Orange is the new Black

"Put on your shirt and move to the yard." She barked at me before moving on. I could hear her heavy boots echoing off the stone floor as she move away from my room. My room. What a joke. I meekly got up. The temperature was in the 90's and without air conditioning, I had preferred to stay in my undershirt. I found my shirt. Orange. Ironic now that I think of it. It had all started with another orange shirt.

The first day of summer and time to kick back. College was over and I was starting my first job. I was 22, had a new job, a new apartment and a new ride. Fine. Lightly used second hand ride. But still all mine. What more could a girl want? Life couldnt get any better. I had moved to Boston for a position with a new start-up located in Cambridge and I loved the city already. Growing up in small town, I couldnt wait to get away. College had been in another slightly larger town. But now I was here. In Boston. After work I would walk along the banks of the river from Cambridge to Boston. Home. On weekends I would hang out at coffee shops. Reading. Sipping coffee and just enjoying being there. Life was quite good. As the days flew by, I started noticing some things. My earlier wardrobe, although perfect for my little college and my smaller hometown, somehow seemed a bit tacky here. Everyone in Boston seemed fashionable. Uber chic, my former college roommate had warned me. And so at the end of the month, flush with funds from my first month's salary, I decided to go shopping. Prudential Mall was glorious. I walked around browsing through the shops. Saks was not my style. Well frankly my style but a bit out of my budget. I tried some of the other shops and soon realised that I wasnt really flush with funds. And if i wanted to pay the rent and eat this month, I would have to set my eyes a bit lower. I wondered if there was a Marshalls in town and soon confirmed there was one about 10 blocks away. Not a bad day for a walk, I reassured myself and walked to Fenway where Google had assured me was a huge Marshalls.
A half hour later I found myself standing in front of Marshalls. A quick walk through Marshalls and I knew this was clearly my style. Well Nordstrom had been but a shopping spree at Marshalls would still leave me flush with enough to live sensibly on for a while. I could make do.
I loved walking through the aisles, browsing the stylish clothes- tops, jeans, jackets, skirts. This place had it all. I wondered what I should get when I spied the huge bold red clearance sign above a row of black shirts. Mum always told me black was the best colour one could get. Slimming, casual as well as formal and perfect for any event and weather. I started looking through the selections they had. I could probably get a couple of black shirts and skirts. Then perhaps a couple of white or cream shirts to mix and match it with. Then perhaps a few blue jeans to complete the wardrobe. I would get the rest at the sales on 4th of July or later in the year. I selected a couple of black shirts to try on, when I heard his voice.
"Orange is the new black. I think you might like this one better?" a deep masculine voice interrupted my thoughts.
I turned to see him standing there. 6'2" tall muscular, athletic fellow with jet black hair and dark brown eyes with a sheepy grin on his face. He had a stubble- only a day old at best. He wore a tight white t-shirt and boot cut dark blue jeans with dark brown leather shoes. The shirt seemed a bit tight or maybe that was the look he was after- showing off his muscles. a testament to hours spent working out at some local gym. He was carrying a black leather jacket and a pair of aviator sunglasses were precariously perched on his slick black hair. A liberal amount of gel had been used to achieve what they call the wet look. I could smell a hit of some fruity cologne. A college boy. Perhaps a local. He was holding out an orange t-shirt for my benefit. My eyes flicked to the collar and realised that he had my size right. Hmmm. How long had he been looking at me? I wasnt a stranger to pick up lines but this one had a rather unique approach. I couldnt help smiling.
"I think this might be your size, no?" he asked me with another grin. I noticed that he tried quite hard to speak with an American accent but traces of his original accent remained. He raised his eyebrows as I hesitated and then casually placed the shirt on the row of clothes that separated us. I hesitated for a moment and then thought- what was the harm in trying the t-shirt. I wasnt compelled to buy it even if I tried it on. I flashed him a smile and then picked up the t-shirt. I walked to the changing rooms and tried it on. Then on an impulse, I opened the door and walked out of the chanign room. He was standing there  a few aisles away. He saw me walk out and smiled.
"Looks good on you, Miss?" He asked me in the most casual way.
"June. June Marshall." I said by way of introduction.
"Please to meet you, June. June Marshall." He said in his faintly accented tone. His formal usage left me in no doubt. He wasnt born here. Probably a foreign student at one of the colleges. I noticed that the lanyard bearing the name of one of local colleges was dangling from his back pocket.
