She sat on a park bench, sipping a coke between drags of a cigarette. She felt peaceful in her anonymity, nearly invisible. The crowds did not notice her as she supervised their little dramas. No one looked at her at all, and she had never felt so full. It was her second and final visit to the park during her five-day trip. The anxious awe of her early observations had now mellowed into a rich warmth, like the blood in her veins. Yes, she was full. Brimming and happy.
Her wandering gaze eventually found respite in her immediate perimeter. She wasn’t alone. “Hello, old friend,” she whispered into the void. The fullness inside her swelled. She never imagined that she would have welcomed his well-armored companionship. But how different he seemed this time, a herald of harmony rather than hostility. A true friend. Oh, how good it was to see him.
Their previous encounter had left her in a shivering panic. Ear drums pounding to the beat of her dread, long after he had left her. Yet here he was, 15 years later. He had traversed his own existential limbo to be with her again. Sitting in silence, watching the same crowds. Choosing not to defile her fullness with his permeating scrutiny.
But she had been here before in this same park, only a few days prior. Had he been here then too? Perhaps he had been unready to reveal himself and had simply studied her from a stretch of shadow.
#
She had spent an unnecessary amount of time getting ready on that inaugural morning. Undecided over what to wear in the feral heat of Istanbul in July. Uneasy about exposing too much of her brown skin, despite feeling nervous sweat sprouting under the hum of the air-conditioned apartment. She exhaled deeply as she turned her eyes toward the street, pulsing fingers braced against the window frame. She imagined her breath fluttering the leaves of the tree-lined sidewalk, and it calmed her. These trees could be anywhere, she thought. Even home.
The reverberation of the metal door closing behind her signaled the beginning of her venture like a gong. Colorful facades of yellows, oranges, and reds framed the sparkling blue of the Bosphorus as she made her way down the steep steps. She boarded the tram at the bottom of the hill headed for Sultanahmet. The sparsely populated car quickly filled to uncomfortable levels, bodies pressed against each other, eyes never meeting. Until finally flooding the center of old Istanbul.
A cluster of architectural giants stood stoically along the water’s edge, undiminished by the hordes of people roaming their spaces. She approached the most solemn of the sites on her list, the Blue Mosque. The one that had prolonged the morning’s deliberations over her dress. Yet now she felt her spirit whipping boldly free in the salty breeze, like the countless Turkish flags dotting the city. She no longer felt ridiculous about the time spent carefully assembling the day’s attire, those considerations having forged this moment’s mettle.
Unlike the rest of the city, the visitors' entrance was virtually deserted. Near the second narrow archway she spotted only a couple of men. Unofficial gatekeepers with wily smiles that seemed in constant pendular motion along their faces. She crossed the threshold. Suddenly, the sway of her left arm was disrupted by a halting grip on her wrist. She turned to face him. A barrage of blandishments poured from his mouth, but in just seconds an internal hush took its place. She now watched the pantomime of their words falling on each other’s deaf ears, almost outside herself. His hand was still clasped around her wrist.
In the remote stillness of that moment, it appeared as if they were sparring. He with his insistent nods and she with her humble head shakes. An instant later the spell of silence burst as abruptly as it had descended. She was being dragged behind him, her body moving like the erratic path of a deflating balloon. To her dismay, the surprisingly absent crowd had been queuing patiently just around the corner. They now watched as she endured the humiliation they had all managed to avoid.
Their collective eyes seared her already hot cheeks. She felt almost grateful for her abductor’s brashness at the door, as he forced their way through a clamor of indistinguishable words. She was already looking to the end. That time that would cleanly tuck this unpleasantness into the past.
Ah, a transitory release! He hesitatingly set her free. Snapping out of her subdued daze, she looked up with clear eyes. She was met with the face of a woman. One that looked much like her own, but older and hardened. She was pointing to a nearby sign as her stern words showered unintelligible censure.
She took the light blue headscarf that was handed to her. In expectation, she had worn her dark hair in a tight bun at the nape. She clumsily tried to secure it over her hair, but the physical memory of her captor still raged through her blood. He had not forgotten about her. He had waited long enough. This time he reached for her hand rather than her wrist, cupping her palm as if she were a child.
They crossed over into the magnificent space. The infinite beauty of the colored tiles filled her with relief that the end might be near. The imposing decorum of the vast room softened the movements of her captor. He seemed suddenly alert to an unseen omniscient presence. But his arrogance prevailed. His movements had slowed but each one was as determined as the last, like a young boy who has been found out but pretends like he has done nothing wrong.
She felt this nearly invisible shift even more acutely than he did. Lowering her eyes from the azure heights, they came to rest on his unknowing body. He was shorter than average but thickly built, like a bull in human clothing. His hands were disproportionately huge, almost misshapen in their largeness. Despite her circumstances, she couldn’t help but think that this was exactly what he was born to do.
