Fragments of You and Me

You.1

He is captivating, someone she wants to know. A long lost friend maybe, or the big brother she never had.2

Me.3

She is revealing, though concealed; An open book, if you can find it. Come and read, standing room only, though she can not be sold again.4

You.5

He is omnipresent, even in sleep, hiding from Big Brother. In plain sight, he says. His soul is ominous, floating decapitated here and there. He is everywhere, yet nowhere.6

Me.7

She is stagnant, hiding under the nose of her oppressor. Her house is small though; between four walls, she cannot move. Her soul is shattered, lingering, like shards of glass in every corner. She can tell everything and nothing at the same time. 8

You.9

He is the curator of the gallery. They come in droves and stand in elongated halls, open spaces that echo, to stare at his limbs hanging awkward on the wall. Every third taxi driver in Dhaka looks like him, flat nose.10

Me.11

Her name may never be seen in an array, the one who sits in the back of the room observing the professor, never asking the question or taking the spotlight. She gave up the shiny pants and highlights moons ago, but every third call girl still resembles her.12

“Tell us where You were………. What you were doing……… you’re not being explicit enough.” They growled while wires stuck to him like leaches. His is a ticking time bomb, they claim. They know everything.13

“Two hours at the store, what were you doing?” her husband demanded. “Seems to Me, you’re looking for an excuse, to get away.” He raised his hand, she flinched, he was only reaching for the lighter.14

“I speak English, I was born here. They live in Michigan…….. Yes, Michigan………. You should know that. I have no grudge, I swear, just dirt on my shoes.”15

“Speak up, you’re mumbling again.” She refused. They never seemed to lower their voices to reach hers. West of the Great Lakes, she was born. Give Me a chance, I’ll swim over if that’s the only way to reach you.16

Beep. “Mother, I’m sorry. It’s been far too long since I’ve come to visit again. I am busy here…… with stuff, you know. Did you like the pretty pictures? I am always close by now. Yes, I am eating well, don’t you see.” It has become as natural as breathing though she gave you first breath.17

“In the event of a sudden change in pressure, quickly reach for the nearest mask, pull it down and towards you. Continue to breath normally.”18

Father, you were once able-bodies, but now look weak and sickly. “Don’t bring all your fancy- schmancy stuff in this house.” He says, with an unforgiving accent. A relic, though a pioneer, caught between two worlds that no longer exist.19

“In the event of a power lose, a floor lighting system will direct you to all exists. There are four door exits on each side of the airplane and two window exits over the wing. See, we have you covered.”20

Silence. A dull at best photo of a dimly-lit airport scene displayed on her browser for three months straight now. Did he abandon ship, or be overcome by it? All is well that ends well, she heard him whisper to no one in particular.21

Refresh. Her daughter, now 16, and stunning. Digging through the attic, turns on the ancient computer. Intentions, not results, are what is important here, she reads. The word ‘Allah’ written natively looked like a snake with its head protruding up. “Ahhh,” it reached out to bite her and she turned away.22

You.23

Either afraid to lose himself, or to find him. Not true, he will say, and the details are all wrong. Can he really give up his life, his personal identity? Who is he without the movies, fine dining, exotic places? The world is beautified to an unbeliever, she once read.24

Me.25

She walked vacant thoughts in the night, a depressive shadow engulfing her. The rain the only link to life. She could love anyone. She could be anyone. The best way to protect your identity is to give it away, he once said.26