"I see you are a student here, ..." I trailed off...
He smiled and nodded. "I am Yusuf but my friends call me Yossi. Seems easier for them to pronounce. I am here for a masters degree in architecture."
We shook hands. I excused myself and finished trying on the rest of the clothes. I would get them all. They fit so well and would work out really well. I changed back into my older clothes and emerged to find him gone. I looked around for a bit but he wasnt there. A bit diappointed, I went to the cashier to pay my bill. She looked up at me and said," Oh your boyfriend paid for everything. He was so sweet. You are a lucky girl." she gushed. I was a bit stunned. I managed to protest that he wasnt my boyfriend.
"Arent you June? June Marshall?" She asked me.
I nodded like a fool.
"Oh did you two have a fight?," the cashier asked me with pity. "You should forgive him. He must be really sorry. Such a nice boy."
I looked at the older woman in front of me. I couldnt see a wedding band. She must have been in her fifites, I remember thinking uncharitably. No wonder she was so taken by him. He seemed like a charmer. A Casanova or flirt. Might even be a rapist. I had heard of stories of such "kind" strangers. I thought of leaving the clothers there. But what good would they do. I could pay for them but then again what purpose would they serve. I collected the receipt she offered me, hardly hearing what she was saying and walked out of the store. I looked around. But there was no sight of him. Anywhere. People on the street walked by completely oblivious to what had taken place. Why should they care anyways? I waited there on the sidewalk for a good half hour. I still dont know why. What would I do if he showed up? Pay him back probably. But then again he could be the sort parents warn their little girls to stay away from. Not that mine had had the opportunity. Orphaned at five thanks to a drunk driver, I was brought up by my kind aunt and uncle. When I started showing signs of maturity, my uncle had also started taking a keener interest in me. I was glad to get the scholarship and leave for college. I had not gone back since. I wonder if my aunt understood or saw through my feeble protests. She did not insist on me coming home after the first two years. When I received the letter I was shocked. Breast cancer had finally claimed her. She had wanted to see me one last time before she passed away but true to form I had made a feeble excuse. Exams. I missed her. Her husband had tried to coninve me to return home at the funeral. Initially I had considered it but thankfully wiser sense had prevailed. I took a few keepsakes and moved on. The tenous link with my childhood and the last of my living relatives had been severed with her passing. She had left a letter for me though. Her wisdom condensed into two and half sheets of handwritten love. Her handwriting was already unrecognisable, Weakness and wasting, our family lawyer had told me. She had left me her jewelry. Unconsciously I touched the antique silver heart that I always wore on thin silver chain. Hers. I still remember her advice. "Look beyond the surface. Things are not always what they seem at first glance". It was probably for the best that I did not find him waiting for me. Ah well. Time to leave. I had other things to do. I doubt I would ever meet him again, I remember thinking and left for my apartment. Not in this big city of millions of people. I could probably have a light lunch and then finish that book I had been reading. Not a bad start to the weekend. I walked slowly back to my apartment and spent the rest of the weekend relaxing and lazing at home.
I wore the orange shirt on Monday. Everyone at work loved it. My new wardrobe was a hit. I beamed. I wanted to thank Yossa or Yusa but I couldnt even remember his name. No matter. I doubted I would ever meet him again. This town was so crowded. In my college everyone knew everyone or so it would seem. Hardly surprising considering the entire town and the college had numbered less than two thousand people. Most of whom had grown up in neighbouring towns like me, so it was to be expected. But Boston was different. Home to more than four large colleges, each one with a student body more than three times the size of my entire hometown. I went about work for the rest of the week in a great mood. My boss seemed happy with me and my work. There was talk of an early promotion as well. I beamed.
The weeks flew by and I had forgotten about him and his generosity completely. Weekdays were pretty much the same. Work. Home. Sleep,. Repeat. The weekends were glorious though. I still roamed around Boston and Cambridge at the slightest pretext. The Charles river was a particularly favorite haunt of mine. And then I discovered Boston Commons. I loved going there with a book, a small picnic bag and spending the day there. Summer was almost over. I could see the students trickling back into Boston. Nothing could have prepared me for the throng of people I saw there. The weather seemed to get a bit more chilly as well. I took advantage of every opportunity that I could get to spend in the sun, soaking in the warmth.
