My Four-Membered Family
Have you ever seen an Iranian family? If not, I have to tell you to throw all the concepts about families around the world out, bring a cup of coffee or tea –or I don’t know, bring something to drink- and read the story of my family –believe me, you’ll need that drink.
To begin with, I need to mention that I’m a 32-year-old girl living in a three-member family. We were four, but we’re not living with my father anymore. They got divorced about a year ago. They weren’t happy together. But they didn’t get divorced because of this significant reason. Actually, it started five or six years ago. Maybe one year earlier, I’m not sure.
We were invited to my aunt’s GARDEN. In Iran, we don’t call that a GARDEN; it was too small to be named a GARDEN. We call it a baby garden. Anyway, we went there. It was near the great cemetery of Tehran. It was the first time I was there. We weren’t that much intimate with my father’s family –neither were we with my maternal family. They had chickens there in a big cage. And they had a security dog with two or three puppies in a cell! After a narrow path, there was a small village room and a tiny pool beside it. Everything began there, in that village house. We, the younger people, and our fathers played in the water where kids were peeing anonymously. Our mothers watched us while they were talking and eating nuts. It wasn’t typical for a girl or a woman in my family to get wet in the water while playing with boys or men. I was allowed to play because sometimes my father let me do some things out of his ordinary –I don’t know why, so don’t look for a strong response from me.
After we got out of the water, my cousin and I arranged to take some photos for Instagram –again, I have to say that I had a private page because of my father’s religious restrictive behavior. So she went to get ready. By saying READY, I mean putting on a lot of make-up, drying her hair, brushing her hair wavy, and wearing a fancy dress with high-heels. But I’m not that fanatic about these kinds of things. I just brushed my hair wet and put on dry clothes because we were in the water but not naked, even half-naked; we were in our slashes and T-shirt! So I waited until I couldn’t wait because I needed to pee. My phone was in my jeans' back pocket. For a better understanding of the situation, this is an Iranian toilet:
I entered the bathroom, pulled my jeans on my knees, and heard TAULUP. My phone dropped into the toilet hole. For a second, I was just worried about my data and contacts, then after, I squealed, “Daddyyyyyyyyyyyyy!” Of course, my dad didn’t come. He was playing cards. But my aunt’s husband and younger uncle ran to me and got the phone out of the cavity. I must note that piece of shit on the touchpad to tell you how disgusting it was. As you can guess, I turned the phone off and washed it as hard as possible. The whole time I was cleaning the phone, my dad stood there beating himself on the face and cursing me, begging me not to wash the phone. If I want to describe it like you were there with me on that unforgettable moment, I have to translate everything he told me word by word. “You’re such a donkey; don’t wash it. I will not buy you another one, I swear. You have to use it this way; you’re destroying the phone. You don’t deserve to have another one, you piece of sh***t. I won’t give you any money if it doesn’t work. Eat my sh**t; it won’t work again. I swear you’re a bi***ch, never considering the burden behind buying that phone, you bast***rd piece of sh***t.” He cursed me when I was washing it. He cursed me when I was drying it. He cursed me when we were leaving. He also cursed me while we were on the way home. We reached home, and I went to bed, and he was still cursing me. Yeah. It started there. However, it wasn’t the whole story.
Now you can have your coffee cause the story lasts episodes.
Continues…
#ShortStory #Fiction #EpisodicStory #CreativeWriting #MyFourMemberedFamily #ForouzanShamei
