Remembering Aseel

Sure! We were invited to Uncle Abóòd’s parties! Remember? The youngest sat at the table farthest from the wall, so waiters knew we weren’t allowed any arak. Still, we boys sipped the last drops from abandoned glasses while Uncles Yaman, Rifal, and Tarek shimmied to the beat of tabans and swayed to the gently plucked strings of a rebab.

Jeez, don’t you remember that although the air swam with the aroma of freekeh chicken, tabbouleh, and manoushi bread, those of us that weren’t too drunk could smell the jasmine in Aseel’s hair?

No! You’re not actually asking, “Who was Aseel?” Really? Come on. Aseel broke every man’s heart. Every boy’s heart! Remember? We vied for her hugs, prayed for her kisses, longed for her stories.

Ah, now you recall. Yes, Aseel’s stories centered around women’s freedom and o.k., erotic sex. I’ll give you that.

What? Seen her? No. She disappeared long ago.

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