Dreaming in English (41 page)

After she says this, Judge King makes eye contact with Ike’s mother and sustains it, and oh, my God, this is a setup! Mrs. Hanson knew this woman was our judge and she contacted her ahead of time and told her all her horrible stories about me, and then, to save her relationship with Ike, she wrote her meaningless affidavit and is pretending to like me and pretending to be sorry about my situation.

Let’s get this over with
, she said, knowing already what the outcome would be.

“It
was
love at first sight,” I say through gritted teeth. “And I do believe in monogamy. I believe in being true to the people you love.” I look at Mrs. Hanson as I say it. If she’s ruined my life here, I’ll tell Ike what she did with Jenna. I will tell, I will tell, I will tell. I will not let her get away with it.

Maryam makes big eyes for me to be respectful. Next to her, Ardishir gives me a worried look.

“Are you okay?” Ike whispers.

“Ask your mother if
she’s
okay.”

I’m shaking from my anger. Literally, shaking. Ike presses my hand. He’s very pale.

“Careful with your tone,” Mr. McGuire advises under his breath. “You’re not doing yourself any favors with that tone.”

I almost laugh.
No one’s
doing me any favors. “I’m not looking for favors,” I say back. “Just a fair chance.”

“Is there a problem here?” Judge King asks.

I look to Eva. She smirks: Screw this.

I think of my mother, who had so much to say in her own defense and was never given the chance.

And really, why am I always so nice to people who are horrible to me? Where has taking the higher road ever gotten me?

“Actually, yes,” I say. “There is a problem. There’s a huge problem.”

Behind me, everyone gasps. Ike squeezes my hand so hard he’s crushing it, so I pull it away. Why should I be expected to be polite, to keep silent, when I’m the one who suffers for it? This isn’t a fair fight, and when people collude against you and you figure it out, you shouldn’t have to pretend for one minute that these people are decent human beings, because
they’re not.

“I’m all ears,” Judge King says. “Tell me your huge problem.”

I’ve lost this hearing, and I know it. I lost before it even began, and some of it was from my own stupidity, and I accept that. But I won’t accept Mrs. Hanson’s part in it. I shouldn’t have to.

“Here’s my problem,” I say. Ike tries to grab my arm and stop me, but I stand and walk away from him, away from everyone. And he’s right. My knees are knocking, and my heart’s racing and I’ve made my sister cry. She sits silently, with tears streaming down her face. She thinks I’m ruining my chances, but what she doesn’t know is they’re already ruined.

“Who are you to judge if my marriage is for real?” I ask. “It
is
real. I’m telling you it’s real. Ike’s telling you it’s real. No matter who’s told you otherwise”—I pointedly look to Mrs. Hanson, whose eyes widen as she shakes her head no—“they don’t see what goes on behind closed doors, which is love. Very much love goes on between us, and not just behind closed doors—right out in the open, too! If you’d spend only one day with us, you’d see it.” I glare at Mrs. Hanson. “But you don’t. And yet still, you think you have the right to judge me.”

“Your Honor!” Mr. McGuire says, starting to stand. “You really—”

“Quiet!” the judge says, her eyes searing.

Stay silent, Tami Joon. Stay silent.
My grandmother said this when they brought my mother home from prison, and I’ve been silent pretty much ever since.

“I’ve been quiet my whole life,” I say to Judge King.

She raises her eyebrows. “You have more to say?”

I laugh. If she only knew!

I look to my tribe, the people who have made up my life here. Camille waves to me. Paige seems worried, while Ike’s other sisters appear stunned. His parents look horrified. I can’t even glance at Ike, but Rose’s face is fretful. My sister has closed her eyes and is massaging her stomach. Ardishir shakes his head like I’ve made a big mistake. My ESL friends watch expressionless. They are my witnesses. They know this is about more than just this moment. Eva grins at me and makes her fingers into the form of a gun shooting.
Bang
, she’s saying.
Go out with a bang.
This is why we all need an Eva in our lives—for moments like this.

I turn back to the judge.

