Greetings

"Hi," The boy next to me smiles. When I ignore him, he taps my shoulder, the sand on his fingers getting all over my nice dress. I barely ever wear it, and this doofus ruins it the first chance he gets.

"Do you like dinosaurs?" He shows me a small plastic toy from the play pit, four-legged and spikey. I don't know what it is really - a dinosaur, I guess- but I like the blues and greens scattered all across it.

"I like that one," I try grabbing it, but the boy holds it above his head.

"No, it's mine!" Why is he even talking to me? Go away. Honestly, I'm in the middle of building my mermaid empire; I don't have time for this. Maybe one of Sparkly Seasha's attacks will scare him enough to run. It works against the evil Sharkian kingdom really well. Fast as I can, I pick up sand and throw it at him, hitting him directly in the eye. It wasn't what I was aiming for, but it gets the message across well enough. He screams and cries like all boys do when they don't get their way, and then runs to his Mommy. Again, like all boys do when they don't get their way.

"Roxanna!" Mama screams across the park. If that even was her. I'd never heard her sound so angry in my life, like the bad guys from the movies we watch sometimes. But she stomps over to me in a huff before picking me up off the sand by my arm, leaving my poor mermaids to fend for themselves, "Why would you do that?! Apologize right now!" She points, and I follow her finger to the little menace who got me in trouble, looking at me teary-eyed but expectant. I would even say smug.

His mother stands behind him, waiting for me too. The pressure is too thick, too callous, and I feel myself crumble under the weight. With gritted teeth and a silent decree that this boy has become my sworn enemy, I mutter bitterly, "Sorry."

---

"Hello, everyone, and welcome to kindergarten! I'm Ms. Mavel, your teacher this year," Our new teacher, Ms. Mavel, is taller than most adults I'd met. She writes what I assume is her name on the board in pretty curvy letters, dotted with a heart.

"I'm super excited to get to know you all better, and help you learn everything you need for first grade. But, before we get started, let's play a game!" Everyone cheers, loud and excited; I have to cover my ears. She giggles and thankfully quiets everyone down.

"I'll go around the room and you have to tell me your name and something fun about yourself. Starting with... you." She points to a boy in the back, playing with toys I'm sure he wasn't allowed to bring. He looks up and I recognize his ugly face from the park all those weeks ago. My sworn enemy. I never actually knew his name, now that I'm thinking about it.

The boy speaks soft and short, "Amil. I like dinosaurs." Then he goes back to playing like he hadn't spoken at all. The teacher tries to coax more out of him, but I've tuned out the conversation at this point. Because now, I know his name. Amil. My sworn enemy, the Vader to my Skywalker, the Facilier to my Tiana, the Witch to my Lion. I'll never forget it, and I'll hate it forever.

---

"Roxanna, spell delighted." Mr. Rockefeller stares at me, already holding the winning bee in his hand to give to me. It's down to the wire yet again, me versus Amil. He's gotten his word, change, correct, but mine is worth more points. If I get this right, I'll be the 3rd grade spelling bee champion. I can't, under any circumstances, let Amil take this from me. I take a deep breath, really feel the air push against my lungs, really feel it flow through my nose and spell, "D-E-L-I-G-H-T-E-D."

Mr. Rockefeller smiles, "That's correct." I turn to Amil, and we make eye contact. He's angry, red faced and on the verge of tears, and I revel in it. When we shake hands for SpOrTsMaNsHiP or whatever, he whispers, "I'm kicking your butt next time."

I smile, delighted by the challenge, "Go ahead and try."

---

"Good luck, loser!" Amil laughs like his idiotic friend said something clever, and like a total lackey.

"It's 'break a leg', dumbass! And I hope you break yours but, like, literally!" I try to ignore the way my voice cracks, but the boys' obnoxious laughter makes it hard to. Amil does pause for a second, studies me even, before pushing his friends out the auditorium talking about seven-eleven slushies. He gets them to leave so easily. He doesn't even look back. I wonder why they come to bother me at all if I'm so easy to ignore. Embarrassed, and more nervous than before, I find my seat and go over my audition one more time.

When I don't get the lead like I wanted, Amil sits with me and hugs me while I cry.

---

"And the 2017 science fair winner is... Amil Habib for his project: From Triceratops to Parakeet: How DNA links the past and present!" I cheer at the top of my lungs, like those embarrassing PTA moms. Everyone in the back stares at me like I've grown a second head, but I double down and scream even louder. After he gets his trophy - a shiny, golden atom - his friends rush him. I almost do, too, but I could see even from across the stage there was no room for me. I'm not sad about it. Why would I be sad to be wedged out of celebrating my sworn enemy? My rival in all things. I'm glad I'm back here, not making a fool of myself. I should go.

