Strings - Capstone Amal Al Shamsi (1)

exhale smoke. She continued to laugh every time he said that they should just leave all that
college business, their parents, and their friends and run away. His voice was strained but she
would not listen, perhaps that was the point that he began to plan on her behalf and became too
much.
The teenagers remarked about the temperature of the glass for a couple more stops,
completely unfazed by the crowds rushing out and squeezing into the car. Hamza thought, this is
what teens can be like, harmless and humorous. He felt the urge to crawl back in time, to be in
those moments with her, to inhale deeply. It was a stupid idea, what if he just left it all again and
wanted to stay with her? He often asked himself if he would go back and change it all.
It had been a while since he had thought of her, Elena from his college days. What was he
supposed to do with her and her secrets? They must weigh him down, somehow, even though he
can’t feel it. He can’t decide what was the last memory of her. For a moment, he saw the image of
a small boy with her eyes, it lolled around in his arms in a cloth diaper. He could feel its weight.
There was no belly button, just a smooth surface. His chest seized. What was this kid? It was his,
for sure. Did he forget something? He could maybe hear his own voice speaking in a lilting tone.
You’re a clumsy beetle.​ They must have had a child, it was this child. Why would he have left?
He had meant to stay, maybe.
His nail beds were sore when he got up on Flatbush Avenue, far from his stop. It was
embarrassing but he had been chewing on his fingernails. He now wiped his hands onto his
jeans, relishing in the warm air that pressed against his skin as his cheek had gone numb. The
boys were gone.
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