Abdullah knew what she meant, and he only chuckled. “Snow Falls is different. Most of us, we came from elsewhere. Whether it was from another country or another part of this big country. Maybe that’s what has helped us build community.”He winked at Maryam. “Plus, Snow Falls is very popular with movie folk. We film year-round, and that helps all the businesses. They like our small-town energy, but with the food selection and diversity of a big city. Just don’t tell anyone in Toronto, or they’ll ruin it for everyone.”
Maryam promised to keep Snow Falls’s secret. Saif chimed in, asking if there were any places they should check out while in town. Abdullah directed them to a historic theater that served as the town’s unofficial museum, as well as the local library.
Maryam used the bathroom before they set off, and when she returned, the men were speaking together in low voices. When he spotted her, Saif thanked Abdullah for the food and the information, and they set off.
“Did I miss something?” she asked as they walked in the direction of the theater.
Saif shrugged. “He was just filling me in on some of the town’s traditions. Let’s get to the theater—Abdullah recommended it highly.”
The sun was out, but it was still cold, and their breath fogged as they walked and chatted. He told her about his job as legal counsel for an insurance company in California, and entertained her with funny stories about the awkward CEO, who was obsessed with actuarial tables, and who had predicted the date of Saif’s death with supreme confidence as part of the interview process. She shared stories about working alongside her dad at the pharmacy, and their plans to expand beyond the local neighborhood.
“On the plane, you told Anna you wanted to be a writer,” Saif said. “You could have moved to LA, set up shop at a café, and lived an artist’s life.”
Maryam laughed out loud at the thought of herself scribbling in a notebook or writing in a café. “My parents would’ve loved that,” she joked. “They’d never hear the end of it from their friends.”
Saif stopped walking. “I wanted to be an actor,” he said abruptly.
Maryam blinked. “What?”
“I was a drama kid. I performed in community theater and took every drama class in high school. I even cut class in grade nine to audition for a few commercials. I never got any spots,” he said, smiling self-consciously. “I don’t think the world was ready for this,” he said, gesturing at himself, and Maryam laughed. Saif continued: “When I told my parents, they thought I was nuts. And maybe I was. Have you ever seen a brown kid on TV unless they were holding someone hostage?”
Maryam remembered watching some awful movie a few years ago, where the only brown characters were terrorists, or villains, or the helpless victims. There was a muscly all-American man there to save the good guys, of course.
“I’m so sorry, you’re missing your big chance to be part of a movie,” Maryam said.
“I’d rather be here, spending time with you,” he said. Then, as if realizing what he had just admitted, he smiled crookedly at her. “Besides, I have main-character energy. It’s protagonist or bust.” She laughed again and decided to take him at his word. Saif was an adult; if he wanted to be an extra on a holiday movie, he would tell her.
And she was enjoying spending time with him too much to encourage him to leave.
“I don’t regret going to law school,” Saif said now. Theyhad walked down another side street, and the theater was up ahead, a brown brick building that looked like an old church, complete with spire, steeple, and beautiful stained glass windows. “In the end, I wasn’t a very good actor. Still, at least I can say I tried.”
Maryam felt the sting of his words. “People who look like me don’t get to write stories,” she said.
They were on the front steps, and Saif paused before he pulled the large wooden doors open. His look was inscrutable. “And as long as we believe that, we never will,” he said.
They walked into the theater, the smell of musty carpet and furniture polish strong. The stained glass main doors opened onto a small foyer, and grand double doors led to the main stage. Maryam admired the prints on the walls as she considered Saif’s words.
Around her were framed playbills and group shots of past productions of various community theater troupes going back to the 1960s. A large sign proclaimed a meeting of the theater board in session, and she spied an advertisement for something called the “Snow Falls Holiday Hoopla” on Christmas Day. Maryam smiled at the wording—she had no idea what a Holiday Hoopla was, but knowing Snow Falls, it was sure to be special. She looked around for Saif, but he had disappeared inside the double doors that led to the main stage.
“Saif,” she hissed, following him, “they’re having a board meeting...” Maryam trailed off as she stepped inside the beautiful theater space. Inside, plush red carpet, stadium-style seating for three hundred, wood paneling, and a soaring ceiling with exposed wood arches lent the auditorium an elegant air. Infront, on a raised wooden stage framed by heavy red velvet curtains, a trio of people looked up from their table.
“Can we help you?” an older Black man with gray hair and a silk scarf tied around his neck called.
Maryam was about to apologize and drag Saif out, but he was already striding toward the stage. She hurried after him. They weren’t supposed to be here. Had Saif lost his mind?
“This is Maryam. She’s a writer from Denver, and she wants to help with the holiday play. Abdullah sent us,” Saif announced.
Maryam froze. What was Saif talking about?
An older white woman rose from the table and beckoned to Maryam with a smile. Why did she look relieved? “Thank goodness you’ve arrived! Our play could use your expertise, Maryam.”
“I’m not... I’m not a writer,” Maryam stammered, looking wildly at Saif.
“Don’t worry, we aren’t writers, either, dear,” the older woman said, and introduced herself as Celine. “This year, since Christmas, Hanukkah, and Eid are all falling so close together, we wanted to honor the tri-holidays. Unfortunately, one of our committee members, Abdullah’s wife, Salma, is sick with the flu. When Abdullah called to tell us about you, Maryam, we were absolutely thrilled!” The other two people at the table nodded in agreement.
Maryam had caught up to Saif now and pulled him aside. “What did you do?” she said, keeping her voice low. “We’re supposed to be extras on the movie set. I know you wanted to be there.”
“I’ll run back and tell them we got delayed,” Saif answered without hesitation. “Why not try something a little different? Maybe it’s time we write ourselves into the story.”
