First Day Back... (Edited)

 Zahir has given me permission to use his name in my blog! He told me all those "Zs" sound silly. At work I use Mr. and his sir name. I confess that does make me hot, though I am not sure why.

 As Zahir and I walked through the office it became clear the nature of our trip back to the States was public knowledge. There were more than a few polite rumors after INTERPOL came to talk to me before the trip. Management felt the need to perform damage control. Many gave me hugs or words of condolence.

 I love the people here. There are no quick hello's or bye's, and very little pretense. Warm deep greetings are the norm. Even phone calls are not jumped into and out of. Jordanians form connections. Coming from a country where relationships are disposable, it is really nice.

 No sooner had I sat at my desk in Zahir's office, the President of the firm came in to express his sympathy. He told me that I was appreciated by the engineering team on the Kiev trip. He went on to say he wanted to pass that on sooner but felt I needed time to grieve the loss of my family.

 I told him the gracious g-d actually returned and revealed my family to me. I told him of my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and all the rest I met. What I have is closure now. I will never know my father, and I understand the incredible depth of my mother's love for me. Without going into depth, when couples divorce here, the fathers get custody of the children. The fact they praise my mother's courage should tell you how messed up my father was.

I think I could
make it work...

 Mr Boss said I was very wise. Then commended Z for "always finding the best interns." He hugged on me a little too long. I swear I could hear Zahir's teeth grinding, he knows I don't like that much contact.

 Mr. Boss quickly made a Kentucky joke about me being the first American hillbilly in the firm. (I did not know living in Kentucky for the first three months of my life qualifies me to be a hillbilly. Good to know, I guess.) He went on to say, he was expecting me to walk in wearing overalls and a stained t-shirt. AS IF that was an option!

 Z reminded Mr. Boss we had a heavy work load. On his way out he told me my work visa was approved. I am a legal worker, not just a student intern! YAY!!! The money doesn't mean much to me. It is nice to know I am valued. Zahir had helped me set up a checking and savings account a while back in case I had to flee Jordan.

** added after post **

 Mr Boss's snarky comment on clothing brought me back to how Zahir entered my world. The very first thing he bought me was a suit. I was fifteen when Z and I met. I was doing the books for my "new" foster family. We got hit with an IRS audit. Z was sent in to help us prepare.

 I suppose I should explain Mohsen (Moe) and Stacy. They run a ranch that raised cattle for export. They also worked with hard luck foster kids. I was to be with them on a temporary basis, only during the trial. It was my second time with them. When they heard what happened, they asked for me back. Moe & Stacy were there to pick up the pieces.

 Everyone at their ranch had a job. At fifteen I was still scrawny, but I was smart. Everything on the ranch was big and scary. For the record NOTHING about cows is small. Stacy moved heaven and earth to draw me out of my shell again. I helped her around the house and she started having me "help" her with the books. As much as I loved math, she hated it.

 I learned quite a lot of colorful language from Stacy. She was from some place called Chester (Chess-TAH), Massachusetts. You have her to thank for my over use of the word "wicked." I remember her shouting, "Okayy guys we got a-lottah wohk to do. We areh lookin at a wicked pissah of a stahm." When she became angry or excited the Rs vanish and the Hs popped up everywhere. It was not unusual for all of us to look at Moe for translation. Occasionally even he was very confused.

 IRS audits are not fun for most. I like a challenge. Math to me is more than a language, its a world I can hide in. I desperately needed a place to hide. I found that the old accountant was either playing things very safe or was stupid. He missed easy write-offs.

A week before our meeting with the government Z showed up. He was big, scary, and he was NOT impressed with me. In the end, he was impressed with my product. I think that was when he stopped seeing me as just a kid.

 He asked what I planned to wear to the meeting. I showed him my second hand suit. When I tried it on, we discovered I had experienced a growth spurt. About an inch and a half of ankle and wrist were showing. That was when I heard his laugh for the first time. G-d I love his laugh, When he, Moe, and I stopped laughing, Zahir took me shopping for the first time. "If you represent the ranch you represent MY company too."

 He got me two suits. Nothing outrageous, off the rack from a national retailer. They WERE something I had never had before, NEW. He took me out and polished my image. He took me to a stylist, it is amazing how clothing and hair can change your appearance. I looked older when they were done. I felt more confident, I am not sure that was the clothing or how Zahir began looking at me.

