waves, as a thousand wings fluttered.  Then their horrible squawks, as if the tree was being tortured. 
   

Shouted Medina, “Oh my God, I hate those birds, you know?  Oh my God!  They are always screeching outside my room.  Sometimes I open the window and scream SHUUUT UUUP YOU BITCHES, which usually works. Oh my god!”

Medina and Ariana, Pashtuns from Kandahar, by way of the Bronx.  They aren’t your typical Afghan women - long suffering, oppressed, terrorized.  No, they are wild Afghan-Americans, with tattoos peaking from places I love and a couple of nose rings.  And they know how to curse, Bronx style.  But their eyes are Afghan.  I’m sure of that.  Their spirits too.  There’s no doubt they’ve lived several lives as evidenced by their abundant wisdom, charm, irreverence, street smarts, love, pain, grace, humor and irony.  Simply put, they are beautiful human beings, no doubt fully alive.

IRINA

Twelve hours a day,

Seven days a week.
Restorer of worn out pelts.
Standing in puddles of drool
and tears not her own.
But she goes home every Christmas.
“I assume they pay your way?”
“No, that’s why I need a big tip from you.”
  

"Chet"

Source: Internet