TRIANGLE
"It's so unfair,
she looks sexy even in death."
Millicent says, turning her small almond shaped eyes to me. She shifts uncomfortably in her long, tribal print dress and I wonder why she's picked today out of all days to flaunt her heritage. "They couldn't bury her in Saudi?" She asks herself this rhetorical question in a low whisper. We'd been standing there, infront of the whole staring congregation, for at least three minutes, which was a long time when you had a line of teary eyed international students and shifty eyed, nosy Christians wrapping around 50 pews.
"We should move." I comment to Milli, who nodds and puts one fleshy arm around me.
I say this, but I don't mean it. I stare down at Reehma's still body; my mind trying to connect with reality. I fully expect her to jump up and look me up and down, her wide, heavily lashed eyes judgementally disecting my outfit. Her mouth saying:
"Khadija, you shouldn't wear such things! Are you purposely trying to look like a slut?"
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One tear in a bucket, fuck it.
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