Remember a year ago when I broke into Omar’s new Portland
apartment and decorated the place while he was away on business? I purchased
for him two throw pillows for his black, Craigslist sofa. As most men folk take little interest
in throw pillows, home good stores tend to offer such products only in a
variety of girly colors and prints. I was disheartened to see a wall of pillows
boasting only floral patterns and sewn-on rinestones.
I immediately snatched up the only masculine pillow I could
find; a medium-grey feather pillow made of a canvas-like material. Subtle and
manly. I thought, searching for one more to make a set. There was no second
grey pillow to be found and Omar’s dingy Craigslist couch could not pull off
an asymmetrical pillow display. I needed one more. I searched and toiled over
this decision. Royal blue or a deep maroon?
Too cheerful. Too drab! and then I saw a green pillow. A green pillow that I thought would make almost
no statement. It wasn’t dark enough to be the green pillow of a mysterious
man’s library nor was it happy enough to live in a gay man’s sunroom. And most
of all, it was almost the exact shade of green as used in the Palestinian flag.
The flag of Omar’s homeland that hung proudly on one wall of his living room.
So I bought that green pillow too, a very comfortable down-pillow covered in masculine burlap.
I brought my loot back to Omar’s new home and I plugged in
lamps, hung pictures, and thoughtlessly tossed those pillows onto the sofa.
When I picked Omar up from the airport and drove him to his apartment, I hopped
out of the car and followed him up the stairs. I was excited to see his
reaction to his new place.
“May I help you? he asked pleasantly as he put the
key in the door. He stopped and looked at me. “I’m doing great!” I said,
grinning awkwardly and letting small giggles bubble up in my throat. Omar gave
me a look of concern and then swung open his front door.
Omar was elated. He loved where I hung his pictures and was
excited to have a bedside lamp. “I’ve never even had a bedside table before!”
he told me. “And to have a lamp on it! You’ve made my house a home!” he shouted
and he ran around opening drawers and turning on lights and giggling and then
suddenly he stopped.
He stared at his sofa. Omar folded his hands together and
held them under his chin.
“Hey bubba?” he asked me, “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” I said.
“That.” and he let go of his hands and pointed.
“What?”
“That green pillow.” he said professionally with a smile, as
though he was preparing to give an employee some constructive criticism.
“What do you mean? It’s a pillow.” I said with concern.
“Bubba.” he said cheerfully. “I hate it!” and he looked at
me expectantly as though he’d told me he loved it.
I smiled back at him. Confused.
“That color! It doesn’t match anything in this room.” he
beamed “Why would you buy that pillow?”
“It’s the same as your flag.” I said through clenched teeth,
a friendly smile across my face.
“Not even close! They’re totally different greens.” he said
joyfully.
I reminded him that I went to art school and got an A+ in
color mixing and so the friendliest argument that ever was took place that day
in Omar’s living room.
From that point on, Omar avoided the green pillow. I
noticed it in the corner every time I came over and I would pick it up and put
it back on the sofa. When I came back from the bathroom it had been tossed on the
floor. When I returned with a glass of water it had been stuffed under the sofa.
Omar would bound towards the couch with glee and in the same
motion managed to toss the pillow from the sofa, settle in, and have no
expression on his face that suggested anything was abnormal about what he had
done.
About two months ago Omar called me on Skype. He had moved into a new
place and was giving me the tour. As he panned through his new living room I briefly
saw the grey pillow in a bar chair next to a stack of boxes. We chatted for a
while and I asked him where the green pillow was. A look I’d never seen on confident,
professional Omar spread across his guilty face.
“They’re still at the other place. I haven’t moved them
yet.” he said.
“Omar Muhummad Abdulhadi. Why are you lying to me?" I said calmly
“No bubba! I mean it!”
“The grey pillow is on your bar stool by the kitchen.” I
told him. He looked up with concern, spotted the grey pillow and let out a
blasting nervous laugh.
“What have you done!” I shouted. “What have you done!! You
threw it away!”
“I did not throw it away.” he said with such conviction that I knew this was true.
“You gave it to someone! How could you give such a special
pillow to a complete stranger? I bought you that pillow. I made your house a
home!!” I screamed.
“I didn’t! I’ll go get it. I promise. It’s at the old place.
I’ll go get it tomorrow!” he pleaded.
The expression on Omar face made me laugh and made me
nervous. We hung up the call without him ever convincing me that the green
pillow was actually obtainable. I’d never seen this bizarre reaction from such
a perpetually doubtless and cool-headed person. I thought about this strange
encounter for a few days, when a box arrived on my doorstep.
Inside were lots of things from Omar’s recent trip to Jordan
for his brother’s wedding. Middle-eastern
candies and trinkets, a t-shirt, and he even threw in the socks they give you
on the airplane. I rummaged happily through this box, munching on candied almonds
and making out my name in Arabic when I saw it. Stuffed down in the very bottom
of the box, mashed into an unnatural shape was the green pillow.
When I spoke to him he said that he had just gotten back
from mailing the box when we skyped that day and I asked about the pillow. “You hadn’t
mentioned that pillow in months.” he said. “It messed with my mind!”
He told me that he had been thinking and even though he had just mailed me the pillow he
wanted it back.
“I didn’t expect it to be such an ordeal. Now it’s a special
pillow and I want it back. It’s got such a great story!”
I told him that the pillow is going to live with me now and
that we don’t need him to be happy. Last week I mailed him his favorite apricot jam
and the following picture book.
