everything all right?”
I swallow over the lump in my throat and my breath comes out like I am having trouble breathing, which I am, only I don’t want the policemen to know it.
“Ma’am?” he says again.
I make my eyes look up at him and my breath comes harder. I nod and stretch my eyes out so the tears do not collect in the corner of my eyes and run down my face.
“You’re sure?”
I nod again. I even manage a small smile.
“Okay, then,” he says. “Have a good day.”
I do not trust myself to reply. I would probably be so nervous that I could only talk in Farsi and they would think I am crazy and lock me up. I give them another small smile and try to show that I am okay. For I have realized they are talking to me not to arrest me but because they think I need help. I smile and nod, smile and nod, even after they have their backs to me.
Once they have driven off, I can breathe again. I drop my arms onto the table and sink my head into my hands. You can take the girl out of Iran, but you cannot take Iran out of the girl. I know fears that Americans will never know,
Inshallah.
“Are you okay?” I hear a voice at my table. I raise my head.
It is that Ike. I let out my breath.
“I thought—” I stop. It is too many words to explain, and he will not understand, anyway.
“You thought what?” He looks like he really wants to know.
“I tried to pay, but you wouldn’t take my money. I thought—I thought maybe I did something wrong.”
He looks at me with curiosity. “Where are you from?”
“Persia,” I say, which is the old name for our country. Americans do not think so highly of Iran, I know.
“Persia,” he repeats back, amused. “You mean Iran?” He pronounces it right.
Eee-Rahn.
“Yes.”
“You’re new to this country?”
“Yes,” I say. “I have been here for only one week.”
“And you thought I called the cops to have you arrested for not paying for your drink?”
I nod.
“You poor girl,” he says with a big smile. He must be very rich, to have such nice teeth. But then again, if he were so rich he would not work behind a counter in a coffee shop. “It was a sample. You know what
free
means, don’t you?”
“I guess maybe I don’t.”
I know by how he narrows his eyes that he has caught the double meaning of my answer. “It’s a new drink,” he explains, slowing his words for me. “We want our customers to try it so that if they like it, they will buy a bigger cup next time. You don’t really think we’d charge money for such a small glass of tea, do you?”
I shrug one shoulder. “In my country, we have some drinks that are very strong and come in small cups.”
“Oh, right,” he says. “Espresso, I suppose. Well, don’t worry. You didn’t do anything wrong. And you don’t have to be afraid of the police here. They’re mostly decent.”
“Thank you,” I say. “It is very nice of you to explain this to me.”
“My pleasure,” he says, bowing his head at me like a gentleman. “Did you like the
free sample
?”
“It’s very sweet,” I say. “I am not used to drinks so sweet. And I am not used to tea being cold. I have only had it hot before.”
“Well,” he says, shrugging a little, “I should get back inside. If you wait here, I’ll go get your five bucks back for you. I
thought
that was quite the generous tip!”
I like his laugh. It makes me laugh, too. I give him my best Julia Roberts smile, the one I practiced in the mirror before leaving home. He looks at me with a feeling I do not recognize. It feels close to affection, but that is not quite right. I realize suddenly that it is a look of attraction. He is attracted to me.
Oops.
“Oh, no,” I say, waving him off. “Please, keep it. Your English lesson was very helpful.”
He gives me another dazzling smile. “You’re sure?”
I nod. “Yes, very sure.”
“Okay, then.” He raises his hand in a small wave and backs away, still smiling. “I get off at three
I swallow over the lump in my throat and my breath comes out like I am having trouble breathing, which I am, only I don’t want the policemen to know it.
“Ma’am?” he says again.
I make my eyes look up at him and my breath comes harder. I nod and stretch my eyes out so the tears do not collect in the corner of my eyes and run down my face.
“You’re sure?”
I nod again. I even manage a small smile.
“Okay, then,” he says. “Have a good day.”
I do not trust myself to reply. I would probably be so nervous that I could only talk in Farsi and they would think I am crazy and lock me up. I give them another small smile and try to show that I am okay. For I have realized they are talking to me not to arrest me but because they think I need help. I smile and nod, smile and nod, even after they have their backs to me.
Once they have driven off, I can breathe again. I drop my arms onto the table and sink my head into my hands. You can take the girl out of Iran, but you cannot take Iran out of the girl. I know fears that Americans will never know,
Inshallah.
“Are you okay?” I hear a voice at my table. I raise my head.
It is that Ike. I let out my breath.
“I thought—” I stop. It is too many words to explain, and he will not understand, anyway.
“You thought what?” He looks like he really wants to know.
“I tried to pay, but you wouldn’t take my money. I thought—I thought maybe I did something wrong.”
He looks at me with curiosity. “Where are you from?”
“Persia,” I say, which is the old name for our country. Americans do not think so highly of Iran, I know.
“Persia,” he repeats back, amused. “You mean Iran?” He pronounces it right.
Eee-Rahn.
“Yes.”
“You’re new to this country?”
“Yes,” I say. “I have been here for only one week.”
“And you thought I called the cops to have you arrested for not paying for your drink?”
I nod.
“You poor girl,” he says with a big smile. He must be very rich, to have such nice teeth. But then again, if he were so rich he would not work behind a counter in a coffee shop. “It was a sample. You know what
free
means, don’t you?”
“I guess maybe I don’t.”
I know by how he narrows his eyes that he has caught the double meaning of my answer. “It’s a new drink,” he explains, slowing his words for me. “We want our customers to try it so that if they like it, they will buy a bigger cup next time. You don’t really think we’d charge money for such a small glass of tea, do you?”
I shrug one shoulder. “In my country, we have some drinks that are very strong and come in small cups.”
“Oh, right,” he says. “Espresso, I suppose. Well, don’t worry. You didn’t do anything wrong. And you don’t have to be afraid of the police here. They’re mostly decent.”
“Thank you,” I say. “It is very nice of you to explain this to me.”
“My pleasure,” he says, bowing his head at me like a gentleman. “Did you like the
free sample
?”
“It’s very sweet,” I say. “I am not used to drinks so sweet. And I am not used to tea being cold. I have only had it hot before.”
“Well,” he says, shrugging a little, “I should get back inside. If you wait here, I’ll go get your five bucks back for you. I
thought
that was quite the generous tip!”
I like his laugh. It makes me laugh, too. I give him my best Julia Roberts smile, the one I practiced in the mirror before leaving home. He looks at me with a feeling I do not recognize. It feels close to affection, but that is not quite right. I realize suddenly that it is a look of attraction. He is attracted to me.
Oops.
“Oh, no,” I say, waving him off. “Please, keep it. Your English lesson was very helpful.”
He gives me another dazzling smile. “You’re sure?”
I nod. “Yes, very sure.”
“Okay, then.” He raises his hand in a small wave and backs away, still smiling. “I get off at three
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