This is another excerpt from my novel
I just spoke to my aunt Mona for 45 minutes. This
whole research into their lives, my mother, my grandmothers, it’s making me
shake up all these memories for everyone. Stories they haven’t thought of in years.
And it’s funny the things you remember about someone. She was my mother’s older
sister, and they slept in the same room for over 20 years. When I told her I
wanted to talk to her about some stories for my book, she made a list of all
the stories she wanted to share with me. And she just spent 45 minutes telling
me those stories and I just felt so much closer to my mother for a moment –l guess you
do live on in the memories people have of you.
“Your mother was so messy,” she tells me, which makes
me smile because I am too. “She’d keep all her clothes on the bed because she
couldn’t be bothered to put them in the cupboard. She had so many clothes on
the bed she had to come sleep in mine! She would just shove things in the
closet and close the door so that they wouldn’t fall out.” I laugh. That kind
of sounds like me. And my sister for that matter.
She also told me about this man, Rene, who used
to live in New York at the same time as my grandparents, in the late 40s, early
50s. She says he still sends her a Christmas card every year, and that I should
call him to see if he has any stories about them for me. I get very excited
about the prospect of talking to someone who would’ve been my grandmother age,
90 years old. Mona pulls out her address book. “We don’t use these address books
anymore,” she says. “I only open this once or twice a year now.” I love that
she still has an address book. I think of the one my mother had, it’s still by
the phone in our house in Beirut. Like that’s its eternal resting place.
Mona finds Rene’s number, in Jupiter Florida.
She says his wife’s name is Karen and she’s really nice, I should just call
them. So I do. I don’t really think about it too much, I just dial the number
and call up this 90 year old man who was friends with my grandparents 65 years
ago. My heart is beating fast and I’m feeling a little shy but I do it anyway.
He’s 90 years old after all.
A woman answers the phone. I’m going to take a guess
and say it’s his wife.
“Hello,” I say. “Is this Karen?”
“Yes it is!” She does sounds very sweet, so I just go
for it.
“This is going to sound a little strange, but I am
Husni and Farida Halabi’s granddaughter. Do you remember them?”
“Ah! Yes, I do remember them! My husband must remember
for sure!”
“My aunt Mona gave me your telephone number.” I
explain.
I can hear her telling her husband “it’s Husni and
Farida’s granddaughter.”
I imagine how surprised he must be feeling.
She passes me onto her husband.
“Hello?” he doesn’t sound like he’s 90 years old. And
he also sounds very sweet.
“Hello! My name is Yasmina, I am the daughter of Ryma,
she was Husni and Farida’s daughter.”
“Ah yes of course. How do you spell your name?”
I want to laugh. “Y-A-S-M-I-N-A”
“What a beautiful name!”
“Thank you! My aunt Mona gave me your phone number.
You see I’m writing a book and I’m using my grandparents’ stories when they
lived in New York, and I was wondering if maybe you’d have some stories for
me!”
“Ah, you know, I don’t think I have any stories that
would be interesting for your book,” he says. “It was such a long
time ago, I don’t even remember what happened yesterday. You know, I turned 90
in October.”
I’m a little disappointed –I was hoping he would tell
me an incredible story nobody knew. I insist a little more, but he doesn’t say
much.
“I loved them very very much,” is the most I get out
of him.
“Well, in any case, it was really nice talking to
you,” I say, and I mean it. And for whatever reason, I feel like I made a new, odd connection with my grandparents' past.
He seems happy about my call too. And I can’t help but
think that maybe, just maybe, my grandparents are somewhere where they can see
this happening, and it made them smile too.
