from: [email protected]
That’s an interesting question and I hope that I am actually understanding you. Are you asking if I feel lucky in one way but unlucky in a different way to be who and where I am?
from: [email protected]
Maybe that’s part of it, yeah
from: [email protected]
My first reaction is maybe that it’s unfair that I should even be asked this? I do not sit around all day thinking about being Palestinian. At the same time there’s a part of me that perhaps does or is aware of it. But I don’t want to be anything else or live anywhere else. My other cousins live in London and it’s nice but I could never live there. I feel most guilty about continuing to live my life while Gaza is obliterated. But what does not going to classes help? I can’t afford to not have a job someday and the job situation here is hard. I went to a party for the first time a few months ago and felt bad about it but at the same time I needed to recall how it felt to dance. I don’t think I have a good answer to your question.
He recounted a dream he had last night about his brother pushing him out of a building. How he never hit the ground, just kept passing through it like a ghost. I couldn’t recall the last time someone told me about their dreams with such shameless intensity. When he asked me about mine, I didn’t want to tell him I was mostly having nightmares now.
Chapter 63
My mom had moved the rest of her stuff out that week. The house didn’t feel all that different, but there were times when I thought I heard her say something, from the hallway, from the bathroom, and, following the voice, stood in the empty silence, confused. We talked on the phone a lot in the morning before she went to work, which was new. I could tell it upset my dad, how much I got to talk to her.
On my way to class, I got a response to my Craigslist ad. Someone named Brad was offering to pay $900 a month to rent our basement. In this economy? Unreal. I told him to send a picture of his ID and that, assuming his background check was clear, he could move in in two weeks.
Milken was speaking to another student in the hallway. I tried to slip past them.
“Catherine!” Milken said. “How are things?”
“Er, good.”
He chucked a thumb at the classroom. “You’re in Professor Ford’s class, correct?”
“Yes.”
He dropped his voice. “Some students have come to me distressed about her anti-Semitic remarks. Have you heard anything?”
I knew this meant trouble. I told the truth. “No.”
“Okay, well, please don’t hesitate to tell me if you do. I’m interim head of the department now that Professor Lizette’s gone.” He backed away. “It’s good to see you. Maybe I’ll have you in my novel workshop next fall?”
I hadn’t known Professor Lizette was gone. I said, “Yeah,” even though he wouldn’t.
Nia was in short pigtails, iced coffee clattering in hand, when I walked into class. She gave me a big, brief smile, then scrolled on her phone. It was like she never asked me to fuck her boyfriend with her. Her boyfriend, I thought, slightly buzzing, who was in love with me.
The girl with a pink pixie cut whispered, “Did Milken ask you guys about Janine?”
“Yeah,” I said.
Nia’s eyes shot up. “Ask what?”
“I think they’re trying to fire her,” Alex said.
Nia said, “She’s literally tenured into infinity.”
I said, “Isn’t she retiring this year anyway?”
Alex shrugged. “This is what’s happening all over the country.”
