Prisoner of Tehran: A Memoir (No Series) by Marina Nemat Page B

danced with Aram, the handsome basketball player who had asked her to get him a Coke when I had first met her. Neda’s perfectly tanned body looked beautiful against her white dress, and I noticed Aram whispering something in her ear that made her laugh. Most people were soon paired off, and I found myself standing alone in a corner, sipping a bottle of Coke. When it was finished, I busied myself by opening another bottle and filling a plate with potato chips. Song after song was played, and I ate so many chips my stomach hurt, but no one asked me to dance. Gita danced with Ramin, the big guy from the basketball court. His hands moved up and down her back. She was blushing. I glanced at my watch: ten o’clock. I had been standing there for an hour, and for all this time, no one had said a word to me. Feeling out of place, embarrassed, awkward, and sad all at once, I just wanted to get out of the room.
    The door to the back porch was only a step away from me. I opened it and took another glance around the room—no one reacted. I stepped outside. The half moon had spread its silver light over the sea, and the air was calm. I had to do something. Maybe I could go for a swim. Swimming always made me feel better. I had swum at night many times before. In the moonlight, the sea became one with the sky and turned into a warm, silver body of darkness. I stepped down the few steps that connected the porch to the yard and started to unzip my dress, but as I let it slide to the ground, a voice startled me: “What are you doing?”
    By a lawn chair in a corner of the yard, stood a young man with his hands covering his eyes.
    “You scared me!” I said, and my heart struggled to regain its normal rhythm. “What’re you doing hiding there?”
    “I wasn’t hiding! I was sitting here, on this chair, getting some fresh air. Then, along comes a girl who undresses right in front of me!” He seemed more scared than I was, which was amusing. He looked no more than sixteen and was still covering his eyes.
    “Have you put your dress back on?”
    “What’s wrong with you? I’m not naked. I have my bathing suit on. I’m going for a swim.”
    “Are you crazy?” he said, taking his hands off his eyes. “You’re going swimming in the middle of the night in those dark waters?”
    “It isn’t too dark; the moon is out.”
    “No, no! You’re going to drown, and I’ll never forgive myself!”
    “I won’t drown.”
    “I won’t let you go.”
    He had stepped closer to me, now standing about two feet away.
    “Okay, okay, I give up. I won’t go,” I said, pulling my dress back on.
    His large dark eyes looked at me from above slightly raised cheekbones. His small, somehow childlike mouth contrasted with his otherwise strong-featured face. He was about two inches taller than I and had very short brown hair. What caught me by surprise was the look in his eyes, which made me feel unique, special, and beautiful. His name was Arash.
    Now that I couldn’t go for a swim, I decided to sit outside. I sank into a comfortable lawn chair but was too aware of Arash. I could hear him breathe. After about ten minutes, he stood up, and I jumped.
    “Do you enjoy scaring me?”
    “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. Have to go. Don’t go swimming, okay?”
    “Okay.”
    I watched him walk away and enter the cottage. A minute later, Neda came out, called my name, and asked me to go inside; she was going to cut her cake.

    A few days after the party, I was riding my bike to the beach to meet Gita. There was some sand on the road due to construction, and I turned too fast. My bike slid to one side, and I fell. I managed to get up, but one of my knees and one of my elbows were bleeding. It was about two o’clock in the afternoon and far too hot, so the street was deserted. At least no one had seen me fall like that. As I was trying to get my bike off the road, I felt someone standing behind me. I turned. It was Arash, and he looked as surprised as I