When We Were Sisters: A Novel

by Fatimah Asghar

The secret to knowing the secret is to speak, but we too often tell the stories of no matter and avoid the one story that does matter. In truth, we are bound by one story, so you’d think by now we’d tell it, at least to each other. —Vievee Francis

We’re mothered by everything because we know how to look for the mothering, because we know a mother might leave us and we’ll need another mother to step in and take its place. The tree mothering its shade. The restaurant door, propped slightly open, mothering its smell of cookies to us. The blinking walk sign, holding on long enough to mother us across the street. The sun mothering Noreen, warming her skin; the sidewalk mothering Aisha’s knee, kissing it when her body hits the pavement, a love strong enough to leave a mark. The rain, mothering us faster home. The hallway birds, mothering their cages. The hamster, mothering its wheel. All the mothers in the world reach out to the motherless. And beneath me, Noreen was made to mother me, my heartbeat pounding against her back, shouting so loud that it fills my entire being, you’re held, you’re held, you’re held.

reasons why people go— Their train comes. They’re sleepy. The bell rings. There’s not enough food at home. They go to work. They needed money. They wanted to get a toy. They had to use the bathroom. There’s someone else they love more. They get pneumonia. They promised someone they would meet them. They hate you. You hate them. They’re tired. They ran out of salt. They died. They fell in love with the moon. The birds shit too much. The phone rang. We put them in the ground. You forgot about them. They forgot about you. The bus is outside. Someone else is waiting for them. They disappeared. They work for the government. They don’t work for the government. They got fired. They got hired. The British left. The military came. The country collapsed. The country stopped being a country. The land stopped being land. There was food somewhere else. The house got too loud. No one cleaned. We ran out of toilet paper. They got sick. The grass was greener. The grass died. All the plants are dead. No one came. Someone came when they weren’t supposed to. They wanted to. They left. They’re not coming back.

If I had a superpower, I’d make more space. I’d make the air multiply. I’d make the hallways multiply. I’d make our bunk bed multiply. I’d make us have so much space that we would only have to touch each other when we wanted.