When Amil calls my name, I don't turn around, but I do stop. He wraps an arm around my shoulders and says, "Look, my trophy is shiner than yours." Even as he shoves his nicer trophy in my face, I smile despite myself, "That's just cause mine's older. It's about time you caught up. Congrats." His smile is so powerful, I almost forget who he is and who I am and what we are.

---

"Here." Amil passes me a note at lunch without saying much else, skittish and antsy, so unlike himself. He scurries off to his own table, where even from across the cafeteria, I can hear his friends caterwalling and ribbing at him. I almost throw the note away without even opening it, because what did he have to say that he couldn't say to my face? Ever since we were small, we never backed down from one another. Twelve years of competing, fighting, one upping each other, and through it all, we were fierce. Truly, our battles were legendary. For him to use such cowardly means? Maybe this is serious. I waited til I got home to open it, always one for a good reveal. Slowly, more nervous than I had any right to be, I read Amil's awful scribble: Will you go to prom with me?

---

"Yes, absolutely yes!!" Wow. Oh wow. Twenty years of knowing this wildcard of a man, twenty years of being sworn enemies, and now, we're engaged. Amil slips the beautiful ring on my finger - much more expensive than we could afford with emeralds and rubies swirling across the golden band - and spins me around the bonfire. Our friends clap and cheer, but it's all background to the sound of my fiance's - fiance's - laughter. He gingerly swipes away my tears and pulls me into a kiss, a feeling I've learned to love all over again. I pray for more kisses to come, I pray for this night to never end, I pray for tonight to be our wedding, ready now more than ever to spend what's left of forever with Amil. Amil. Amil, Amil. The name I swore to never forget, vow to hate forever. Little me would call me a traitor, but truly, even then I knew our lives were meant to be intertwined forever.

---

When Amil gets his Masters in Paleontology, make him another custom frame for his diploma. He cries like it's the first one I've ever made.

---

When I'm learning Arabic to read his Quar'an, I can't ask him for help because he'll go on tangents about the scripts. I know so much about the word now, but none of the language that tells it.

---

When I tell him I'm pregnant, he clings to my stomach that entire weekend before going back to work. He dotes on me for nine long months, stays with me for fourteen excruciating hours, and only holds our baby girl for minutes before he crumbles into tears.

---

When our daughter comes out to us, crying and holding the hand of the girl she loves - her Amil - we hold her and tell her she is loved. I watch Amil walk her down the aisle with pride and joy.

---

When Amil gets diagnosed with skin cancer at age 66, we sit on the porch of our old suburban house and watch the clouds go by. "Looks like I'll have the ultimate victory." He mused, "Going to Barzakh first. Sorry, my love, but you can't beat that." Even as he squeezes my hand as best he can, I weep silently beside him.

---

When I look into Amil's eyes for the last time, he smiles at me. I smile as best I can, but he studies me like he has all our lives, and knows my heart isn't in it. My heart can't withstand the funeral either, despite it going to so many. This one is different. Amil isn't holding me, comforting me by my side. He sleeps while our daughter and her daughter comforts me instead.

---

"Hi, Mama. How've you been?" Naima walks into my room, 267, with her two teens and wife in tow. Rosemary holds my hand and Yassir sits on the end of my bed, doing his best to avoid the wires. I can't answer her, so I try to will my love into her through eye contact alone. I think she gets the message, but I also think that makes it harder for her. One by one, the days pass by with my family and friends saying hi and bye. Naima's visits get shorter and shorter. My eyes can't see her like they used to, anyway. And my voice can't reach her like it had before. I understand. I'm not sad or disappointed or even lonely. I'm just waiting now until I can't do that anymore either.

---

When I close my eyes for the last time, I hear Naima scream for a doctor. Her voice is the last thing I hear.

---

When I open them again, I see Amil, smiling like the last day he held my hand. And then I blink and I see the man who walked my daughter down the aisle.

Blink.

The man who helped me paint her nursery.

Blink.

The man who taught me Arabic, the word of Allah with such passion.

Blink.

The man who earned three degrees, the smartest person I'd ever met.

Blink.

The man I married.

Blink.

My prom date.

Blink.

My childhood best friend.

Blink.

My sworn enemy.

---

There's a boy with sand between his fingers, a blue and green dino in his palm, sitting next to me in a sand pit. I stare at him, and he stares at me. The boy who's name I've never forgotten and have always loved hands me the toy I wanted all those years ago.

"Hi," The boy next to me smiles.