Finding Peace from Different Worlds

“Weston, please!”

He threw the plate of tiramisu on the ground and the plate shattered, making me jump. I backed up towards the wall, but he lunged forward and pushed me the rest of the way against it.

“Weston!” I sobbed. “Stop! Please!”

“Why can’t you just listen!” He yelled, pulling back his fist.

I jolted awake, sweat dripping from my forehead, gasping for air. The nightmares feel just as real every time. I got up and drew the curtains, trying to shake the thoughts of my ex-husband. All those times I made tiramisu for when he came home from work, hoping it would keep him in a better mood in case he came home drunk. It felt like years ago, but in reality, it was only months.

I prepared myself a cup of coffee and soaked up the infinite quiet of my apartment. Saline Michigan was so much quieter than the busy streets of Los Angeles that I moved from. I used to be an extrovert, I spent every weekend surrounded by friends, enjoyed polite conversations with strangers in elevators or in lines at the grocery store. As intolerable as that sounds to me now, I still hope I’ll be like that again someday. For now, I appreciate the quiet.

* * * * * * * *

“As you settle into savasana, focus on each muscle individually and release any tension you may feel.” I paced across the front of the room. “Picture any tension you may have in your life – any stress or conflict – releasing from your body and your mind as well.” Gentle music played as I sat on my mat, meditating. I found my mind wandering to a particular student. She’s a regular, I’ve had her in a few of my classes before. I glanced over to where she was, peacefully engaged in her resting pose. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed deeply. Her dark skin was beautiful, hair curly and untamed. When she stood it barely reached her shoulders. She had kind, dark olive eyes; her eyebrows were full but not too thick. Her matching forest green leggings and sports bra showed that the yoga was certainly paying off. The ten minutes passed, and I thanked the class for coming in, beginning to prepare for the next class.

“I noticed you are a newer teacher here, right?” I heard the accent and turned around to see the girl I had been watching during class. “My name is Ameenah”.

“Yes, I moved to Saline from LA a few months ago. I’m Kara.” I said, feeling the social anxiety begin to creep through my veins.

“You have come a long way,” she said. “I have been to a few of your classes now, we are lucky to have you”.

Her gentle voice and kind smile pushed back at my nerves. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you to say.”

“It is only the truth,” she said, then hesitated for a moment. “Kara, I hope I am not being too bold. I wanted to ask you if you would come to dinner with me on Friday”.

My anxiety immediately returned, and before I could even think about it, the unconfrontational part of me was saying “Sure!”

We exchanged numbers while I debated with myself over whether or not this was a good idea. But as she walked away, I noticed that my nerves were tangled with excitement. I’ve been interested in women for as long as I can remember, I just never had the courage to actually go out with one. I always stuck with admiring from afar, which has caused them to be somewhat intimidating to me.

* * * * * * * *

“What can I get you to drink?” Ameenah and the waiter both looked at me. I blushed, fumbling through my mind to remember what I had decided on.

“Ah – I’ll have a glass of Merlot.”

Ameenah smiled. “I will have the same.” The waiter took note and left. “You seem nervous,” she said. “Have you been on a date with a woman before?”

I felt embarrassed at how easily she could see through me. “No, actually, I haven’t. Is it that obvious?” I said, tucking my hair behind my ear as if I could tuck my nerves back there too.

She laughed. “It is okay, you don’t need to be nervous. It was brave of you to say yes, I hope you feel comfortable with me.”

Her response surprised me. I thought when she found out she’d regret asking me out, or think this was a waste of time. It filled me with relief to know that she cared about my level of comfort. I relaxed just enough to say, “I do actually, it’s weird. Ever since I first met you, I felt like… like I could trust you I guess. That’s why I said yes. There was something about you that made me feel comfortable around you.”

She smiled and looked at the table. “My name comes with me from Africa,” she said, and then lifted her gaze back to meet mine. “Ameenah, in Swahili it means ‘trustworthy’.”

“It’s a beautiful name,” I said.

“Two glasses of Merlot,” said the waiter, setting them down on the table. “I’ll give you a minute to look over the menu.”

Ameenah watched him walk away. “You know,” she said, “the word ‘merlot’ comes from the French word ‘merle’. It means ‘little blackbird’.”

“Do you speak French?” I asked.

“Only a little. I love languages. I was born in Kenya, but we moved to Mali when I was very young. I learned a little bit of French there growing up, along with Bambara and English, because my mother was hoping to come to America. She was a good teacher to many kids in our village, I hope to become a teacher like her.”

