Her mom sounded helpless over the phone when she called me for help.
I was the only one able to get her out that state;
When she decides to retreat into herself.

I went to her place.
Her mom greeted me and let me know that she was going to run some errands.
Until she was back, we had the house to ourselves.
Her and I.
The mother left, and I went to her bedroom that I knew well.
The door was closed, so I knocked and went in.
The room was in a terrible state.
Basically, there was nothing in the room that was in its place except for the window.

I walked carefully so that I wouldn't step on her clothes, or her scattered papers.
Dust covered the window and the dark curtain.
I made my way through the room using the thin beam of light that cut through the window’s dust and the curtain’s darkness.

In the midst of all this, my friend was on the bed.
She was in the fetal position under the covers with nothing showing but her feet.
Feet clothed in thick mauve socks to fight the winter’s cold.
I headed toward her and removed the covers.
She looked up with puffy eyes that sparkled instantly:
“You came!”

She reached out to me.
I sat next to her holding her.
She hung on to me in silence until I felt her tears wetting my shoulders.
I knew she missed this in her bones.

I took her out of the room to the kitchen,
And sat her on one of the chairs while I made us two cups of warm cocoa.
She sat on that chair, her eyes lost in space as if she was in a trance.
The way she looked would’ve ordinarily made us laugh.
If she weren’t in this state, that is.
She always told me that she looked like the Sayeda's beggars during these times.

Her hair was messy.
She wore a brown sweatshirt that looked mismatched with her black pants.
One pant leg hung about her knee,
While the other stretched underneath her left heel.
The mauve socks coupled with the pick slippers,
And those…eyes,
We have to face it: my friend looks less like a beggar from Al-Sayeda and more like a dervish from Al-Hussein.

I brought her a comb: “Fix the disaster on top of your head”.
She took the comb in surrender and “fixed the disaster”.
Yes, much better.

I gave her her mug and took mine.
We went out on to the balcony to watch the winter’s sun struggle to shine through the thick clouds.
We sat on the swing that always carried our laughter when we were young,
And is now carrying us when we’re older.

Neither of us spoke.
We were content with the slight swinging of the swing and drinking our cocoa in silence.
Our silence lasted for more than an hour, then I looked at her.
“What do you wish for right now?”
She looked at me with a slight smile.
“I want to go to heaven”.