“I do have more to say.” My knees aren’t knocking anymore. “I’m not going to stand here and ask for your permission to be free. That isn’t your decision. I
am
free. And I’m going to stay that way no matter what, because freedom is my birthright, and it isn’t negotiable.”

A glance to the defendant’s table reveals that my lawyer’s face is buried in his hands. Ike, however, now sits up straight, watching me with interested, admiring eyes. His are the eyes I love, and looking in them, I remember that my worst-case scenario—having Canadian hockey babies—is not so bad.

I smile at him, then turn back to Judge King. “Please, I’d like to tell you about this man I know.”

My lawyer tries again. “Your Honor—”

Judge King waves him silent. “I want to hear what she has to say.”

I follow her gaze to Mrs. Hanson, and there’s something missing in the air. An absence of evil, maybe, and it occurs to me that perhaps they
didn’t
conspire together beforehand, that maybe I’m the lone gunman, turning the weapon on myself.

All of a sudden, I’m pretty sure this is the case.

But, oh, well. I’m still standing. Maybe I’m bulletproof and just never knew it.

“There’s this man I know,” I say again. “This very nice man. I met him when I was still very new at speaking English, and he asked me, ‘Do you know, Tami, what are the three most important words in the English language?’ I said, ‘No, please tell me. What are these three most important words?’”

I smile at Ike. He smiles back.

“ ‘
I love you
,’ he said.” Ike nods yes, but with a smile, I shake my head. “This man is really smart,” I say. “But he was wrong.”

Ike smiles broadly at me, unsure where I’m going but trusting that it’s somewhere good.

“I. Am. Worthy,” I say. “Those are the three most important words: I am worthy. Everything follows that. By the simple fact of my existence, I’m worthy.”

I’ve thought about this a lot, lately. This is what’s wrong with the world, and this is how we make it right.

“Not everybody believes this,” I say. “Not every
country
believes it, and so it’s really—literally—a revolutionary idea. But if you look back through history—” I pause and look to my history-buff brother-in-law, who’s got great pride in his eyes. “
I am worthy.
This knowledge causes revolutions. It crushes empires, and I think it always will.”

Agata and Josef nod fervently. Maryam, too. They’ve lived it. They know.

I turn back to Judge King.

“This is why it doesn’t really matter what you decide,” I say quietly. “I have a life here. I have a husband here, a wonderful husband. I have a business, a sister. Friends. A niece, about to be born. I’m so glad my niece will be born in this country. She’s very lucky.”

I smile at Maryam. She smiles back, then grimaces. Another contraction. I better hurry up!

“But that’s all it is,” I say, turning back to Judge King. “Luck. She’s no more worthy than the thousands of babies born the same day somewhere else. I was almost lucky like her—I missed being born here by eighteen months. If my parents had gone to school here just a little sooner, I would have been an American citizen by birth, and then we wouldn’t be having this conversation. What I’m saying is: We’re all accidents of birth. It helps to remember this.

“Now, I’m going to live in freedom,” I say. “Will it be American freedom? That’s up to you. But you should know—my heart is here. Some of my history is here. I’m needed here, by a lot of good people. And I’ll be a good citizen. I’ll make America proud. It’s not that I don’t love Iran. I do. But I want ... I need ...”
What is it? What is it, Tami?
“I want my soul to flourish, to have the opportunity to flourish. And it can’t flourish in Iran at this moment in time. So, please. Use your power wisely. That’s all I ask. See that I’m one of your huddled masses who yearns to stand tall, and welcome me, if you can find it in your heart to do this. But you should know—I won’t be destroyed if you make me leave, because we are the stories we choose to tell ourselves, and one way or another, I’m going to get my happy ending.”

There’s silence when I finish—no roar of approval from my friends in the gallery like you’d see in the movies. They’re all of them, every single one, frozen with tension, terrified of what comes next. But not me. For once, I have no fear. I’ve already won.

Mr. McGuire sits at the table, waiting for a cue from the judge. Ike anchors the other end. The pride, the love, the conviction in his eyes are unmistakable.