“Well since you’re here I guess your family made it?” I implored, impressed. I’ve never been able to stick to learning a language.

“Not all of us. My father passed away when I was two years old, in Kenya. That’s when we moved. My mother spent years saving up and trying to find us a way to America, but in 2006 she felt that we were in danger. There was much tension in Mali. My mother had to rush, and she found someone who could get me and my brother out, but they could not take my mother. There wasn’t enough space.”

“What happened to her?” I asked, placing my chin in my shoulder. Despite the content of her story, she seemed just as confident and collected as always.

“We don’t know for sure. She was very sick; my uncle took care of her. Around 2012, things in Mali got worse and we lost contact with them. I don’t know for sure if my mother is alive or dead.”

I couldn’t even imagine the toll that must’ve taken on her and her mom. I had never heard a story like this straight from someone I know personally, and I was nervous about reacting in the wrong way. “I’m so sorry,” I finally said after a short moment of silence that felt like forever.

Her shoulders fell slightly, and her expression became slightly more concerned. “I am sorry, Kara. This is a heavy conversation on a first date, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No it’s okay, really. I appreciate you telling me, it’s important… I imagine it’s an important part of your story and who you are. How old were you when you left?” I said, worried I said something wrong.

She smiled. “I appreciate your empathy. I was 10 years old; it was 15 years ago. My brother became very sick as well when we were traveling here, it took a long time and there were many stops. I am very lucky that I did not lose him too.”

Our conversation was cut short as the waiter approached our table. We hurriedly skimmed the menu and let the waiter talk us into trying a pasta with some sort of red sauce and garlic chicken, as he insisted it would pair well with the merlot. We talked about how she is graduating soon with a degree in English teaching, our love for reading, how I became a yoga instructor, and a lot about finding peace. She asked about why I moved to Michigan, and I gave vague answers about needing change.

We were just about to ask for the check when the waiter came back. “Tiramisu for two, paid for by that man over there.”

The very thought of tiramisu sent panic through my body. I felt my heart begin to race and my head begin to spin. I watched him set the dessert on the table and suddenly felt flushed with heat. Had he found me? Why did he even want to find me? I couldn’t believe I had let my guard down and come here, on a date no less. I knew I should look up to where the waiter gestured but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, to see him and acknowledge that I had to start all over again, again. Was he here to hurt me? I started to feel dizzy, I felt tears welling behind my eyes. My fight and flight responses were trying to burst forth at the same time and were colliding in a painful mess.

“Trevor, it is so good to see you! You shouldn’t have!” Ameenah stood and gave the man, who had walked up to us, a hug, and proceeded to hug his wife as well. Realizing I hadn’t been breathing, I tried to take a quiet, deep breath.

“I saw you over here and I couldn’t resist!” Trevor responded, smiling. “I hope the two of you are having a good night, we are on our way out but tell your brother hello for us!” He turned and winked at me as they walked away.

Ameenah sat back down and explained, “They live next door to my brother, we have spent a lot of time with…” she looked up at me. “Are you okay?”

As concerned as she immediately looked, she still looked beautiful. “I just, I mean, it’s silly honestly. I thought… I was expecting it to have been… my ex-husband.” I felt my face flushing again realizing how ridiculous it must sound. She sat quietly, waiting for me to continue. I took another deep breath. “We got married young, and too fast. He used to hurt me. He went to jail for a little while, and we got divorced. But he was released sooner than we all thought he would, and he kept trying to find me. There was a restraining order, but he kept trying. So I left, and even though I did, I’ve always been scared he’s going to find me. Tiramisu was his favorite. I know it sounds stupid, but I was worried he found me. I have nightmares about it.”

“It is not stupid at all.” She replied, reaching across the table for my hand. “I had nightmares for years, and anxiety I never thought would go away. Sometimes it still comes back, but it will get easier.” I rubbed my thumb across the top of her hand, it was so soft in mine. I took another deep breath. “Kara,” she said. “You are safe, I promise. You are safe now.”

I internalized her words and reflected on all the effort I’ve put into my new life – all the therapists, the anti-anxiety meds, moving, the yoga and meditation to find peace despite all the trauma I’d experienced. It was time to relax; it was time to really live instead of just survive. She was right; I was finally safe.

I smiled. “I guess we both are.”

She smiled back and squeezed my hand.