The Mrs

Last night, I remembered a very bizarre episode from my childhood.[see part II]

I can’t be sure, but I think I was about 12 years old when my parents decided that Tehran was too dangerous and we temporarily moved to a smaller city until the constant barrage of missile attacks on Tehran would end.

I was very happy about this because most of my friends had done the same or had left the country all together. Besides, anyone who was a child at that time will tell you that even though we were living in stressful times, it was a lot of fun. School was out mid year and we were going on vacation. It was especially cool since we left Tehran with lots of cousins. Our caravan of cars slipped out of the city at midnight.

Once we arrived at our destination, all the kids went wild. There was a big baagh. We could pretty much do whatever we wanted. For the first time in months, our parents were some what relaxed and we were free.

One day, as I was playing soccer, indoors, with 2 of my boy cousins, a distant family member decided to join. I’m guessing he was probably in his mid to late 20s at the time. I’d never met him before because he didn’t live in Tehran.

Why not? The more the merrier. We let him join the game.

It didn’t take long for soccer to turn into a one on one fight. He was taking it way to seriously and as his opponent I was getting attacked constantly. These attacks were peculiar because they resulted in me falling flat on the ground desperately trying to catch the ball, and with him (mardeh gondeh) on top of me.

The first couple of times I didn’t even notice it. We were having a good time. On the third try, he slipped his hand in my shirt. Oh Shit. I let him catch the ball and I was kind of shocked. Did what just happened really happen?

A few minutes later and on some false pretense, he got me to sit on his lap and he attempted to feel me up again. I was in an awkward situation because my 2 cousins were in the room and totally lost in their own game. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to sit there or get up and leave. Staying would be uncomfortable and leaving would mean I’d have to join some other game or the adults. For both options, I ran the risk of having to give some kind of explanation about where my other cousins where and how come I didn’t want to stay with them anymore. Worse yet, what if he picked one of them to play with?

It didn’t take long for me to get bored and disgusted. I was old enough to know it wasn’t kosher. It was quite embarrassing because at 11 or 12, you’re not a little kid who sits on anyone’s lap. I left the room. Screw the other cousins, be man che.

Later that night, a bunch of us were playing in the living room and the guy decided to join the game again. Only this time, the adults were scattered around and hanging out after dinner, and our kiddie soccer game had a lot more players.

As soon as he joined, I got a sick feeling in my stomach and moved next to my brother. He came and stood right next to me. I thought to myself: “martike az roo nemire”.

We started playing and I managed to avoid him. Next thing you know, there was a black out and the lights went out. It was pitch black. He came right behind me.

I had 2 choices, wait to see what he would do, or strike back.

I couldn’t go anywhere and my parents were scrambling for candles. I did the only thing I could get away with. I said in a rather loud voice: dast bezani, ye chaki mizanam ke mesle elaamieh bechasbi be divar.

The room went silent and no one said a word. I was lucky because there were a lot of relatives there and not everyone could easily guess who had said what to whom. The lights came out and the guy was no where close to me.

I’m not sure what happened that night but I guess the adults were probably excited with a possibility of very naughty gossip.

I have no hard feelings toward this guy and I’m sure he’s a decent person who was probably very starved. I wonder how he remembers the incidents.
[see part II]