Judge King tilts her head, considering me. “I’ve been a judge for a long time,” she says. “And I’ve never heard a speech quite like yours.” She pushes her chair back from the bench. “It’s an interesting question, isn’t it, what makes someone an American? Really, how often do we think about it? On days like 9/11, we pause to consider. We hear stories of someone’s grandson carrying an injured woman down thirty flights of stairs to safety, and we think about it. We hear of our firefighters going into burning buildings, to their certain deaths, and we think about it. Or we watch the Olympics, and our young athletes do us proud. We think about it then, when the American flag is raised at the medals ceremony, and when the anthem plays. Anytime our hearts swell,” she says. “Right? Anytime someone by his actions or his words fills our hearts with hope, or pride—that’s when we think about it. That’s what Americans do when they’re at their best—they fill others with hope.”

“That’s right,” I say. “America brings out the best in people. And America allows people to be their best.
That’s
what makes this country really special.”

Judge King takes off her bifocals and peers at me. “Usually, my job is not very fulfilling. I don’t get to say yes very often, but today ...”

Yes? Today what? Today you’re going to say yes? To me, you might say yes?
I’d said all these things for myself, and for my family and friends—I was pretty sure they wouldn’t make a difference to the judge. My heart, however, suddenly suspects they might have.

“You’ve filled me with hope,” she says. “And that’s saying something, because I’ve become a pretty cynical person over the years. Now, I don’t know if your marriage is going to last. You’re right—who am I to judge? I couldn’t even make my own marriage last. But I do have to make my judgment. I do have to rule on this particular case. And do I think you’re sincere? Yes, I do. Do I think you love your husband? Yes, I do. Do I think this country would be better with you in it? Yes, I do.”

She pauses for effect. My friends and family are on the edge of their seats, ready to cheer, ready to explode with joy. This is all sounding good, very promising. Ike has happy tears in his eyes, but not me. Not yet. Especially not when I notice that Maryam is still sitting back with her eyes closed, crying and shaking.

“Please, Your Honor,” I say to the judge. “This is too much stress for my sister.”

Judge King smiles. “If I approve this request today, it’s not the end, as I’m sure you know. If I grant you your residency today, it’s conditional. Two years from now, you’ll have to apply for permanent status. So you’re stuck with this guy for two years. Are you okay with that?”

My smile is so wide that my face hurts.

“I’m okay with that.”
This is a yes.
Somewhere in her words, I’m hearing a yes. “I’m very much okay with it. I’d like to be stuck with Ike forever.”

“Well, then ...” She winks at me. “I’m approving your application for residency.” She notes something on a piece of paper and then looks back to me. “Welcome to America, Ms. Soroush.”

I
ke reaches me first.

He grabs me and swings me around and squeezes me into a tight hug. “You did it! Tami—you did it!” He embraces me again and swings me around again, saying,
you did it, you did it
, over and over again, and I see Judge King slipping out of the room with a glance backward. Our eyes connect for one last moment and I try to say thank you, but Ike spins me too fast and the next time around, she’s gone.

Then the others are there, surrounding me, congratulating me. Rose is on the outskirts, and I reach for her hand and squeeze it. I can’t wait to have tea with her later and relive these moments a hundred times, a thousand times. This should be a movie, based on my true story, and we could sit on her couch together with Ike and watch it, eating our buttered popcorn and huge theater-sized boxes of candy. I wonder what the sound track would be? I suppose Ike, who has the right song for every occasion, should get to choose the sound track!

This moment
will
stand still forever—I’ll never forget it. I look for Ardishir, to thank him for the what’s-so-great-about-America speech he gave me at the airport, and there are Danny and Eva and Agata and Josef and Ike’s whole family and holding my hand is Rose, and there’s Ike, of course, but where is Ardishir? Where is Maryam?

I look through the crowd and see they haven’t moved from their seats. Maryam still sits, pale, shaken, and my heart pounds to see her this way. She doesn’t look good. Ardishir is kneeling beside her.

“Maryam!” I push through the group and start toward her. I sense everyone turning, everyone noticing, everyone stunned into silence. Right behind me is Mrs. Hanson, the nurse of my extended family.

“My water broke,” Maryam says. I’ve never heard such fear in her voice. “Ardishir?”