You don’t know your prayers, you don’t do your Arabic lessons, I called the police and the missing persons bureau, I had no idea where you went or...who you were with, it’s so terrible, and you dare try to hug me?”Mustafa fell back on the love-seat and held his head in his hands. He saw his mother as a caricature, a big rat embracing something too old, too ancient. His disdain for everything Arabic intensified this image of her, a large rat waving the flags of the crescent moon, not necessarily. “Just, what are u up to?” She looked under my desk, and saw my pants, down, around my ankles. She gave me a look of disappointment. “I thought u where a nice boy. Pull up ur pants.” I stood up, and she watched me, pull them up. My face was bright red. “I will have to tell ur mum, when she picks u up. What will she say?” I said, ‘Mum has caught me before. She says, ‘boys, will be boys’. As she buried her face, in tests, I bent down, and drooled, seeing right up her dress. I crawled, under her. More

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