Tehran nights
Part 1: My clothes were gone, my suitcases were gone.

February 28, 2007
iranian.com

PART (1) (2) (3) (4)
"Ding!" Said the noise dispenser above my head, as it woke me from my dream and threw me forward. "Passengers get ready for landing. Please be seated and fasten your seat belts. On behalf of World Air, I'd like to thank you for flying with us and we wish you a safe trip to Tehran."

"Lover," I nudged him. "Get up we're almost here!" I whispered.

"Where's my scarf? I can't find my scarf. It was right... over... over... got it." I pulled my black Chanel scarf over my head. Brought the ends of the triangle fold I had made, together for a knot, and another knot, and one last one just to be safe. I had to make sure that my scarf would stay in place. I've had plenty of dreams in which I have forgotten to put on my mandatory head scarf before leaving the house. There must be some deep psychological reasoning for it, I'm sure. I'll call Dr. Adler, my therapist as soon as I get back to DC.

I lifted the airplane window cover and took in the view of the land that I actually have cravings for when I'm not there. Mmm... I could almost smell the polluted air already. The metropolis of Tehran had the most magical glow. As it always does during the midnight arrivals, most European airlines tend to favor when flying into Tehran. My usual shotgun on the window seat gave me ample room for some familiar eye candy.

"Isn't it beautiful?" I asked Rob.

"It's definitely beautiful, I am mesmerized already, can't wait to get to your mom's place and eat" He said.

"Ladies and gentlemen, prepare for landing," the pilot said over the loud speaker as we stared out of our tiny window together, hypnotized. Here we go, I thought to myself. I opened my eyes and I looked to my right, and there was nobody there then I looked to my left and again, no sight of Rob.

"Yes, thank you. Thanks very much. Yes, I love it here, it's very beautiful." A loud voice said speaking in slow English, as if trying to communicate with a mute. "Yes, I love Iranian food. Sure, I'll try one."

It was Rob's voice coming from the main dining-room. It must have been pretty loud for it to have traveled all the way through the white marble hallways that lead to that area of my mom's penthouse. Last I checked nobody in my family was deaf, so naturally I decided to get dressed and go and join the festivities. I was starving and felt the need for chocolate in my tummy. I needed to get dressed and find something to eat from the kitchen. I looked over at the couch in the corner of what used to be my room when I lived here some years ago. It was also where my travel clothes and suitcases were last night. My clothes were gone, my suitcases were gone.

"Shamsi!!!" I yelled immediately at the top of my lungs. "Shamsi, come here right now!" I continued, as I got up and put my pink robe on.

"Knock. Knock." Presumably Shamsi was at my door. "Come in please," I said as I stood there with puffy lips from overindulging in much needed sleep the night before. "Yes, Madame?" He inquired as he walked toward what used to be my closet.

"Where are all my clothes?" I said with a voice that was noticeably sleepy sounding, but was making an effort to be heard. Then my eyes began to itch. Which lead me to start my sadistic eye-rubbing ritual. Such a sacrament can evidently put one in such a state of trance, that the pain of the pressure from your finger onto your eye, can start to feel good. So, you keep rubbing, and rubbing... until like me, you end up worse off than when you started. By the time I was able to see past the high in contrast yet colorful kaleidoscopes I see after a good rubbing session, I regained my sight. I saw that Shamsi was now gone and my closet doors were left open.

As I stepped further into my closet I noticed that everything had been put away for me, color coordinated just the way I like it. The set up of the closet definitely emphasized the presence of all my haute-couture goodies. This made it easier for me to get dressed during my stay, since everything was now visible in my closet. Including my new Fall 2006 collection green alligator-skin Gucci stilettos. They never looked better next to my limited-edition black and white snakeskin Christian Louboutin sling-back sandals, from the summer collection of course.

Mr. Shamsidelli, or Shamsi as we call him. It's a short version of his last name. He has been working for our family for as long as I can remember. In fact, I believe his father was also the main maid for my maternal grandparents as well. Shamsi and his wife have eight kids, five of which are under the age of fifteen and still living at their home in Karaj, a town on the outskirts of Tehran. So, Shamsi sometimes brings the older kids from his stock to help him out when my mom has guests or visitors. Ah, the comfort of help abroad, I thought to myself triggering a big smile to spread across my face.

Right then Rob came back into the room, wondering what I had been yelling at Shamsi about.

"Uh... well, I just wanted to ask him a question, yeah um, a question."

I couldn't tell Rob that I had screamed at a sixty-something-year-old man to tell me where my clothes were. Rob's so considerate and kind; I'm afraid to show him how mean and cruel I can be as a person sometimes. It's bad enough that he gets to see what an unkind, bipolar-inclined, and unreasonable individual I can be at least a week and half out of every month. Yes, I'm admittedly horrible during my "cycle" but I'm not on my cycle, am I? Oh jeez! I am. Ok. No problem. I'll wear my True Religion jeans that are a little loose so that I can keep the smile on my face for the remainder of the day, hopefully.

"Lover, are you going to get dressed or are you going to just stand there?" said Rob.

"I was just trying to figure out what to wear ok? It's not like I'm abnormal or something, to want to just stand here and stare at my closet," I retorted irritably.

"You're on your cycle aren't you?" He said with a look that was both sweet and funny. I love that about him, he always finds humor in my faults. "It's ok, get dressed and I'll get you some pain killers. Your mom, grandmother, and cousins are all on the patio having breakfast. I heard that the cook has made freshly squeezed orange juice especially for you. Your mom said that your other grandmother sent a car for us to take us to her house after we have breakfast here. Your mom agreed to it, on our behalf. Because she's planned a major renovation project for the main dining room, starting today. So, come on baby get ready."

He gave me a kiss on my forehead as he headed into the bathroom to grab the pills >>> Part 2
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