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Not Safe
Behrooz is sitting on the floor – his legs folded into his chest, his head leaning against the wall.
He'd starve. He'd run out of air. It would never open. He'd watch the darkness forever until he just couldn't bring himself to keep breathing.
They'll tear it open. You'll be so weak they have to carry you out, make you learn to eat again.
No, that's not what happened.
They tore it open. But fuck them. You don't want to go back to them. They put you here, they've lied to you. They're just going to take you back and put you in prison. They don't care.
They didn't. Be he was still safe.
-
His parents are talking in the next room. The window is open, he can hear voices on the street below. All speaking Turkish.
He can hear his parents voices in English. He's young enough that he doesn't understand much. At least, he's not supposed to understand.
His cheek hurts. He presses himself against the wall, trying to hear what they're saying.
-
No. This is not happening. None of this is happening.
He stands, and leans back against the wall, surveying the room in the dim lamplight. The chair, the bed – there's a small stack of papers on the floor, the toy donkey on the dresser.
This is where you are. There is nothing else. None of those things are happening. You're safe.
That was a lie. He's not safe here. But he's not safe on the outside, either.
But you can't keep going back there. Not every time you think of it.
He walks forward, and clicks off the light.
Just forget it.
But he can't. He's so tired of not understanding.
He'd starve. He'd run out of air. It would never open. He'd watch the darkness forever until he just couldn't bring himself to keep breathing.
They'll tear it open. You'll be so weak they have to carry you out, make you learn to eat again.
No, that's not what happened.
They tore it open. But fuck them. You don't want to go back to them. They put you here, they've lied to you. They're just going to take you back and put you in prison. They don't care.
They didn't. Be he was still safe.
-
His parents are talking in the next room. The window is open, he can hear voices on the street below. All speaking Turkish.
He can hear his parents voices in English. He's young enough that he doesn't understand much. At least, he's not supposed to understand.
His cheek hurts. He presses himself against the wall, trying to hear what they're saying.
-
No. This is not happening. None of this is happening.
He stands, and leans back against the wall, surveying the room in the dim lamplight. The chair, the bed – there's a small stack of papers on the floor, the toy donkey on the dresser.
This is where you are. There is nothing else. None of those things are happening. You're safe.
That was a lie. He's not safe here. But he's not safe on the outside, either.
But you can't keep going back there. Not every time you think of it.
He walks forward, and clicks off the light.
Just forget it.
But he can't. He's so tired of not understanding.