(Far From) Home

Image by 8300 from Pixabay



“The only way to see Amsterdam is from the water,” Elias said,

rowing the small boat in the pre-dawn hours.

Even the sound of the sculling oars on the still water made Ranim
flinch. She still had the feeling that pursuers were just behind. She pulled
her daughter Reem close to share warmth.

How could Elias wear just a t-shirt and blue jeans? Over their
robes, Ranim and Reem wore scarves and thick jackets, yet her fingers stiffened
in the cold.

How could it be so cold? How could there be so much water?
How could these people waste all this light and yet afford to feed their
children? Did everyone have to own a car?

It was beautiful, even if it was frightening.

They passed under a bridge, and a car rolled over it,
rumbling so loudly she felt sure it would fall through.

She caught Elias watching her with amusement, and she grew
angry. She looked away and sang under her breath of Reem the smart, her hair
fair and tidy. She swayed and Reem hugged her more tightly.

“I’m sorry. I just remember that look. I saw it in the
mirror when I first came here. I was far from home, and everything was
different. Every custom that I adopted felt like a betrayal of my own culture. What
am I doing here? You know?”

“If my husband were here, he would stop you from speaking to
me,” Ranim said.

Elias nodded quietly and stowed the oars. The current
carried them toward a landing, and Elias threw a rope to several people in
traditional Syrian clothing who guided the boat to a stop.

They stood, and a woman beckoned with a friendly
expressions. Ranim turned back to Elias. “What changed?”

He shrugged. “I redefined home.”

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