Other Words for Home by Jasmine Warga

Author:Jasmine Warga
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2019-04-24T16:00:00+00:00

II.

I’m with Mama at the doctor’s office,

and we are holding our breath

as the ultrasound technician squeezes gel

out over Mama’s round stomach

and then presses the wand against it.

The screen overhead lights up,

a tangle of gray and black shadows

that at first don’t look like anything,

but then, if you squint your eyes just right,

you see

a foot

a hand

a mouth.

You see

life.

The room explodes with a sound

like the gallop of horse feet.

It is the sound of

one

tiny

loud

miracle.

Do you want to know what you’re having? the technician

asks Mama.

Mama turns to me.

Her English has been getting better from the lessons

she’s been taking at the mosque,

but it is still not so good.

Aren’t I having a baby? Mama says to me in Arabic.

I laugh.

The woman looks at me,

confused.

I tell her what Mama said,

a shy smile on my face.

The woman laughs,

and this makes Mama smile

wide.

She has made an American

laugh.

Back home, Mama always made us

laugh.

She wasn’t funny in the way Issa was.

Issa’s funny is like an elephant,

impossible to miss,

you know when he wants to make you

laugh.

But Mama’s funny is more like a cat,

slinking around,

hiding out in corners,

brushing up on you by surprise.

Mama, with her perfectly wrapped scarf

her clean nails

her gentle way of walking on the ground

does not seem like she would have a sharp tongue,

which makes the fact she is funny,

even funnier.

I can tell this ultrasound technician did not expect

Mama to be funny.

I think she did not know what to expect from us at all.

But when she smiles and asks, Does she want to know if the

baby is a boy

or a girl?

I know she likes us

more than she thought she would.

I translate for Mama,

even though the wet look in her eyes

lets me know she already understood.

Mama nods,

and the woman presses the wand back down on

Mama’s stomach.

She says she thinks she knows, but wants to take

just one more look

to be sure.

It is important to be certain about these things, she says.

The wand moves in circles on Mama’s tummy

and I go back to holding my breath.

As I thought, the technician says,

smiling,

another little girl.

Bint, I confirm to Mama.

Her eyes spill over,

tears running down her cheeks that have grown fuller

in the months we have been here.

Pressure builds behind my eyes,

too.

Mama grabs my hands,

squeezes.

I’d almost forgotten that it’s possible

to cry because of

happiness.

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