“This way.” Mom led me down the stairs.
There, in the basement of the museum, was an exhibition on Ancient Persia. I’d never seen anything from Iran in a museum before, much less a whole exhibition.
All around us were stone sculptures of men with curly beards, their eyes hollow circles as they faced right or left like the kings in hieroglyphics. A stone tablet next to them had little lines etched into it, with slashes and crosses.
“That’s cuneiform,” Mom said, pointing to the description. “It’s the first written language of the world. And it comes from the same place you do.” She put both hands on my shoulders as I peered at the strange marks.
I never knew that.
“But I come from you, too, right?” I turned to Mom.
She nodded. “You do. Especially your creativity. And your compassion. But my culture . . . my ancestors . . .” She trailed off. “My heritage hasn’t been as big a deal because everywhere you look, you see it. Your grandparents grew up speaking English, and so did theirs. There isn’t a museum for Scotch-Irish-English bloodlines because pretty much every museum in this country already is one. I’ve never had to defend my culture to anyone before. For better or for worse, I’m not as in tune with it. And that means I have nothing to pass on to you. Besides green chicken chili.”
I laughed. Mom laughed, too. “That’s okay. I understand.”
She squeezed my shoulders as the empty eyes of Persian kings looked back at us. Could they have known Persia would be what it is today? What would they think of the fact that so many of their people had to leave and live in other countries?
I squinted at one of the kings engraved in stone as he clutched a scepter. He probably wasn’t even Muslim, the carving of him was so old. He was older than the Quran, than Customs and Immigration enforcement and the Muslim ban. He was older than borders and passports and visas. I studied his smooth face, wondering what he’d think of how our family worked hard to keep our culture strong on a completely different continent. From Farsi school to Iranian New Year parties, to chelo kabob takeout and abgoosht outings, we were doing our best.
I think he would have been proud of us.
■ ■ ■ COURTYARD 3:00 P.M.
School was out by now. I wondered if anyone had noticed I was absent. I know Mom called the main office and said I was feeling sick, but she didn’t elaborate.
We wandered through the gardens of the Freer Gallery, bending over to smell flowers and look at the fountain in the courtyard. Despite everything that had happened yesterday, I knew we’d be okay. My family had been through something horrible and survived. It made me wonder what else I could handle.
“Hey, Mom? I’m gonna go for a walk.” She just nodded, already getting out her sketchbook. I knew I had a good twenty minutes once she got out her drawing pens.
I grabbed my phone and sent off a text. The reply came back immediately.
It looked like I wouldn’t be going to Homecoming alone after all.
From there, I googled makeup looks that I knew would match my date’s and ordered a corsage. It wasn’t the date I was expecting for myself, but it was the one I owed someone.
Finally, it was time to text Matty.
3:13 PM PARVIN: Hey, Matty, I’m really sorry but I’m going through some family stuff right now. I don’t think I can go to Homecoming with you.
He texted me back right away.
3:15 PM MATTY: It’s cool. Fabián told me what happened. I’m really sorry. I totally understand.
I didn’t respond, but it felt good that Fabián had my back. I hadn’t seen him since Friday. I didn’t realize how much I missed him already. Even if I couldn’t have my whole family here, at least I had my friends with me. Nobody could take them away.
■ ■ ■ HOME LATER
Mom helped me put the finishing touches on the animation for my TV commercial assignment. It was nice getting to hang with her today. I felt like Dad and I always had our little talks, but Mom was better for activities like this.
“Are you ready?” she asked. I nodded. We had our whole animation set finished now. All we needed to do was record it. Between every click of the camera, Mom and I would move my tuna-shaped piece of paper, yank our hands out of the frame, then take a photo. When we put the photos all together, it looked like the little tuna fish was moving on its own. We even had blue waves rocking across the top of the video. It took forever to move each wave back and forth, but it was worth it.
“Ready?”
“Shoot,” I’d say, and Mom would take a photo.
By the time we finished, it was already nine. Five pens were stuck into Mom’s topknot, and I had a paper cut on almost every finger, but we were happy.
“Let’s watch it together,” Mom said, pressing play on the video after I stitched all the photos together. She clapped once the commercial finished. It was pretty good, if I did say so myself.
“Thanks for helping me, Mom,” I said, squeezing her hand.
“Thanks for letting me help you.” She squeezed back.
OCTOBER
THINGS I HAVE GOING FOR ME:
• Family
• Friends
• Good health
And that’s all that matters.
Tuesday INTRODUCTION TO VIDEO 10:00 A.M.
Mr. Clarke was practically exploding with anticipation, he was so excited to see our videos in class today.
I was actually eager to share my spot, too. Animating even a single second took forever, so the full thirty seconds was nothing short of a masterpiece.
“Who wants
