I took a sip, and felt my bones unclench. I took another sip, and my eyes drifted once more to the vandalized window, then beyond. Beautiful Yusuf stood outside his family’s store, carefully picking up the remains of a fruit stand that had been strewn across the sidewalk. Ugly words had been spray-painted on the sidewalk in front of the store. His father stood outside, hands on his hips. I had never seen Brother Musa so still. He was usually always moving, refilling bins, barking orders, talking loudly on his phone, scowling at the world. Now his face was blank with shock.
As I continued to sip the scalding-hot tea, my thoughts began to slow down. Mom stayed late almost every night at the restaurant. Sometimes she walked home after midnight, usually alone. What if she had bumped into the people who defaced our street? What would they have done to her?
I put the cup down and reached into my pocket for the crumpled flyer, staring at the thickly lettered words.MUSLIM PIGS. Whoever attacked the street the night before had been right. I was a Muslim, and I was bloody pig-headed.
“You used goldenrod for the flyers, right?” I asked Rashid, and he nodded.
I told him I’d be back maybe in an hour, maybe less if I hurried. Back with another thousand flyers on cheerful goldenrod-yellow paper, which I vowed to paste on every available surface of our street, of our neighbourhood, of our home.
As Rashid had said,Build a dam.
Chapter Thirty-One
Ibumped into Lily on my way out of the restaurant.
“Thank God you’re all right!” she said, throwing her arms around me. “Yusuf told me what happened.”
In her embrace, I started to shake. “I was late for my shift at Three Sisters,” I began.
Lily’s laugh was a broken sob. “You’re always late, Han.”
“I ripped down the defaced flyers on the other stores. Do you think that will slow the investigation when the cops come?” I was babbling, in shock.
She let go of me and reached into her pockets for tissues, handing me one. Dr. Moretti, prepared for every eventuality. “I’m pretty sure the graffiti and death threats are enough to charge someone with something.” She wiped her face, eyes skittering past the window of Three Sisters. “Where were you headed just now?”
“To print another thousand flyers.”
Lily’s laugh was buoyant in the quiet stillness of the street, and the sound made me burst into tears.
“Hey, hey, it’s all right,” she said softly, leading me to the side of thestore, to the alley where we kept the trash and where Lily, Yusuf, and I had played superheroes as kids. I had always been Catwoman because Lily insisted on playing Wonder Woman to Yusuf’s Batman. She was better at lassoing.
“Mom comes home late at night. She could have been hurt. They could have... People were posting things, but I never thought they would bring it to our doorstep...” I said between heaving sobs. Lily rubbed soothing circles over my shoulders and passed me tissues while I cried, murmuring comforting words neither of us believed, but which made me feel better anyway.
After a few moments I stood up. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Tell me what I can do to help.”
I looked up and down the street, at the defaced storefronts, the trash strewn all over the place, and nearly started crying again.
“I’ll organize cleanup,” Lily said decisively. “Go print those flyers.”
Rashid called while I was in line at Staples. “The police are here,” he said in a subdued voice. “They want to speak to you and Aydin about the downtown confrontation. I have already shown them the comments and threats we received online... I can’t believe this has happened.”
I knew my cousin felt guilty and regretful, but none of us could have anticipated the damage to our street. I felt partly to blame as well. I had promised Aydin and Rashid I would keep an eye on the online chatter, and I had missed the signs. Or maybe I hadn’t wanted to believe that people could be so hateful.
I paid for my purchase and drove home. Lily had rallied people to clean up, including Fahim, but it was slow work. I gave my statement to the two uniformed police officers sent to interview business owners on Golden Crescent, and then Rashid and I spent the next couple of hours stapling and pasting up flyers everywhere, twice as many as theprevious time. I anticipated that the media would show up soon to document the carnage.
It was late morning when we finished, and I couldn’t go home. Only a chocolate glazed doughnut and a too-sweet French vanilla cappuccino could make me feel better.
Mr. Lewis stood behind the counter at Tim Hortons. “How is everyone holding up?” he asked as he filled my order, waving away my money.
I shrugged. “How badly did they get you?”
The Tim Hortons had been left relatively unscathed, Mr. Lewis informed me. Just some ripped-up flyers and trash in front of the store. He smiled as he passed over my order. “Your cousin dropped off a stack of flyers, and I’m planning to put up a display. I’ll also be handing them out with every cup of coffee.”
My eyes filled with tears at his generosity. “What if they come back?”
Mr. Lewis walked with me to an empty booth. “My mother was born in Poland in 1932. Her family was Orthodox Catholic. She was nine years old when the Nazis invaded. Her family fled, saved by the grace of God. But they never forgot what happened to their home, and she told us the stories so we would never forget too.”
