Huda and Me by H. Hayek

Author:H. Hayek [Hayek, H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2021-03-30T00:00:00+00:00

Turbulence

I don’t have the stomach to finish watching my alien versus zombies movie. There’s a pain in my belly that keeps coming and going. Every now and then it moves into my chest. When it does, I feel like I can’t breathe.

I glance over at Huda. She’s still wearing her fancy hijab.

‘You don’t want to take it off?’ I ask my sister.

‘Why would I do that?’ She scrunches up her nose and tilts her head to the side.

The pain comes back sharper and I cross my arms over my belly.

‘Your guts still hurt?’

‘A bit.’

‘Have some lollies. They’re like medicine.’ She passes me the last of her jellybeans, but I shake my head. She shrugs and stuffs them into her pocket.

Mum always knows what to do, no matter what pain I’m in. The last time I had a sore belly she filled up a bucket of hot water and helped me put my feet in. I felt the warmth of the water travel through my toes and then up my legs until it reached my tummy. It made my insides feel snug.

‘What do you think Mum and Dad are going to say when we get there?’ I ask my sister, who’s gazing out the window.

When she turns back to me, I realise just how tired she looks. Her eyes are bloodshot. ‘They’ll be happy.’

‘Reckon they’ll believe us when we tell them what Aunt Amel did?’

‘Yeh, course they will.’ My sister yawns. She doesn’t cover her mouth.

‘They think Aunt Amel’s great, though. Why would they believe us?’

‘Coz we’re their kids, silly.’

My sister yawns again and stretches out her arms, knocking me in the head.

‘Don’t worry, Akeal. It’s gonna be good. Lebanon is going be so fun. We’re gonna see Mum and Dad, plus all the cool stuff we’ve seen in the photos.’

I’m not sure my sister is right. I’m not sure what will happen when we arrive. I think back to the old photos of Mum and Dad in Lebanon and I just know they’re happy like that now. They belong in Lebanon. That’s where they’re from. But I don’t know anything about being Lebanese, other than a few words and some food. I’m fake. Like a try-hard, trying to pretend I’m Lebanese. I don’t even know when the right time to serve the coffee is if people come over, or how to have a proper conversation in Arabic without stuttering.

We should’ve stayed in Melbourne. At home. With our brothers and sisters. Pain stabs through my stomach again. It’s hard to breathe.

‘Should I ask Martin to get you some warm milk or something?’

I shake my head.

We left them, I think. We left them there with her. The thought of my siblings still suffering with Aunt Amel feels like a knife in my guts.

I start to pray. I make a special dua that my brothers and sisters are safe; that they’ve covered for us somehow, so Aunt Amel hasn’t even realised we’re missing; and that we’ll get through Beirut Airport and make it to Mum and Dad.

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