Love Thy Neighbor

I know Ahmad from day one as my neighbor living in an awkwardly adjacent old apartment probably the most ancient in the center of Beirut with our bedroom windows facing each other absurdly too close making the only possible view our respective sleeping area and the inevitable "good morning Ahmad" a daily ritual one could not escape.

I know Ahmad from that old noisy and packed with awfully smelling children yellow bus where 3 years older than me he voluntarily acted as my guardian angel and defended me from those bad older kids who had nothing better to do than hit on younger frail students like me on that twice a day tedious journey to a hope for a better education and fro.

I know Ahmad from his sister Zeina whom at the age of 13 had already the looks, shape and assets of a young beautiful woman with whom I had experienced my first sensual encounter and simultaneously developed with the exclusive knowledge and consent of her brother our primary steps of lovemaking in a world where we both found happiness but sadly drifted like any two pure things eventually do.

I know Ahmad from the early days of civil war when my dad taking into consideration the religious conflicts that nobody really felt but all deeply feared decided it is time we move from our house of so many generations into a new area at the west side of the country where people of our faith now belonged and Ahmad was there to help pack, carry, load on trucks our possessions with apparent tears in his eyes and mine.

I know Ahmad from the long phone conversations we used to have when after we moved out I’d call in an attempt to hear Zeina’s voice again but end up enjoying a conversation with her brother telling me about the recent changes in our neighborhood, the new grocery store around the corner or some local basketball game that ended with the usual fight reminding me of our cheerful night walks back home after such a joyous event.

I know Ahmad from the red zone in the heart of the capital during the heaviest days of war where we both were but each from his side with sometimes less than 100 feet apart behind sandbags trying all day long to protect our so called beliefs and prevent one another from gaining more grounds, yet still stealing rare quiet moments between gunfire and shelling to shout greetings to those phantom voices we sometimes recognize.

I know Ahmad from June 8 1987 when after extensive bombing to secure the area my commander ordered our troop to attempt a takeover on what was left of a building strategically situated not so far in the enemy zone to which we entered ever so fiercely and I took up my position waiting for a movement for about the longest 5 minutes of my life until suddenly a shadow passed and a scream of agonizing death followed my rifle shots.

I knew Ahmad, he was a friend, a brother...a casualty of war