It came out of the blue, struck my glucose striving brain in that moment when the call of faith rang up to alarm those who dipped deep into the worries of mortality, the voice rising with every word, glorifying the all glorious and addressing those who understood its meaning, its true meaning; an invitation for them who wish to thank their lord for every boon and to ask him for mercy and forgiveness for their every sin which indeed are plenty in all of us. For me and many others it meant more than that; it signaled the departure of sunlight, arrival of night and a permission for our digestive organs to start their job which they voluntarily ceased to do all day.
Although there was more than a thing to think of; smell of food tickling my hungry body, thoughts about all those lectures my brain had received with barely sufficient energy to process them leave alone memorizing. With ghosts of failure appearing as hallucinations every now and then. Yet among all that a thought was built up in a fraction of a second, travelling across the nerves of my brain in ion speed. Where it came from? Why at that specific time? How? All those questions are actually mysterious to me. I found myself praying up, my lips barely moved, my vocal cords almost never vibrated yet it struck and quaked every single cell of my body and every corner of my soul, and that’s how it went:
“Oh God, bless me with she whom I’ll love and be loved by, who’ll be a sight for my sore eyes, and I shall be a sight for hers”.
Was that all? No it wasn’t, I found my eager-self completing up the prayer autonomically, just like this:
“Oh God, sooner not later, sooner not later”. Again was that the end? Once more I deliberately added:
“Tomorrow God, let me see her tomorrow, let me talk to her tomorrow”.
With sending peace and blessings on the prophet and thanking the all mighty, I smiled, sat, and began my meal after a long day of fasting.I was almost sure my prayer had been answered, I waited.. I waited for tomorrow to come.
THEY SAY IT ALL STARTS IN THE MORGUE
It’s weird how our brains process information. Deep within you’ll be waiting for something to happen, yet you get busy with all those trivial details surrounding your existence. Trivial as they are, they occupy your whole consciousness that you seem to forget what you’re longing for.There I was; standing in that low roofed vast hall, narrow lights barely allowed air and light.Before me were rows of aluminum tables, each ringed by wooden stools, the stools ringed by students in turn.
The air was thick, saturated with a distinct odor, the smell was not impossible to bear but was far from pleasant; formalin. Ironically this formalin was anything but formal; for it preserved naked cut-open humans for us to mingle around, examine, and memorize. If you’re an ordinary person then the word “morgue” is terribly unpleasant, to you it symbolizes death, dead people, and people who have not the slightest rejection to the company of dead people; that’s where I and my colleagues fit in. We like the morgue, it’s our only connection to the human body -though lifeless- in our first year as medical students. No medical student hates the morgue, not that I have seen; they might dislike it but they never hate it.
I took a glance at one of the corners, drowning silently in their basins, soaked in formalin; cadavers waited for us to intrude on their sacred sleep. I felt sorry for them, they were deprived of many rights other dead bodies fancy. Instead of white shrouds they only got ragged green strips of smelly clothes. The dead in our lands get the honor of being prayed upon in the mosques or mourned in the churches, those poor cadavers only entertained their silence by our loud voices repeating names of every single muscle, nerve, and bone in their bodies. The dead finally rest in their graves, pass into another existence, with body and soul. On the other hand, only the souls of the cadavers leave our world, their bodies remain on the surface to serve the sacred purpose of knowledge.
A cold voice interrupted my sympathy towards the cadavers and ordered me to get around one of the tables and get ready for beginning the section. I looked around to see where my friends were, they gathered around an old cadaver and I swiftly seated myself among them, while doing so a name rang up my ears, the name was weirdly familiar yet I never knew its owner, so I turned my head to see the addressee. A shiver wrecked me as my eyes fell upon her; the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Her face was fair as dreamy clouds in a morning summer sky, vibrant with warmth, radiating happiness with her charming smile. Her headscarf covered her hair in elegance that compares to the elegance of a tiara upon a princess. Although it was incredibly obvious, yet the formalin saturated breaths hindered my brain from properly processing the information it was receiving. I greeted the newcomer as she took a seat near us, and to that moment I still really hadn’t totally perceived the situation.
