Sunday, August 15, 2010


“Yes dear”
“I think I started hearing the violins in my head again”

   I am in my old living room, I realize as I glance around the place. For some reason, everything is in black in white. My vision is hazy and I remember that when it happened, I had just woken up from sleep. Mom is standing, all dressed, and holding the door knob. I say something I cannot now recollect, then she closes the door behind her saying she is going to the market. She never came back.
  Me and Marcus are on the airplane. Everything is going down in ruins. Our hands are clasped tightly until I get this numbness in it that makes me think it broke into his. Amidst the screams, I recognize my grandpa’s voice singing to me “Come Josephine in My Flying Machine” with his usual enthusiasm. A wide smile is all I can see out of his face. Years later, I come to the conclusion that me and Marcus survived, just like that. I remember the crash and I look at us, we are here, which means we are not dead.
  I keep on searching for that shoes under the bed. There are stacks of shoes there but not the one I want. I am in hurry, Tim Perrson asked me out; only I can’t remember where that pair of shoes is. He is standing outside with his olive-green jacket. I can’t find it. I can’t find it. Beads of perspiration cover my forehead and fall on my eyes. They are blinding me and I can’t see through them. Tim left and went away.
   On the deck of that ship, I stand before a creased version of me. It’s stormy and everyone is panicking, but I’m not. I search for me and she’s too frightened. When I approach, I find out she’s my mother. I want to talk but then I step on something and I realize it’s the pair of shoes.
   I hear the violins again. My head rests against a brick wall. Beside me, is someone. I can’t see his face but the comfort he radiates is enough for me to stay. I am in love with that person, only I don’t know who he might be. I am drowning in the stormy sea. He is with me.
  Years ago, when I was five and mom left, I said in a voice low as a whisper for I had just woken up, “ How can you tell when you are not dreaming.”
She stood for a second and looked my way. “You can’t,” she said


  1. I loved how much of a whirl this was-moments of agony and panic all woven together...

  2. whew you had us spinning every which way with that one can you tell...hmm...

  3. Omigoodness, what an incredible writer you are...

  4. Interesting how a dream state can pull us into paradise or a whirl of despair. you caught the sensation so perfectly.

    Hope you have a great week

    moon smiles

  5. MAHA, you know that I hear violins in my head whenever I wish. They are "on call".

    MAHA-GIRL, there is GREAT WISDOM here: "...How can you tell when you are not dreaming.”
    She stood for a second and looked my way. “You can’t,” she said".

    Reading your blog post is ALWAYS an unforgettable experience.


  6. That's an awesome way to start a story. Drew me in immediately.

  7. A dream is not just a dream from what I here can see.. And I agree one never knows if we are really awake, sometimes hoping not to go back to either place...

  8. Oh, gut wrenching, Artist-of-Words!
    Thank you for the "follow!"
    Bytheway, how did you find me?

  9. Can't find the words to say how much I enjoyed this one, Maha. Thank you.

  10. yes - how can you tell if you're not dreaming....all that hoping and searching shone through your lines...

  11. Yes. We can´t.
    Hehe wow.
    Such a life in so few lines.
    And right now I was listening to "Look what you´ve done" by Jet. So I think that my imagination flew as it was supposed to do.

  12. My first time... that was "wow!!" I loved the expression, it all flowed so easily.

    I'm following you... have a great day and Ramadan Mabrook! :)