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Yes

  Copyright 2016 Meredith Miller

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  Miryem carried a fully laden tray into her father’s living room with a spring in her step. She was a confidant girl, a fact which her mother saw in a disapproving light. Their living room was dimly lit, yet elegant furnishing combined with that lighting and the number of people packed into sofas lent reality to a certain cosy air which belied Miryem’s imagination of the grand bazaar in Istanbul. Dust and spice particles scattered the light, smoke and sound and sights and smell all blended into rich hues of experience not unlike any one of the cups of turkish coffee she served. She handed one each to her parents and the two other guests with a smile, then stepped around the wide three seat sofa to place one more cup on a coffee table next to it. Her and the occupier of that third seat exchanged polite smiles. Masrur.

  She and Masrur had been childhood friends due to the fact that their parents lived across the hallway from each other. Miryem’s father had a small grocery shop and Masrur’s in turn worked as a barber. The two would often play together in both establishments as children, keeping out from their parent’s way for the most part but not without eliciting a shout or two from them at times. One such time was when Miryem sneaked the older Masrur away from the barber shop and to a nearby park without permission or a companion. Frankfurt was a dangerous place for two children of six and seven, and so when the two arrived safely they were treated to a scalding hot tirade from outraged mothers in colourful patterned hijabs. As the years went by they had started to play together less and less until they finally drifted apart. Now, they didn’t even shake hands or stop to chat. Miryem didn’t mind shaking hands with or hugging boys, for she was of an independent and open mind. Tradition dictated otherwise. She found such things boring and stupid, but she pretended to go along with them as long as her parents were watching, simply to spare their feelings.

  “So, Masrur, you are a pro boxer now, no?” Her father remarked playfully, at which the twenty four year nodded. She had heard about the fact. In a way Masrur was seen to be a sort of hero for the other people in their neighbourhood who also had Turkish origins. They said that in a few years he was going to take the German title. Miryem herself was far away from such things, but she couldn’t help but find the look of the young boxer doing his roadwork every morning slightly pleasing. It was one of the perks that came with being a tall and handsome boxer, she thought, that one would be able to get any girl he wants. Strangely enough, Miryem couldn’t recall ever hearing anything about Masrur having a girlfriend or, indeed, cutting it loose on weekends. It was as if the young man was entirely devoted to his craft. He was not even well dressed today, rather electing a simple black T-shirt and jeans. He had shaved his beard and head, which left him looking quite young, if a bit on the bonier side. She was not surprised to see Masrur in a T-shirt larger than his own size, but Miryem couldn’t for the life of her figure out why he would dress himself that way, instead of showing off his well toned body.

  Her father exclaimed just then, “My Miryem is almost done with her bachelors at the university. Top of her class, she is! Did you know that?” Masrur politely replied that no, he did not. Her father shot her a look of pride, ignoring her flush of embarrassment. She hated it when her parents used her for bragging rights. It really put her right in the centre of attention.

  The conversation drifted off to other things between the two older couples with Masrur keeping quiet for the most part and Miryem drifting off, thinking about how well she’d like to go out with the girls the next day. She would need to curl her hair, which she didn’t really like to do, but she had hair so straight that it really needed some work put into it sometimes. No reason to look like the girl from “The ring” if you don’t need to. Besides, there might be some cute guys showing up with Giorgia, so it may be well worth it to look her best.

  Miryem came back to reality, noticing that the conversation had taken on a more serious note. Everyone around had a mask of gravity on their faces, seeming like it could suck the very life out of a merry Turkish wedding if it so chose. “So, Mansur,” said Masrur’s father, “about what we were talking about in private...” The way he said those words, more than anything, put Miryem on her guard. His voice sounded uncertain, heralding something unknown and yet strangely ominous.

  “Ah, yes, it is time!” Her father agreed, and in stark contrast to Masrur’s father he looked quite pleased with himself. “Miryem, come here, my daughter.” A formal tone was a cautionary one, and when she moved to stand next to his chair, the young girl felt her feet compel her to run far away and never look back. Miryem ignored the compulsion. It was only when she noticed that the mothers had moved away, after she took note of everyone’s respective position,that her heart sank. Mansur and Miryem standing next to him were directly opposite the sofa where Masrur and his father, Mehmet, sat with their hands formally clasped between their legs. “My children,” Mehmet announced, “Me and Mansur have spoken at length, and have decided to have you two be bound in marriage, with God’s blessings and your own.”

  A second of silence went by, then two. Miryem felt her shock turn into rage quite naturally, and by the time her father looked at her she had started to shout. “What!” she bellowed, “You didn’t even ask me before! No way, no!” She rounded on her mother, who was sitting off to the side with her eyes mid roll. “Did you know about this? We’re in the twenty first century, you don’t get to decide who I marry!” she turned towards Masrur, her hair whipping about. “You say something as well! They can’t do this, they can’t force us!” In the silence, she noticed a change of expression cross his face, but then the boxer’s features turned calm and unreadable again. Instead of acknowledging her, however, he turned to his father and bowed slightly in his sitting position. “I submit to your wisdom, father.” He stated simply. She looked at him in horror, yet he avoided her eyes, keeping his attention on his dad.

  That just helped raise Miryem’s rage to a whole new degree and she let out a frustrated scream “That’s it! I’m outta here!” She could see the door beyond Masrur and Mehmet, and it beckoned to her. The girl crossed over the living room and marched right out of the apartment, hearing her father apologize to Mehmet. “She’ll come around...” he said before she rounded the corner into the hallway, slamming the apartment door behind her.

  It was a few hours later in the park that Miryem cooled down enough to be able to think rationally. She knew her family well, and as traditional as they were they could never force her to do something like this. She grabbed a tulip by the stem and pulled in its budding orange closer to her. Nor would they, even if they could. Miryem calmly considered, and decided that she had to be the bigger person here. She would go back to the apartment, politely refuse to marry Masrur, and then go about her life. Arranged marriages were a thing of the past. She should be allowed to fall in love with whoever she wanted, shouldn’t she? Miryem whiffed at the tulip absentmindedly, then almost laughed at her foolishness. Despite looking temptingly colourful and joyous, tulips had no scent. They were perhaps the most deceitful of flowers. Her leftover anger was directed at the spineless coward, Masrur.

  Miryem made her way home in a relatively good mood, weaving through the busy streets of Frankfurt. Here no one cared about others. It was easy to be anonymous, a simple face going to work and coming back. Walking through this city made Miryem feel like an ant sometimes, alone and insignificant. Other times, she relished being unknown, free to do whatever she wished in the city lights. When she got tired of it, there was always the Turkish neighbourhood, and more specifically their third floor,
where everyone knew everybody else. Drab sometimes with its grey walls and unpredictably flashing fluorescent lights, it had acted as her playground far too long for its long hallway to depress her.

  Miryem opened the door to her house quietly, noting that it was twelve O’clock already. She found her father asleep on the sofa in front of the TV. Obviously he had wanted to wait for her to come back and had fallen asleep while doing so. She closed the TV and kissed her parent on the forehead before going to bed herself. As she dozed off she could still make out his quiet snores, and she smiled. There was little else she would rather have as a lullaby, she decided. The snoring carried Miryem off into a world of dreams where she was safe and sheltered, where an evil wizard attempted to kidnap her but an elderly knight yelled the vile one