I still remember that day clearly. Like it was yesterday and not a year ago.  Saturday. The last Saturday of August. It was still a bit sunny and so I had opted to spend the day at Boston Commons with a book and enjoying the sun. I went there right after breakfast at 10. The walk was just as beautiful as the first time I had taken that route. I dont think I will ever tire of these beautiful buildings and this city that I now called home. The park was quite crowded that day. I had expected it to be. The temperature was perfect. I found a spot on the little hill in Boston Commons and spread my towel out in between a fat man with a huge dog enjoying a hot dog and a couple of school girls enjoying the last days of summer. They flashed me a smile as I lay down and found my book. I smiled back and then found the page where I had stopped the previous evening. It was quite an interesting read. A book on the history of Buddhism and evolution of Buddhism from its early history as a reform movement to counter the corrupt practices that had crept into Hinduism. I liked the parallels that the book drew between origins of Buddhism and Protestant sect of Christianity. A co-worker had recommended the book and I was glad I had listened. Soon I was lost in the book. The writer had such a lucid writing style that I completely lost track of time. I was at a critical juncture in the book when I found something block out the sun. The weather forecast had not mentioned rain. I looked up wiht a bit of annnoyance to see a man standing there. I could not make out his features at first. The sun was too bright. As my eyes adjusted, I saw him grinning.
"Hello. I am Ali. How are you?" He asked me in a lightly accented voice.
"Fine. Thank you. Would you mind not casting a shadow over me? I was trying to soak in the sun." I said with a touch of annoyance.
"I am sorry." he said without noticing my tone. "Its just that our frisbee has landed in your bag. Please could you help us out?" He pointed to my bag. I glanced towards my feed and noticed the bright ornage green frisbee sticking out of it.
"Of course." I said feeling a bit sheepish. I retrieved the frisbee and handed it to him.
"Thank you. I didnt catch your name, Miss..?" his voice trailed off. I introduced myself.
He thaned me again and ran off to join his friends. For a while I watched him walk away. He was cute and his accent was quite adorable. I couldnt help myself  and smiled. I had just started to read my book again, when I felt another shadow.
"Ms. June Marshall, I presume?" I heard a familiar voice say.
I peered out from behind my book to see another dark face framed by the sun. After my eyes adjusted, I could see a familiar face but I cuoldnt remember his name. The same slick black hair and sunglasses, with his white t-shirt and bermuda shorts.  He was grinning down at me. I tried to sit up but last my balance. He helped me up.
"How have you been?" he asked me. As I struggled to find words, he turned and shouted to his friends.
"It is her. The lady I met a while ago. Come say hello to June", he turned to face me after he had finished gesturing with his left hands waving his friends to come over. I was standing by now. Feigning to be a lady.
"I ...I wanted to thannk you..." I started to thank him for his generous gift.
"Oh it was nothing. Nothing at all." He flashed me another smile.
"I was hoping we would meet again. I am sorry I had had to leave in a hurry that day. A friend needed some help a few blocks away. By the time I got back you had already left. Kismet. Fate." he shrugged.
"And fate brings us together again?" I said remembering an old Arabic proverb. I had realised that he was from the middle East. One of my friends from college, in fact the only foreign student there, was from the middle East. She had introduced me to their culture. And that expression. A look of surprise flashed on his face but he recovered quite quickly. He shook my hand warmly. By this time, his friends had come over. He introduced me to them. I noticed that he did not mention how we met. Only that we had run into each other. a while ago. Ali turned out to be his cousin. Ayesha another cousin. As it happens all of them seemed to be related to each other although the degree and the exact relationship was something I couldn't quite wrap my head around. I realised that the concept of family is quite different in other cultures. My friend Haseena had never said much about her family. And so I had never realised how strong family ties were in other parts of the world. As an orphan, I had never known about these things. A pang of guilt stabbed my heart. Usually did whenever I saw other happy families. Memories of my aunt came flooding back. I really aught to light a candle for her sometime. I always made plans to do so but never seemed to get around to them.

