Free The Blackberry Bush by David Housholder Page B

got here, but she looks more American than I do, and that gives her advantages I don’t have.
    She’s kind of funny looking and wears big men’s watches. Her hair is a mess. But I really like her. We both love painting and complaining about our clueless parents.
    I’m not a U.S. citizen, since I wasn’t born here. But I’m not Pakistani either, because I’ve never even been back there since I moved here when I was two. In fact, I have no memory of Pakistan at all. And my Urdu is awful. I usually answer my parents in English. Being Muslim has been so hard for my parents since 9-11.
    My cousin Saahir is the smartest one in the family, and he says we’re going to be fine and that peaceful and generous people always prevail in history. Our parents are trying to get a chain of convenience stores going. Saahir was born a grown-up. They already are starting to ask him what they should do. His English is perfect, and he understands computers and money. He goes to the library to read the newest issues of The Economist. What a nerd.
    Anyway, Kati and I were painting a mural on an underpass a few months ago with the school group, and we started laughing about our parents. But then she got sad after impersonating and making fun of her mom’s Dutch accent.
    She took me home to meet her grandfather, who kissed Kati on the forehead when she came home. He seemed genuinely interested in me. Some of the older men in my family don’t think girls are worth talking to about important things. My brother gets all the attention in our family. Some of my male cousins get rough with me.
    My parents argue about whether they should arrange a marriage for me. That’s exciting and scary at the same time. Saahir will be able to marry anyone he wants—by that time he will be in charge of the whole extended family.
    Kati’s mom came home later on my first day at their house and gave me that look people give Muslims. It’s hard to describe. But it makes me feel like a bug.
    We’ve started hanging out together. Kati’s and my favorite place to eat is the Blu Jam Café on Melrose, where we split the warm mushroom salad with gorgonzola cheese and spicy pesto. Having parent trouble gives us so much in common. I am also interested in what she and her grandfather do at church. Kati loves to talk about the music there and the kids she teaches.
    Kati walked me to my home after that first mural-painting day—we live kinda on the same block—and we talked for hours. We both realized we have it harder than most girls, and we understand being from somewhere else with stories no one here knows about. What I love most is hearing her tell about the Walter and Nellie love story.
    In our driveway, she said she had only made-up friends (not sure what that means) and would like to be friends with me. She seemed nervous asking.
    Not sure why, but that made me so happy. Kati “gets” me. In any case, we both love to paint.

    I NTERESTING HOW TWO PEOPLE can see their own—and each other’s—worlds as so different and so infinitely more intriguing and significant, isn’t it?
     
     
    1944
Rotterdam City Hall
Holland
    “H OW CAN YOU BE SO GOOD TO ME ?” Nellie asks Ruud as they sit on the steps of the massive city hall. She’s in a spring dress and wearing her signature sunglasses and heavy makeup to hide the bruise from her mother. He’s in his best gray prewar suit, a little big on him now. Everyone has lost so much weight during the War.
    They have just gotten married in a small civil ceremony. No reason to call attention to their questionable situation.
    Nellie and Ruud have known each other all their lives. Before the War, this kind of glorious too-warm-for-spring day would have been perfect for ice cream, which they’ve shared together many times as children. It’s been so long, they can hardly even remember what ice cream tastes like.
    Just yesterday Nellie had shown up, homeless, at Ruud’s door. Tomorrow they will leave on bikes for Ruud’s