But something had indeed changed. The chaotic wind coming off the sea could not penetrate these resilient walls. There was only stillness in this house of God, every woman and man having been deputized upon entering. Her captor’s hand began to feel damp in hers. He was not looking at her as she studied him, nor was he admiring the intricate designs of this pious palace. His movements had become stiff, rigid, begging to go unnoticed by the compounding eyes around them. She knew this feeling well. He was afraid.
Reflexively, she jerked her hand away, her reaction almost a surprise to herself. His head swung towards her with startled eyes, scanning her cold face before darting to either side. What was he so afraid of? she wondered. But he had already reassessed the threat and snatched back her hand. Her coldness began to warm. She pulled her hand away a second time, looking him defiantly in the face. The sharp exchange sent a ripple through their serene radius. The heat inside her was building steadily now.
The vascular topography of his forehead glistened with sweat. A furious flame flashed over his pupils but was quickly extinguished. He looked fearful, this time in a more enduring way. He reached for her again, but she tore her hand away for the third time and heard herself say, “STOP”. The surrounding sea of light blue heads began to purl around them.
He was shrinking under their swirling gaze, his eyes flickering from one watchful face to the next. He was slowly backing away from her. She watched unblinking as he collided with another man much taller in stature. The panicked look of the former met the provoked look of the other. A moment later and her captor was gone.
She was free again! The light blue sea of covered heads had returned to their random fluid motions. The lofty tiles beckoned her eyes from above. But the heat of her rage had not yet left her. The urge to feel the wind on her body again superseded all else. She respectfully and slowly made her way to the exit, careful not to attract the peering eyes of the sea she left behind her.
With each step outside, her body cooled and lengthened. She untied her tight bun and let her long hair ride the currents of the breeze. She would continue to sightsee the next day. Today I must be outside, she thought. She wandered alongside the tracks of the tram that had delivered her. This was how she happened upon Gülhane Park for the first time.
#
She turned away from her old friend sitting beside her as she raised a cigarette to her lips. The surprise of his appearance had decayed into something vaporous. She looked upon the burgeoning life and color of the park around her with empty eyes. Her mind had slowed, matching the even tempo of her drags.
She thought about their initial meeting all those years ago. She was barely fifteen. A late bloomer in every aspect. Three inches in height and her period had torn through her just the previous summer. She recognized her body less and less with each passing day. She remembered a moment with her mom when she had pulled down her jeans and asked her with genuine concern, “What are these?” Her mom had laughed. “They’re stretch marks.” She could still hear that laugh through the filter of her 15-year-old self. It had a jeering quality that seemed to lash at her bare skin. As if the marks themselves were the result of her mother’s words rather than their cause. Now she wondered if she would ever know how that laugh actually sounded.
Unlike her classmates, she had oozed confidence in the couple of years preceding high school. Daring to diverge from the pre-approved brands and styles of suburban American youth, she had relished in being seen. Although her feelings of individuality had not dampened, after that last summer, the outward celebration of them had.
Without her permission, her body had begun to take on the uniform of adulthood. Other people’s looks no longer reflected off of her but lingered, and then left with more than they had come with. The game of trying and failing to figure out what they saw was unnerving. She wasn’t even sure of what she saw in her reflection, let alone anyone else.
And so she retired from the game. Her first year of high school was spent hiding beneath the cover of a jacket. The constant questioning did nothing to deter her. “Aren’t you hot?” “Don’t you want to take off your jacket?” Even the occasional derisive laugh was preferable to the alternative. She would rather sweat than subject herself to the looks. The eyes that seemed to grab and take every time they were laid upon her.
And she did indeed sweat. There were days she nearly had to peel her clothes off when she came home, the salt of her skin tracing the day’s distress with its chalky lines. Her biology was in full revolt, but she didn’t care. What mattered was that it was hers and hers alone.
#
A faint taste and smell of teenage memories clung uncomfortably to the back of her throat as her eyes aimlessly followed the legion of people around her. Her forgotten cigarette no longer lit at the end of her slack hand. She watched as a gray-headed man dozed under the shade of an oak tree. Her breath unconsciously timed with the gentle heaving of his chest.
Suddenly, she started. It was as if all the air had left her body. A noiseless gasp escaped her lips and was sucked into the void. She could see the smoke rising from the little boy’s back. She heard his calm, explanatory words repeated, but to no avail. Her head spun in the direction of her friend. He was still there, peacefully observing the park scene. But more importantly, he was still her friend. How had they come so far? she wondered. The one who had caused her such ethereal pain now sitting alongside her, practically her protector. If only she had known him as he was now instead of the blistering force he had been back then.
The dream had begun in a forest, similar to those she had grown up around in the northwest. But she wasn’t quite there, rather a concealed witness to the unexpected horror that was about to unfold. Her spotlight focus following a young boy along a narrow path between tall, umbrous trees. He was about three years old, pale-skinned and sandy-haired, faced steadfastly forward. Flickers of dazzling sunlight captivated his attention until he saw something burrowing in the nearby leaves. She began to worry for the boy as he pursued his presumed playmate away from the assumed safety of the path.