I pushed these thoughts out of my head as we chatted casually.  They were all students here. Yusuf or as he insisted I call him Yossi, was starting his second year in a few days. Ali had just graduated and was working with a local consulting firm. Tanzeel or Tony had been here for a few years. He was a fifth year doctoral student working on his thesis. He seemed quite interested in my book. I soon found out that he was working on the socio-cultural impact of Islam on the modern world, especially focussing on the impact of the rise of Islam on other religions. The destruction of the Bamiyan Buddhas was a part of his thesis as well. He was fascinated that a reform movement had established itself firmly as a new religion and spread far and wide.
"You should probably set up an appointment and discuss these things at leisure. Ali wont stop talking if you indulge him thus. the implications of ...." Ali said playfully jabbing Tony on the arm. We started talking and soon I felt a familiar rumbling in my stomach.
"Ah where are our manners." Ali said apologietically. "Shall we go grab something to eat?" The others in the group nodded. I tried to protest but soon gave up. We walked over to Chinatown to a dumpling place that I knew of. They seemed keen to try the place.
We sat down to eat and soon were feasting on a variety of dishes. The conversation was just as varied.
"Do these contain pork?", Ayesha asked me in between mouthfuls of a rather large dumpling.
I froze. Of course they did. And Muslims were forbidden to eat pork. I didnt know what to say.
Tony and Ali burst out laughing. I tried to stammer an apology. Ayesha and Yossi smiled at me too. \
Seeing my puzzled look, Yossi explained. "Its okay, June."
"I thought you...muslim...follower..." I tried to find the right words to say it but had made a complete diplomatic fauz pax. Try as I might I did not know what to say to correct my folly. The others did not seem concerned at all. Finally Ayesha spoke up.
"Oh you guys are horrible. June its okay. We are not supposed to eat pork. However there are some situations in which we can. Besides many of us in the West dont adhere to these guidelines. I didnt know it was pork when I ate it so its okay" And sure enough she reached for the last one on the dish and promptly popped it into her mouth.
"If I must commit a sin then I say do it right." She said in a glee-filled voice. The others made signs in the air to ward off evil or something. I couldnt help myself and burst out laughing. Clearly our perceptions of Muslims is so wrong I remember thinking. After lunch we parted but not before exchanging numbers and making plans to meet up soon.
As I walked home, I felt happy. For the first time. Happier actually. I finally had found friends.
The summer turned into fall quite quickly. We all met often. They seemed to like me. I gave their group authenticity, Ali used to quip. Now they were truly American. We discussed everything. Religion. Politics. Movies. Music. Fashion. Concerts.
We would hang out quite often. The five of us. The Famous Five, Yossi used to say. The best part of it was Ayesha. She and I would go do girly things while the boys played on their PS3. Shopping. Manicures. Pedicures.It was niec  Ayesha and I loved going shopping. We were roughly the same size and had similar tastes. It was nice to hae someone to share things with. A little sister. She was a year younger than me. But that hardly mattered to her. She loved bossing over me. I didnt mind. It was nice to have someone like that in my life. Someone who loved me so much. Time flew by and soon winter was upon us.
Although winter forced us to spend more time indoors, our friendship still bloomed. Even in the absence of the sun. Since we could not spend time outdoors, we spend more time at Ali's house. They decided to experiment with food at home. The cold did not bother me but my friends found it unbearable having grown up in warmer climes. Being indoors I soon discovered wasnt so bad. My friends turned out to be excellent cooks. Food,.to me, had always been sandwiches or a salad. They taught me about the use of spices and making curry or what I called curry anyway. They used to laugh at me when I used that word. And they loved to teach me. Especially Ali. He had a natural pedagogical streak.
We spent long hours discussing movies, religion and more. He was rather cute and nerdy. Yet he could be so playful and naughty. I found myself falling for him. It happened one evening,. I had invited them over and we spent a fun evening -  cooking, eating, drinking and playing charades. Finally, at 1 in the morning we called it a night. That inspite of Yossi's protests for continuing through the night. Charades had been a lot of fun. But Ayesha kept nodding off and Ali, the silent brooding academic, put his foot down. Tony and Yossi reluctantly gave in and called a Uber (taxi) to drive them home. They would drop Ayesha off on the way home. Ali stayed back to help me clean up. I protestedbut feebly, for in truth I was hoping we could spend some time together. And so it was. The others left and Ali and I started doing the dishes. I could not afford a dishwasher and so did all my dishes by hand. He dried and restacked them while I washed them. He was much quicker than I was and soon we found ourselves working side by side in my tiny kitchen. Our soap covered hands touched and then on an impulse I kissed him. I was shocked at my impulsivity. What was he thinking? I was about to apologise when I found his lips pressed against mine. My eyes grew wide and then slowly I closed my eyes as he put his arms around my waist and I put my soap covered arms around his neck.
