Flash Fiction
Khair is a 17-year-old Junior at Westend Grove High School. He is the eldest of four children and his mother’s pride and joy. Daveed, his father, is a 36-year-old artist from Marseille, France, and his mother, Taya is a 39-year-old marketing executive from Long Island, New York.
They live in Dix Hills, a suburban community on Long Island.
When your parents seem as though they have it all together and you have yet to decide which college you want to attend or what you want to do with your life, the weight of it is heavy.
He has carried it for at least three years — struggling to breathe and walk in the skin he inhabits. His brother and two sisters look up to him — they envy him.
But he does not feel as though they should envy him. Anxiety wells up in his body with each passing day.
Where will I go? Who will I be? What will I do? Ma knew she wanted to crunch numbers and pitch to multiple million-dollar companies when she was in junior high. Dad’s been an artist since he knew what watercolors were. What is my purpose? Where do I fit?
In the dead of night, those words crowd his mind — putting his brain on pause to everything else, even sleep.
I like tinkering. I like taking things apart and putting them back together again. I’m the best at tackling the Ikea furniture, but I don’t like math. So, no to engineering. I love astrology — the stars and their alignment with this universe. I can map anywhere we need to get to geographically, but I hate traveling — so no to being a professor of astronomy or geography. Damn it! Why am I like this?!
Khair lets these words pummel his mind into submission and another morning arrives without his eyes closing for at least two hours.
His day begins without him.
“Ma. Lemme ask you something, please.”
“Go ahead, son. You know you can ask me anything.”
“Is there something wrong with me? Aren’t I supposed to know what I want to do and which college I’d like to attend by now? Why do I have so many things I am good at, yet I can’t pin one down to figure out which one is the best for me?”
Taya stands back on the balls of her feet — balancing herself gracefully as she sips her superfoods decaf coffee before she speaks to her eldest son.
The sunlight kisses the blinds perfectly. Light glitters her face just above her eyes. She breathes in a worried sigh and says . . .
“Son, there is nothing wrong with you. You’re 17. You are dealing with growth at a level many will never experience. You’re advanced in all your courses, and you’ve spent hours exploring this world at a pace some scientists cannot fathom. You will know when you know. And then, you’ll know. You get me, son?”
Khair, with a puzzled look on his face, stares at the warm smile that covers his mother’s face, and doesn’t feel relief — but he won’t tell her.
“I get you, Ma. I get you.”
Daveed is not a worrier. He leaves the hard problems for Taya to handle, yet he has a way with his children that often keeps them coming to him for advice. He makes himself available every single time.
Khair tiptoes near the entrance of his dad’s studio and taps lightly on the door. Daveed signals for him to enter and smiles gently.
“Dad, you gotta moment to help me with something about life?”
“For you, my guy, I have several moments.”
Khair blushes. No matter how old he gets, he’ll always love when his father says, “My guy.”
“I don’t know myself. I don’t feel like I have a purpose in life. I don’t know what I want to do or what college I would like to attend and time is slipping away from me, and — “
Daveed cuts his son off with one hand raised mid-way to the air.
“My guy . . . whose timeline are you on? What’s going to happen if you don’t figure it out by the end of this year or even next? Nothing crucial, I assure you, Mon gars. Respire, juste respire.”
He breathes in deeply as his father advised — letting his chest rise up slowly and then down. He closes his eyes and inhales once more, then exhales.
“Thanks, Dad. I think I know what I want to do. I even think I know what college I want to attend, too. Love ya!”
Daveed looks at his son and nods in his direction approvingly.
“Je t’en prie, Mon gars. Je t’en prie. I love you, too.”
Khair opens his laptop, selects his favorite internet browser, and researches, “self-care consultant, As he reads each line of what he knew was his calling, the burden of not knowing who he was slowly faded away.
A Cornered Gurl 
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