Epilogue New Year’s Day
Epilogue
New Year’s Day
It turns out that there is only one diary, a notebook held together with duct tape, and the video is in danger of falling apart.
I don’t know what I expected. Actually, I do know what I expected.
I had hoped it was Asma’s voice from the dead communicating to me, a séance bound in a book.
It is not that, but it is a time capsule.
The entries start the summer before college and are wondrous, sweet, and immature.
Asma’s voice, strident, impatient, bold, electric, screams from every sentence.
The words of an eighteen-year-old having her first life experience outside her protected bubble.
They reflect the messy separation that was taking place in our family with remarkable accuracy.
They are also largely about Ruby. I understand why Ruby kept the diary to herself all these years; the words were not written for me.
I am glad to have seen it and feel like I’ve gotten some part of my sister back.
But it is not the Asma I have fixated on for all these years.
I may get the video repaired. Or I may not.
I am in a new relationship with my grief.
It has been morphing and shifting of late, but between the visit to my father and the diary, I am acutely aware of how far I’ve come.
Asma is a part of my daily life, and while the hole in me may never fill, I can see now how she is and will always be a part of me, growing and changing and adapting with me.
She is the beloved poem you visit throughout your life for comfort and new meaning.
It has its own life. It lives on. Asma lives on.
It is windy and blustery outside. Mamoo walks in through the back door with two presents, one of which is far too large for him to safely carry.
Every time he comes over, he has another present for Poppy or Bear.
He is glum. This winter holiday has been one of the hardest for both of us.
For a brief moment, we had children in our life and now no more.
I understand, for the first time, what Asma and I meant to the childless Mamoo and Aunty.
I kiss Mamoo and take the presents from his hands and place them with the others, some of which are impeccably wrapped and some of which look like my students wrapped them. They now occupy half my entryway.
I serve him coffee and ask if he wants a bowl of cereal or toast.
“Remember how your aunty would make waffles on New Year’s Day? The fluffy ones with egg whites?”
“Do you want me to make some, Mamoo?”
He shakes his hand in the air. The Mamoo who was displaying signs of his old self, the sprightly, magic one, has once again grown quiet and forgetful.
I went to his place the other day, and the faucet was running in the bathroom.
It must have been on for hours because water stood on the bathroom floor and was leaking into the hallway.
We have always talked about it, but perhaps it’s time that Mamoo moves in with me.
I am still the child in our relationship, and it is time for me to step up and become the caretaker.
I have been reading Asma’s diary and thinking about my meeting with Abu.
I needed to go. I had the opportunity to say goodbye, which I haven’t had with anyone else in my family.
There is something about reexperiencing childhood relationships with adult eyes that gives perspective.
I remember how on New Year’s Days, Abu would talk about the importance of goals.
We were told to reflect and pray about what we wanted to accomplish that year and write resolutions for the new year.
They were for our eyes only, an internal accountability. What might my 2008 goals be?
It is so still and quiet in the house. I look at Mamoo walking gingerly to his chair. I don’t know what makes me say it, other than my desire for him to be happy again.
“Mamoo, do you want to take the gifts to the kids?” I have told a child I’m taking him to ice cream. I have said the word walk in front of a dog. It is immediate. His shoulders straighten up, and he pivots, making a beeline for the back door.
“Let me go take a shower,” I say.
“No. You’re fine. Let’s go now.”
He knows me too well. My bravery is likely to disappear as quickly as it appeared.
“Let me run over and make sure that no water is running and lock your place up.”
Mamoo looks worried. “Hurry.” He gets my coat from the closet, hands it to me, and practically pushes me out the door.
I return to find him standing next to my car, coat unzipped, with three large sacks of presents.
“Right then! It’s high time we got going.”
I load the presents into the trunk of my car and ask, “Mamoo, what do you think about moving in with me?”
“Hmmm.”
I think he’s being agreeable to keep me on task, until he says, “I just want to make sure the right family buys the house.”
I stand at the car door, rooted. “What if they’re not home?” I ask.
“What if they are?” he answers.
I worry as we drive the short distance. We are showing up unannounced. We have no idea what they’re in the middle of. I hate the idea of imposing.
Mamoo and I pull up to the duplex, and we take the gifts out of the trunk. A blow-up Santa and a blow-up dreidel are on the front lawn. It feels like a setup to a bad joke. A former Muslim walks into the house of a South African Jew and her Black wife. There is no punch line.
We stand outside looking at the house, the wind sharp and biting.
The front of the house has an oversize window that extends almost to the ground.
Through it, we can see there is a fire roaring.
If it was just me, I would turn back, but Mamoo is standing next to me, huddled in his coat and jittery with excitement.
Suddenly, Bear is standing in front of the window, fat little fists banging on the glass.
I can read his lips as he yells, “Moo.” His wispy curls tremble and sway in the wind of his own activity.
Marlene comes behind him and sees us outside.
Her face breaks into a smile that competes with the glory of her hair.
There is no faking that. I feel heartened, maybe it’s okay that we’re here.
Marlene turns to a profile and waves someone over.
Bear is leaning toward the window to try and bang some more.
Poppy appears, her hair tied up in two pigtails, and I am struck by how much she looks like Ruby with her hair off her face.
She jumps up and down, clapping. She is a wise, beautiful, smart little girl, and I know I will take whatever bystander role in her life that I’m permitted.
I feel embarrassed by the magnanimity of the attention and ill-concealed happiness. I want to freeze it all. I want to sear this moment into my eyeballs and stamp it onto my heart. I can’t help but laugh out loud.
Mamoo holds my arm and pulls me up the steps. “I think I might know someone who wants the house. I’d give them a deal.”
The door opens. Ruby, in an apron and flour in her hair, holds it ajar. Warm golden light spills out on us.
“I hope you’re hungry. We made too many waffles.”