The air was porous with infection and want. I saw Ummi twice a day during tifl time—a four-Um-supervised forty-five-minute visit. My first one, the Ums made me scrub down until it hurt, dressed me in my cleanest, and filled my belly. When I knew ahead of time that I was seeing Ummi, I paced and practiced my Arabic. I looked out the window for a sign my mother would say, Enough. As Ummi crossed the threshold from the hallway into our room, looking like she was floating across the wooden panels, I noticed how her towering figure seemed to tower for only a second. It was brief, but I noticed it.
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