 Zahir started becoming a regular feature at the ranch. About a month after the audit he showed up on a bad day. I had just got back from the State Attorney's Office. DCF and the prosecutor were prepping me for trial. Mock trials are almost worse than the real thing. The prosecutor wants you ready for anything the defense will throw at you. "Surprises sink cases."

 It was a hard practice, I was hurting when we got home. I needed alone time. I went to the barn and started bottle feeding a calf that was abandoned by its mom (it happens). From the look on Zahir's face I could tell Moe had "The our boy is broken talk."

 Z was in one of his expensive tailored suits. Still he plopped on the ground next to me and put his arm around my shoulder. He wiped my tears away. "What others do to us, does not define us. It is how we respond and recover that does." He went on to tell me I was a very smart and brave boy.

 I responded by telling him he was sitting in dry cow shit. He realized I was trying to push him away. "That's all right. Sometimes when a friend is in shit, it is best to join them." Zahir took on the roll of big brother, coach, and best friend. He moved his work around to be there for me. When the trial and sentencing came he worked with the prosecutor to mold my appearance again. Clothing and hair were adapted. I looked 'pure,' and far younger when they were done.

 During sentencing, the defense tried to argue that the defendant believed I was willing. The ploy backfired "foster dad" was sentenced to life. The prosecutor was even shocked. Z promises he WILL have me there to petition the parole board against his release if he EVER is eligible.

 Everyone wanted to go out and celebrate. I was totally drained, I just wanted to go to bed. I begged Zahir to take me home. I had a daybed in my room and my own TV. Z watched a football (soccer) match I fell asleep both fully clothed, leaning back on his chest.

 Zahir has been there for all of the major events for the last three plus years. He took me out to get my driver's license. Last year when we came back for my final DCF meeting, he helped me register to vote for the first time, and yes I am registered for selective service.

****

 He knows voting is important to me since I missed out on the local stuff last year. My home of record is still the ranch in the Miami-Dade area. Too much of a pain in the butt to change everything. My love reminded me it is an awesome responsibility and I must keep myself educated on the issues at home to use my voice wisely.

 Zahir is not the only guy at the company who has a boy. Several are house boys, caring for their man's home. Some are little more than pets, Z keeps me away from them. Two of us are interns, I am kept away from him. I think he is British. Some people call him a tea boy. I am the only foreign technical intern.

 My math discipline is one of those that plugs in fairly easily to, structural, and chemical engineering. I like how Z described it to my family. "Bioinformatics and proteomics are sciences with the potential to cure disease and feed the world, or wipe out all life on our planet."

 Another thing I am not sure of is, why he has such a bug up his butt about my birthday? He asked me again at dinner what I wanted. I told him, "Birthdays have almost no meaning to me. Just surprise me." Something tells me I am gonna regret that. A smile crossed his face and he let the matter drop. Wish I had more Arab friends, I wonder if nineteen has any special meaning.

---

Burned again

 Hit the pool with Zahir's dad, while Z took his mom shopping. He lets me ask him just about anything. Z's mom is his second wife. Here a man can have up to four. I asked him why he stopped at two. "A house must have peace to function. More than one woman in a home rarely brings peace." He thought I needed some sun, so I took off my swim shirt. We forgot sun screen, OOPS.

 Z's mom was the first to see the ring of blistered flesh when they got back to the flat. She asked if I hurt (burned) myself. Then when I said no, she accused Z of branding me. We had to explain, I have a burn scar on my chest from my third foster mom. Normally it looks like a crescent moon unless I am dumb. Old burn scars are wicked susceptible to new sun damage (re burning). The result, I am going to see my ugly spot for a few months. I've seen what happened to other foster kids, I am lucky.

 More looks of pity from his folks. Followed by me locking myself in my bedroom. I woke to Zahir treating my wound and kissing my forehead. I apologized for being so stupid. He told me his boy was not stupid, just young, and hurting. He dressed the wound (and me) then went down to dinner.

 Z's mom hugged on me saying she couldn't believe any woman would do such a thing to a child in her care. Then she apologized for hurting me. I said I was not hurt by the truth. Something ugly once touched me, and I survived. REPETITIVE STORY OF MY LIFE.


 - Chase