Canadian National Exhibition Sheila Holyer By 4:00 p.m. I was beginning to think that I had been stood up. Mohammed, Zarif and I had arranged to meet at 3:30. I felt the familiar sense of irritation that I had when Mohammed did things like this to me. The week before I had phoned and left messages with Ariana once or twice a day for three days, and he never called me back. It was only by pure luck that I caught him there one day that I phoned. When I tried to chastise him for not phoning me back, he somehow changed the subject and tone of the whole conversation so that by the end of it I was apologizing to him. Even though his English grammar was not perfect and his accent was quite strong, he had mastered the art of controlling a conversation. It was almost 4:30, and there was still no sign of them. I knew that he wasn’t this irresponsible all the time. When he knew that Zarif was arriving from Iran, he had arranged everything for him. He had bought him a winter jacket and boots, and he had gone to pick him up at the airport. I was sure that he hadn’t been late then. Why was he so considerate of other people and so dismissive of me? Did he think I was not worthy of his consideration? Mohammed remained a mystery to me. I wanted to know him totally. I wanted us to be close, like lovers are supposed to be. Just after 4:30 they came strolling up the stairs, relaxed and laughing. I was furious at having been kept waiting. I was relieved that I hadn’t been stood up. I was happy to see Mohammed. It was hard to stay angry when the two of them were so jovial. I decided to let it drop. At the CNE Mohammed and Zarif looked a little out of place in their long pants and loafers – it seemed like almost everyone else had shorts or jeans on. As we strolled around, the two of them chatted in Persian. Mohammed was always kind of distant towards me when we were out in public. He would never hold my hand or kiss me. When we were alone, it was different. One time we had been over at Sherif's apartment, Mohammed and myself with some other people he hung around with. I was wearing a neck scarf that day. Everyone went out to get some food, leaving Mohammed and myself alone. When his friends returned I had only just retied my scarf around my neck. In my haste, I had tied it slightly crooked. As we were joking and talking with his friends, Mohammed reached over and straightened my scarf. As he did, he gave me a strange look. I couldn't decide if it was the secret, conspiratorial, glance that one lover gives another, or if it was a warning to keep all evidence of our private moments of passion hidden from the others. Mohammed and I went on the Ferris wheel. As the wheel turned us Mohammed looked at me and said, " There is some trouble with my brother Reza and Ariana." I thrilled to the serious tone in his voice. This was the first time he had shared any family troubles with me. "Now that Zarif is here, I think we are too many in the apartment," Mohammed said. "Yes, you're probably right," I said. "I was thinking we should get a place together." Mohammed said. My heart rose into my throat. I looked at him. He was smiling in the same mischievous, suggestive way that he had smiled on the night we met. It was at a dance club. I had a hard time that night concentrating on anything, because whenever I looked at Mohammed, he was looking at me and smiling in a way that made me feel like I was the only person on earth. From the night we met, my primary goal in life was to get Mohammed to look at me and smile the way he was doing now on the Ferris wheel at the CNE. I felt a warm tingle spread from my chest throughout my body. The movement of the Ferris wheel generated a light breeze in the otherwise still summer air. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes and felt the breeze lift my hair. I couldn't remember when I had last felt this happy. "I want to find a good place where Zarif can stay with us," Mohammed said. Suddenly I thought I felt a cold breeze off the lake. I shivered. When we got off the Ferris wheel, Zarif was nowhere to be seen. "Where could he have gone?" "I don’t know." Mohammed seemed unconcerned. "Well this is just great. We are never going to find him in this crowd." "We will find him. In my family, we always know where we are," Mohammed assured me. I didn’t trust this kind of sixth sense. I envisioned us wandering around looking for Zarif until the wee hours. Maybe we wouldn’t find him at all. Then it occurred to me that they might have planned this whole thing. Maybe Mohammed had asked him to take off, so that we could be alone. Once I had thought up this angle, I really wanted to believe in it. We spent the next few hours alone – going on various rides and having fun together. I was disappointed that Mohammed didn't say anything else about moving in together, but I didn't want to push him. I was learning how to handle him, I thought. If I was discreet and patient, like Ariana, surely I would be rewarded with the intimacy I craved. By this time it was midnight and we decided to head out. It was dark and much cooler now than it had been during the day. Mohammed and I walked along without saying much. I wondered if he had enjoyed himself. He walked along with his hands in his pockets, whistling quietly under his breath and surveying the people around him. As we made our way out of the grounds, Zarif suddenly appeared from out of the crowd in front of us. They greeted one another casually and Mohammed said to me, "See, here he is."
Copyright © Sheila Holyer 1999 |
