Sneaking in

His father was Air Force so they lived on
base. Foreigners weren’t allowed, but one
military ID per car was enough. Sneaking 
in, sneaking out but the whole family was 
in cahoots. Once he told the guard I was 
ukhti* while I “slept,” my hair, eyes, skin 
just dark enough to pass. On the way back 
from tea-and-shisha nights in the city there 
was always some anxiety. But those humming 
nights live in my mind as windows down, 
whooshing wind on the heels of furnace days, 
moon swallowing half the sky, Umm Kalthoum 
gentling us home.


*“my sister”

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Different place, same feel: Photo by Kendra Fiddler, July 2026.

I’m fascinated by the difference between life as we experience it and how we remember events years later. Also, belonging: where and with whom we feel it and where and with whom we don’t.

It’s always easier to tell a story about the sky and the wind than about our own hearts, isn’t it?