Soon we ran out of excuses for not telling the others. And so three months later, we decided to tell the others over Thanksgiving. I did not have a home to go back to and these were the only family I had left anyway. I cooked for two days straight. Ali tried his best to help and with his and the help of Google, I managed to throw my first Thanksgiving dinner. It was quite a success guessing from the sounds Ayesha, Tony and Yossi made. Finally over apple pie when everyone was half comatose from the sugar high, we told them.
"Allah be praised.", Ayesha squealed. "Took you two long enough." Our miss know it all gave the others a look. The boys were laughing.
"Yes." Yossi finally managed. "We were wondering if and when we should tell you both that all of us knew."
"You guys thought you were so smart, eh?"" Tony said holding his stomach in pain as he laughed. Tony and he were rolling on the floor. I remember turning a bit red with embarrassment. Ayesha immediately jumped to my rescue.
"Cut it out, you too. This one might end up being your sister-in-law. Show some respect." she said in a mocking tone. That seemed to sober them up a bit.
Ali took me in his arms and gave me a soft kiss on the forehead.  I blushed a bit more. This was all so new to me. A boyfriend. Friends. Family...
"Get a room, you too." Yossi said in his best American accent throwing his napkis at us. Ali caught it and threw it right back at him.
"This is the room. Beat it you three." He retorted. We all laughed.
I think back to that Thanksgiving and wonder if we would ever have those times again. Good times never seem to last, no matter how hard we try.
Soon Christmas rolled in and I was bullied into getting and decorating a Christmas tree for them. They loved the food and presents that I got them. I thought my sweaters from Marshall's had been extravagant but I was so embarrassed when I opened his gift. Ali got me a beautiful diamond tennis bracelet.Ayesha had remembered this beautiful pair of Jimmy Choo's that I had admired when we were out shopping a few months ago.
"You might have to wait to wear that though." She told me in her old lady voice.
Tony and Yossi had bought me a French Cook book. They rubbed their bellies when I opened their gift.
"You will never leave the kitchen if you marry Ali." Ayesha said with a naughty wink. Ali smiled.We spent the rest of the day playing games and eating. They loved to eat and enjoyed life so much. New Year was truly memorable as well. I got my first kiss at midnight. Truly magical watching the ball drop and being kissed by the man I loved. Time flew by so quickly. The winter had been particular bad that year but I had hardly noticed. I dont even remember when winter turned to summer and we were able to go back out again.Playing in the park, going for walks down by the Charles river, explore the Massachusetts countryside. It was truly beautiful. Or was it because of the company I was in? I could never tell. And just as quickly it was over.
Patriots day was always big in Boston. Apart from the connection with the war of American freedom, that day was also the day of the marathon. Yossi, Tony and Ayesha had opted to spend the day outdoors watching and cheering the marathon runners, while Ali and I had the rare day off. We decided to stay indoors and watch a movie. I had wanted to see Holiday for a while and he picked up a copy on his way over. That and a couple of bottles of sparkling white grape juice. He loved that drink. I poured us a glass each and threw together a platter of cheese and fruits while he fiddled with my old laptop. I did not have a DVD player but Ali assured me that he could connect my laptop to the small television. Alas I did not have a port or something on my laptop. So we had to settle for watching the movie on my laptop. I didnt mind, curled as I was on the sofa, with my head on his lap. Life was truly beautiful. And then it ended. With a phone call.Well not even a phone call. Just a text. One of Ali's friends was at the race and had seen his cousins get injured. Ali tried calling Ben but couldnt get through. We tried calling Yossi, Tony and Ayesha in turns but got no respnse. All our calls were forwarded to their voicemail.  During one such call I noticed our drinks had gone flat...the bubbles that Ali loved were gone. I wondered aloud if we should go over to the race. Ali, who had been watching the news, shook his head. For the first time, I saw fear in his eyes. He tried to smile at me but...It took me a few minutes before I connected the dots. He was brown. 9/11 was only too fresh a memory and had occurred in a city barely 3 hours away. I tried to cmfort him but he justkept trying to reach his cousins. A few hours later, I realised that our friends would probably be in a hospital and so started calling the hospitals. No news of them. I left my name, phone number and address at each hospital in case any of them showed up there. We kept praying that they would call us with good news. A few hours passed by and then calls started pouring in. Not from the hospitals but from worried family members. Ali moved to the bedroom to speak to them. We had not turned off the news since we had received Ben's text. I kept trying to call them. Hoping and praying that one of them would answer. Nothing. Soon I found that their voicemail inboxes were full, preventing me from leaving a message. Worried relatives no doubt. The news kept replaying the images from the race. The carnage was horrifying. How could anyone do this? Inhuman. I collapsed on the coffee table when they flashed the first images of the dead and injured. Were my friends among the injured? I hoped so. The worst thoughts ran through my head. I could hear Ali trying to reassure his relatives in Arabic.
