By: Abteen Karimi

As I clutched my chest and stumbled into the dark Tehran alley, I knew something was dreadfully wrong. During my 2-month stay with my family in Iran, I had never felt very well. Until that point I had assumed it was simply a reaction to the virtually unbearable heat and pollution of the sprawling metropolis that is Tehran. As I felt the left side of my face crash against the hard brick wall of the alley, I slowly began to rethink my expert medical assessment.

I drew several quick, sharp breaths in an attempt to steady myself and perhaps ease the pain. Although I felt a little better as I slowly collected myself, it still felt as though my lungs had collapsed and my blood had turned to acid. I limped right towards the sidewalk, looking for a place to rest. As my eyes scanned up and down the street, I spotted a greenish brown mailbox. Although it was certainly no match for the comfy brown sofa at my uncle's apartment, it would have to have to do for the moment. I sat down next to the mailbox, pressed my head against its hard metal exterior, and let out a relieved sigh. That's when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her.

To this day, I'm not sure I could prove that it wasn't all a hallucination brought on by my condition. Somehow, I knew it was real. As I slowly leaned over to get a better look, I saw a young girl, about my own age. Her faded tee shirt and torn jeans could not have contrasted more greatly with her beautiful black hair, hypnotic blue eyes, and gentle smile.

I was so stunned that it took me a few seconds to realize that I was gazing at her like an idiot. She let out a small giggle that embarrassed me and warmed my heart at the same time. I came out of my trance and decided an introduction was in order. I mustered a smile, gently waved and mouthed a "hello" in Farsi, and introduced myself. She did likewise, but said nothing.

I was just about to open my mouth to ask her where she was from and what she was doing sitting by the street. After all, only bums like me hung out near the mailbox. However, as I looked over towards her I knew words would not be necessary. As she pensively stared at the mural of the Ayatollah Khomeini surrounded by tanks and soldiers, I realized what I should have known the instant I sat down: she was an orphan.

I remember reading somewhere that the United Nations had classified the Iran-Iraq War as "easily the most pointless and destructive conflict between two nations in the twentieth century". Looking at the rubble that had once been an office building, I doubted that anyone here would disagree with that assessment. The destruction of their homes, the loss of their families, and the economic thievery of the government had thrown many once proud people onto the streets. But it was still virtually unheard of to leave a young girl alone in Tehran. I could literally feel my heart aching as I realized that for this even to be possible, her father, brothers, and any other family she had would have to have been killed in the war. She was all alone.

Looking up from my morose thoughts, I couldn't have been more surprised at what I saw. She was nudging me with her elbow, and laughing hysterically as she pointed to the portrait of the Ayatollah on the wall opposite. I had to squint to see what she found so amusing: some clever fellow had scrawled a black mustache on the Ayatollah's face along with a humorosly obscene insult. I failed to understand what was so amusing about this until I remembered that the Ayatollah had a white beard about 7 inches long, and painting a small black mustache on his likeness would just be kind of..weird. I hugged her as I burst into laughter.

In the short time I had been sitting there, I had been so captivated by this girl's strength and beauty that I had totally forgotten about the grinding pain in my torso. The fact that this wonderful human being was forced to live this way made me far too angry to concentrate on my own pain. I was angry that she had to live like this while the hypocritical monsters that ran the country lived in the obscene luxury created by years of exploitation. More importantly, I was angry because I didn't think there was a thing I could do about it.

She must have sensed how I felt, because she placed a gentle hand on my cheek to comfort me. Her efforts succeeded fantastically as my anger dissipated to nonexistence. Although she never spoke, her eyes seemed to be saying, "It's all right. There's no reason to be angry. I'm not." I had to smile at that. Not only because of the meaning it had to me, but because it was all done without exchanging so much as a word.

I wanted to stay there forever. In the span of what could not have been more than an hour, I had found a human being stronger than any great leader, more beautiful than any fairy tale princess, and more profound than any poet. Although I did not know her name, later, in my own mind, I named her Scheherazade, after the legendary woman who enchanted the King of Persia for over a thousand nights. While the span of time was much shorter, and my greenish tie die shirt erased any illusions of royalty, I thought it was somehow very appropriate.

As much as I desperately wanted to stay, I knew I couldn't. I had promised my uncle I would be back in a few hours, and he would certainly be worried by now. I gave her the biggest hug I could muster, thanked her (she seemed to know what I was thanking her for), and said a humbled goodbye.

As I lifted myself up and began my walk home, I felt great. I felt as though a great burden had been lifted from my soul; and in many ways, it had. After all that girl had been through, she could still manage to be so happy without malice or anger towards anyone. I resolved that day to commit myself to reach that same joy that comes through forgiveness and love, and to do everything in my limited power to build a world where such understanding will be the accepted reality of every human being.