One of the junior doctors joined us and began pointing out the different structures in the arm, the look on his face was enough to express that he wasn’t in a good mood, he treated us like we’re some bunch of ignorant doctors to-be. An hour had passed by the time he gave us the permission to be dismissed. I actually can’t decide on the exact time when my brain had finished evaluating the situation but it was at that moment or around it. I know it because I suddenly lost awareness of everything around me; my friends, my ID the guard took at the door of the morgue, the students as they rushed to have a good view on the bodies, I simply forgot everything and all I cared about was where my dream girl had disappeared ! I looked around but couldn’t find her. Was that really the day my fasting prayer gets answered ! Well this was actually “tomorrow” so why not ?
I darted out of the morgue and snapped my ID that was by coincidence -or at least I thought so- on top of the pile, I ran up the stairs that I almost tripped and managed to get a glance of her. I exited the building in a faked peaceful attitude while my heart was beating the double inside my ribs. I was a fortunate young man as we had a mutual friend in common, that gave my presence around her a legislated form. We talked about the normal things medical students talk about, but deep inside I was flying high with doses of dopamine secreted into my blood with every smile from the simply captivating her.
That day I understood what the seniors in med-schools meant when they boasted:
“It All Starts In The Morgue”…
WITH A LITTLE BIT OF CINNAMON POWDER ON THE TOP
Nostalgia hit me as I stood there beside the rusty gate. It had been three months since I first knew what it meant to be happy, since the first smile. It had been three months since I first saw her, I was three months old. I often ask myself what life was like before that day, I forgot everything I knew about the world, I let myself experience every aspect of my existence one more time. Each sunrise after that day was a novel one, unique, like none before, like none to come.
Each new day was an independent chapter of my life, it never got affected by the days that preceded it, and never did it affect what came next. My life during that period was much like that of an Alzheimer’s patient. I woke up in the morning thinking of nothing but her. I used to look at the unique sunrise and wish solemnly that on this day some miracle would happen that would bring us closer to each other. We met in the winter, one more reason for me to love the cold. The first few hours of the day were always my favorite. A mysterious feeling captures me, a feeling I never understood. It was a mixture of enthusiasm, hope, love, fear and reluctance. Each step was empowered by my eagerness to see her, and hindered by that fear I never conquered. The fear that destiny might have a different say. That feeling takes over until I see her. Suddenly everything changes, she smiles and the earth spins the other way. If I were to describe it, it would be pretty much similar to eating a chocolate ice cream with cocoa topping, hazelnuts, and some cinnamon powder on the top, right at the peak of mount Everest. Everything around me fades to a certain degree, sounds other than hers are no longer audible. The cold air remains biting cold, yet every chill on my cheeks is as beautiful as a kiss can be, just the way sweet cinnamon gives that tingling taste to chocolate ice cream. The way I see things change, it’s as if someone has applied a cold effect to my eyes, everything becomes so tranquil. Blue mist covers everything, I’ve always loved blue.
I remain in that state of suspension between reality and fairy tales as long as god chooses to bless me. I never remembered what I used to say during those few moments, actually I never cared to concentrate, just focusing my skills to keep the conversation as long as I could, though I usually made sure I don’t cross the line, that sacred line I had drawn for myself long ago, the line I swore never to break at any cost. The line that was the reason for my unique case of love. Lovers don’t regard their days as independent chapters, each day is a continuation to what was, a base for what comes. That’s because they’ve agreed to build something together, a dream, a life. We on the other hand haven’t agreed on any thing, I don’t think she even knows what she did to me. She’s so naive, or so cruel, that I haven’t discovered yet. The moment she leaves, the day ends, literally. Until I close my eyes and call it a night, nothing really matters. But calling it a night usually isn’t as easy as it sounds. Every night I ask myself the very same question: “Do I really love her?” Nothing is more painful nor destructive than doubt. The reluctance to admit something for nothing but being afraid to lose it. I close my eyes and try to end the chapter, the next day there will be a new one, I wouldn’t have to ask that question again till the next night. Though hard, yet eventually sleep does me its daily favor and saves me from my doubt.
The rusty gate of the morgue screeched as the guard opened them lazily, cutting my episode of nostalgia. It was 8 in the morning , and the class was due to begin. I moved the plastic spoon around the cup in my hands; the last spoonful of chocolate ice cream. Before it found its way into my mouth I remembered something important, I moved the spoon once more on the edges of the cup and enjoyed the last bit of it, I had almost forgot to collect those last traces of cinnamon powder.