The Turtle of Michigan: List 1

Outside in the big darkness, the giant tipped sliver of a crescent moon was rising over Muscat—the same quiet moon he and Sidi had watched from Sidi’s roof when they slept up there last week.

She opened her eyes a crack, saw the attendant beckoning him, and nodded. “Go ahead, habibi.”

The cockpit was full of one thousand buttons, levers, numbers, dials, graphs, tiny windows, and bright lights, some white, some green, some blinking. There were three pilots up there, actually: a captain wearing headphones, a copilot, and an extra pilot, who handed Aref a pin of golden wings and a piece of paper declaring him a first-time flyer with the details filled in about their trip, Muscat to Paris, and a place to write his own name, with the date.

Aref dreamed of odd things in Muscat he wouldn’t see for three years—the intricate balconies on buildings in Muttrah, the glass faces of newer buildings up toward the hills, the way they shone an unearthly green light at sundown.

Aref dreamed of odd things in Muscat he wouldn’t see for three years—the intricate balconies on buildings in Muttrah, the glass faces of newer buildings up toward the hills, the way they shone an unearthly green light at sundown.

His mom seemed anxious, searching for the right gate for the flight to New York City.

His mom was lugging a giant flowered bag of snacks, books, passports, extra shoes, and her purse. They walked up and down long terminal halls.

A man older than Sidi, with a billowing white beard, was wearing a black top hat, carrying a loaf of bread!

Their musical voices and delicious accents floated on the air. He tried to eavesdrop—there were so many languages he didn’t understand!

“We have to get our suitcases and check them in with customs before sending them on their way again,” said his mother.

There were two tiny birds, swooping side by side, then landing on the rafters high above them all.

“Look! They were flying around a minute ago, and now they are perched on that pipe, looking down on us!”

Staring out the long windows, he noticed how many trucks drove around at airports. Fuel trucks, luggage trucks, maintenance vehicles—most yellow, a few red—a whole world of trucks.

Aref wished he had worn his dress-up tassel around his neck to make his own self look more distinguished.

He was interested in the concept of the assembly line. If you did something so many times, you became an expert. Would it be boring or fun to work on one?

Riyad, one of his friends back home, wanted to design cars that looked more like little castles, with fancy rooflines and turrets on top.

Keeping notes and lists was still his favorite hobby. Right now he was happy it was a portable hobby.

From one article he learned Michigan also had the world’s largest cement plant and a very big limestone quarry.

How long was this flight again? He was impatient to see his father. He felt a little rumpled and silly.

Far north in the province of Manitoba, fluffy polar bears were living on the ice, and the ice was melting fast, so they better get there soon.

Dad drove slowly into town, like a tour guide, still jabbering and pointing things out.

“Here is a very nice grocery store. Oasis Grill serves excellent Arabic food....” but immediately after they pulled up in front of the Harmony Haven Apartments where they would live, something bad happened.

A giant clock on the wall was solemnly ticking away.

In three days she would have to have surgery to insert a metal plate with seven screws into her wrist. She would have to be put to sleep for a few hours with anesthesia.

There is a glass tank called a terrarium (I had to ask Dad how to spell this), set up inside my bedroom on a table, with a purple stone inside and a little plastic palm tree and a dish for water.

The soup tasted yummy and healthy. Tomato broth, green beans, fresh corn, barley...the biscuits were puffy and perfect.

One day Aref wrapped his mother’s old orange scarf around his head, making a turban, because his mom always used to do this herself when she did chores.

A little farther away was the Oasis Grill, serving stuffed grape leaves and hummus and tabouleh and bread baked fresh every day, and double thank goodness for that.

Aref’s father tended closely to his mother, waiting on her, changing the TV channel, bringing her ice water and hot tea.

Fruit bats had excellent eyesight. They used “echolocation”—the reflection of sound waves—to help them hunt for insects.

In Oman, the very ancient Bahla Fort, magical as a castle, way out in the desert, was constructed of brownish gray bricks on huge stone foundations.

What a lot of work it would be, stacking all those bricks, spreading mortar between!

Some buildings in Ann Arbor had green awnings over their windows and doors, which looked friendly. Also, the giant trees growing on almost every block were very appealing.

He bought Aref’s mother a red geranium, which she loved, and a small trowel and shovel for Aref to use.

In the breezes, their leaves sounded like rustling lullabies, another soft tune he tried to hum.