Scampering after his friend, the boy reached a small clearing in the woods. The haloed glow of the bright green grass froze him in a moment of joyful surrender. Her concern was growing faster, but she knew the void had silenced her. Any words of caution would be swallowed up by its greedy emptiness.
She saw its gleaming darkness crawling out of the green cover well before he did. An oily blackness coated every plate of its abnormally large body. She was mesmerized by its silent approach, all its parts moving together toward a common goal. As it neared the boy, she felt choked by the ensuing wave of foreboding that flooded her senses. He was facing away from his adversary, completely unaware of its existence. It continued to advance and paused just inches away from where the boy stood.
A second later and the boy was on all fours, the giant scorpion laying claim to his back. The stranglehold of fear tightened further around her throat as she saw the smoke begin to rise. The scorpion was not stinging him, but rather burning a hole into his back, slowly descending into the boy’s body as if he were hollow. The sizzle of his flesh added a revolting soundtrack to the scene.
But it was the repulsive force of what happened next that sent her bolting upright in bed, desperate panting escaping her scorched throat. The icy cold of sweat-damp sheets created goosebumps about to burst from pressure. The boy began to speak to his attacker in calm measured words, “But you don’t understand. I am not in me.” But you don’t understand. I am not in me. Repeating himself but without increasing intensity, with a voice that could not have been his own.
#
She guzzled down the rest of her coke, letting its effervescence bring her back to the present. The hand that had been holding it had fallen asleep during her daydream. She needed to move around, to shake off the filaments of a surreal past that had tied her to that bench. She stood up and immediately felt lighter. She turned to her friend one last time and smiled. He was so much smaller on this side of existence. She wanted to say goodbye, but what she really meant was: until next time. In the end, she left words behind for feelings. Feelings, the void could not take.
She made her way out of the park and to the nearest tram station. As she waited she realized that this may be the last tram she takes in Istanbul. She was leaving in the morning, going back to what was familiar, what seemed safe. She boarded the tram and for once was able to find a seat. She gazed out the window with premature nostalgia as the tram wound through the streets and eventually crossed the Golden Horn.
What a beautiful parade of people and places, she thought. Tightly packed fishermen lining the Galata bridge. The occasional man diving into the water to escape the heat. Street vendors selling freshly grilled corn and simit in nearly every direction. Ancient buildings standing proudly alongside the new.
Her reverie was interrupted by a voice over the intercom. Her knowledge of the Turkish language was limited to ‘hello’, ‘thank you’, ‘how are you’ and a handful of other words and phrases. But the timorous flutter of her first day no longer plagued her. She sat calmly with both feet planted, even as the tram came to its final stop. She casually watched as all the other passengers shuffled out of the car to her left, leaving her sitting alone with the doors wide open. She turned again to the window to her right. The sea still glimmered in the distance. It was never far off in this city.
A sudden swell of buoyant laughter grabbed her by the ears. A group of children running toward the tram stopped about 20 feet from her window. They were covered in the dirt of poverty, but were otherwise extraordinary. Dressed in golden outfits that were embroidered and embellished, albeit worn. Their skin was brown like hers, but their eyes and hair were much lighter. Their beauty and exuberance took her breath away.
A man in a cap and uniform appeared just beside the tracks. He was yelling at the children and waving his arms to shoo them away. The children erupted into a fit of giggles, some even mocking the man’s movements with the exaggerated flailing of their own thin brown arms. But as he took an intimidating step forward, the children immediately dispersed, leaving only one of them behind.
She slid to the edge of her seat and was about to get up to exit the tram but stopped. She watched as the lone girl stood there while her friends fled in the opposite direction. The girl looked as if she were frozen pre-pounce, leaning slightly forward with her own intimidating stance, her gaze seemingly fixed on the uniformed man. But the man had already moved on to his next task, leaving just the woman and girl to occupy that slice of space and time.
Their eyes locked on each other. The two were somehow suspended, as if they had stopped the relative flow of time around them. She was standing now, her hands pressed against the window. The girl's eyes lit up with an impish flair, her mouth in an uneven smile that seemed to bud from one cheek. Neither looked away. They couldn’t. Something secret and invaluable was being broadcast between them, their antennas furiously quivering.
The intercom began to sound again with its foreign directives and she was snapped out of her coupled trance. She turned again to the doors of the tram. They were still open. Looking back toward the girl, all she could see were her small, sandaled feet pounding the grass as she ran toward her friends. The sea was a blinding mirror in the distance.
Leila Khaleghi is an Iranian-American writer based out of Santa Fe, New Mexico. This is her first fiction publication.
Photo by: Shayna "Bepple" Take