Arabian Nights

I was 5 years old when my Mom and Dad separated. They didn't file any papers or go to court, but both of them knew this was the end. It was Dad's decision to leave. He got too caught up in himself and woke up one day thinking he was too good for the family. Mom said it was Mona's fault. Mona was a younger woman whose money made her attractive. She wore her hair short, and slicked back, always dressed in collared blouses and gold jewelry. She spoke with a guttural voice as if even sharing words with common folks was a chore she could easily pay someone to do for her. She made Dad feel special though. She saw something in him exploitable, vulnerable... profitable.

Mom was a famous opera singer. Maybe not known around the world, but to me she was the biggest deal since the Hawaiian twins moved in next door. She was a loving mother, who put up with a lot of shit from her kids, and although she'd bend over backwards for us, I couldn't help but feel as if she resented me. As a younger woman she'd be swept off to far away lands, performing for distinguished audiences in Buenos Aires at El Teatro Colón, for heads of state in Paris at the Palais Garnier and on frozen nights in Moscow at The Bolshoi Theatre. If ever there was a woman who was blissfully ignorant, it was mom. She had it all though, she was a shining star.

Dad grew up as his Family's star. They praised his every action knowing that he would be the one to put their name in the history books. He walked with an era of confidence and ultimately this is what brought him and Mom together. They were just kids when they met. He was 15 and she was 12. They'd sneak far back into the orange fields of the underdeveloped San Fernando Valley to hide their love from their friends. With enough hiding they eventually lost everyone but each other, yet each was completely content with situation. In secrecy is how they lived, for 5 more years to come. They were best friends and lovers, oblivious to the fate of tomorrow.

November 23, 1942, Dad was drafted to the war. He was 19 years old, 5'10" tall and 135 pounds. He tried to act tough, but he'd never been able to control how his lip quivered when he was nervous or scared. His lip quivered for the next 2 years. He was a gunner on one of the first marine convoys to occupy Japan. He survived and came home with stories galore of dining in the emperor’s palace, walking tall through the narrow streets while being admired as gods, and going from town to town, claiming each Japanese flag he came across. It wasn’t long after this that his relationship with Mona began to bloom, while my mother, my brother and I wilted in the heat of Studio City.

Mona fancied Dad because he was a poor boy success story with the jaw line of a Harvard man her mother spoke so fondly of. Even though he came from the wrong side of the tracks, he was clean, confident and recently crowned a war hero. She began pampering him. At first, letting him drive the families Rolls Royce, wining and dining him at Morton’s steak house and eventually introducing him to her father. Her father was an oil man. He had deep ties with BP and had already been to the Middle East on the hunt for oil. He took a liking to Dad and with ulterior motives, nurtured his intelligence. He encouraged Dad to get back into school, USC, and focus on linguistics. By the time dad graduated He was fluent in 5 different languages, the most important being Arabic. With his new found skills he quickly moved up in the ranks of his future Father-in-laws company, Aramco Oil.

By the time my father was 30, he was the VP of foreign drilling operations for Aramco. He had stayed with my mother, but also openly had a relationship with Mona. My mother hated her former best friend, and knew it was only a matter of time before he wiped his hands clean of the family. That time came when I was 5. My father informed us he'd be moving to Arabia, and he wanted to take his son's with him. 2 days later we were boarding a red eye flight out of LAX.  At the age 5, twenty hours on a plane felt like an eternity. I don't remember much except for the claustrophobia. The rounded cabin reeked of stale air and the buzz of the twin propellers was inescapable. It didn't take long for the anxiety attacks to begin. I kept thinking about my bed. Mom had just fitted it with cowboy sheets handed down from her sister. I closed my eyes and imagined I was still there. My only real comfort now was A.G bear. I rubbed his soft corduroy jacket against my cheek and fell asleep.

I woke up sweating. Our plane had been sitting on the runway for nearly 30 minutes awaiting a sandstorm to blow through. The air conditioner blew lukewarm air into my nose and made me feel sick. I sat up in the plane’s seat and looked out the window, my heart sank. There was no grass, no small houses with 3 steps leading up to the front door. There were no 55 Chevy's and not a single orange tree. When we finally got off the plane we were greeted by a woman named Hajar. She was the lead liaison between the offices in Los Angeles and Riyadh. She seemed to always be around and was extremely kind to my Dad. She would never address me, only my brother.

Life in Arabia always felt like a dream. Since our father was the VP of a company that promised to bring trillions of dollars to the Royal family over the next century, we ourselves were treated as royalty. The king and my father grew very close. We'd eat dinner with him nightly, play with his children and relish in the gifts he'd give to us. Back home we were nothing. I mean sure we had a reputation in the neighborhood, but as far as greater society went, we weren't even ranked. In Arabia I'd run around the palace in brand new Levi’s unconcerned with how tattered they became. Appearance meant nothing to me here. Everything was replaceable.

Shortly after we had settled in, Mona was flown in. I always felt uncomfortable around her. Her glare was cold and her touch would cause me to shiver. I hated how dad would look at her. His stupid eyes always pointed towards the floor while in her presence. He would shuffle around, neutral and feeble, waiting for her to make the next move. It was almost as if he feared her. I always wanted to say something, but continually bit my tongue. I missed my mom, and this hard woman was in no way a replacement.

After 5 years in Arabia we returned home. Mona and Dad dropped us off at some apartment Mom had rented and drove away to start their life.