Strings - Capstone Amal Al Shamsi (1)

before looking up at him. Her face was full of sharp edges, down the bridge of her nose to the
point of her chin, but her gaze made it all seem soft like she was trying not to scare him away.
Standing like this, she was a good head taller than him, he suddenly didn’t like the way she was
looking down at him.
He realized she would stay put until he said something, so he did. “All right.”
“Want anything?” she asked him.
Hamza took a seat. The metal chair scraped against the concrete floor loudly, making
another noise as he sat down. The envelope seemed slim. He debated to himself whether this
was good news, slowly tearing open the flap.
The document inside was stern, it stood upright in his grip without a crease. The eagle
insignia towards the top confirmed this. Hamza’s eyes ran through the document once, then
twice, then he turned it over to see that it was blank on the back.
His son was to report to a hearing for petty theft. Jasem’s name was clearly printed in
capitalized letters. A date, going back to a few months ago, was stamped into the bottom. With
one swift motion, he tucked the papers back into the envelope.
Beside him, a couple was moving their table closer to the window. The screeching made
Hamza feel sick.
In front of him, Reem was adjusting her navy sheila, tightening it by gathering it at her
chin, then with an elegant motion, tossing it over her shoulder.
He stood up, causing the table to shift with another ugly sound. Pinching the envelope by
the edge, he picked it up and made his way out of the door. He could feel her eyes on his back
but kept moving. He didn’t want to hear her ask about it or have to explain anything.
Moving past the park, wanting to go around the corner as quickly as he could, he started
to fold the envelope as small as it could go, until it could just fit inside his front pocket. After
that, he felt he could exhale and stopped for a while to shut his eyes. A shoulder knocked against
him and he jolted forwards to brace himself but still, he did not open his eyes.
On the subway home, he felt like a stray penny in a ratty tin can, knocking on the sides as
it was shaken up and down and side to side. Except he was soft. No, he was a little piece of lint
that fell in from someone that had dropped the penny into the tin can. Hamza sat there, jostling
about, the corners of the envelope digging into his thigh.
Later that evening, Reem called him to tell him that his son was actually being held for
bribery and attempting to unlawfully fly home. She suggested that he got over there and sort it
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