The phone call

Every Lebanese knows about the phone call. And it goes two ways.

The first, looks like this. You are sitting at home with your best friend and his cousin, your aunt is over too, she is looking for a dress to borrow from your mother’s closet. You hear a loud noise, the glass around you shatters. You are in shock. You look around, make sure everyone is still breathing. You get up, dizzy, then sit down again. Your phone rings. You look for it, it fell under the couch. You pick it up, it is baba. You pick up but cannot even speak, he screams….

“habibi ebné, taménneh, sarlkon chi?” “Wayna emmak, ma 3am bet red”.

Once you hang up, you and your friends clean up the glass, turn on the news, and you light a cigarette.

The phone call goes the other way. You wake up in your bed with your partner. She usually dresses the kids in the morning, while you read your news with your coffee, before you need to catch the subway to your office in Brooklyn. You open facebook and your heart drops between your legs. Your hands are shaking. Another bomb exploded and this one is on your dad’s way to work. You call your baba first. He does not pick up. Now your legs weaken. You sit down. Your daughter stares at you worried. You stare blankly. You dial your home landline. Your brother picks up.