The Bird's Nest

The Bird's Nest

Rima is bored with Saturday cartoons, so she gets up and walks into the kitchen. The counter is covered with baking sheets, a sack of sugar, pistachios. " We're going to bake today?" Rima asks. After a week at school learning English, it feels good to speak Arabic. " Tomorrow there will be a bake sale, " Rima's mother explains. " Bake sale?" Rima asks. " What's that?" " We refugees will bake our favorite sweets from home, " her mother says. " Americans will come to buy them. "

This time last year, when Rima was eight, home was a tent among many other tents. The year before that, home was the side of the road, a storm-tossed boat, a stranger's basement. It was wherever they happened to lay their heads at night.

When Rima was six, though, home was a house in the country of Syria. Home had a big window in the kitchen where black- and-white-tailed birds came to roost. It had a carpet in the living room that smelled of honey and flour. It had a bedroom with a perfect view of the moon.

Now they live in an apartment in America, and her mother speaks in a hushed voice whenever she mentions Syria. War came to Syria long before they left, and it has only gotten worse. They are never going back. There is nowhere to go back to.

Her mother opens the refrigerator and pulls out a box of dough noodles. Rima grabs some pistachios and begins to chop them. They haven't baked together in forever-and they are making bird's nest baklava! When they are done, the pistachios will sit inside the dough, just like little eggs in a nest. Rima begins to hum an old song she loves from home.