BANG! BANG! Bang! "Open up. This is the Police." I heard a clear shout. I got to my feet slowly, fearing the news that surely awaited us on the other side. Th news of my my friends. I stopped on the way to the door. Should I call Ali? No. Better if I heard it first and then broke it to him gently. He had not emerged from the bedroom and I could still hear this voice on the phone. As I stood there, I heard and felt the crash as my door was blasted open with the force strong enough to throw me off my feet, over the coffee table and onto the sofa.
"Show me your hands. Show me your hands" I heard someone scream. My sweater had been torn from the force of the blast. The glasses on the coffee table had cracked and a piece had opened a gash on my fore arm. My ears were ringing. I could hear their voices but was disoriented. I tried to comply but felt it hard to move. My muscles were screaming. Black clad men were storming in through the open doors. Or what remained of my front door. Time itself seemed to have slowed down. I watched as one pointed his gun at my face while another fumbled with my arms. They had me pinned on the sofa. The very same sofa on which a few hours ago, Ali and I had been watching the Holiday. My eyes fell on my laptop. The screen had cracked completely with spider web like cracks spreading from the site of impact. It lay on the floor now.
"What are you doing? What..." I saw Ali rush into the room trying to make sense of the situation.
"No. No..." I tried to warn him.
Twoo twoooo. I watched as he stopped midstride and was knocked back into the bedroom. Tears sprung to my eyes. Had they really shot him?
"Base command. Base command. This is Unit two..unit two...we have a man down...Shot twice. Dispatch an ambulence to...."
I passed out.
When I came to, I was in a cell 10x12 feet. There was a chair and a table there. I still felt numb. Where was Ali? Was he still in the hospital? My arm had been stitched and bandaged. No one answered my questions. Blank stares were all I received. One of the guards was an elderly African American woman. 6'2" tall and well built. She looked at me but refused to answer me. Did she look at me with pity? Why had they barged into my house like that?
Forty eight hours passed by and still no answers. Food and water was left for me at regular intervals. I had no appetite. There was no airconditioning. I took off my shirt. Orange. The same one that Yossi had bought for me. Poor sweet Yossi. Where was he now? I still did not know. Or Tony. Or Ayesha. Dear sweet Ayesha, with her dark brown bewitching eyes that could melt the hardest of hearts. Where was she now?
I kept trying to ask my captors but they would not say anything to me. I begged them for news. Any news. Even my black guard would not say a word. I tried appealing to her maternal instincts but to no avail. I felt that I was going out of my mind. I tried to exert my rights as an American citizen. Nothing.
I had lost count of how long I had been there and finally fallen into a fitful sleep.
Clang! Clang!
I woke up with a start. She stood there. The black guard. "Put on your shirt and move to the yard. They are waiting for you." She barked at me as she opened the door. I could hear her heavy boots echoing off the stone floor as she move away from my room. My room. What a joke. I meekly got up. The temperature was in the 90's and without air conditioning, I had preferred to stay in my undershirt. I found my shirt and quickly put it on.I hurried after her. I would finally get some answers. I followed her past many other cells. The inhabitants looked at me with envy as I hurried past their cells half afraid that a guard would stop me from leaving, claiming a mistake had been made. I tried to question my guard but received no reply. Out in the yard, I saw  a man and a woman waiting for me.
"Ms Marshall, we would like to, on behalf of the police force and the city, apologise for the terrible ordeal...." I sank to the floor. I already knew what was to come. I have vague images of them helping me to my feet, into a gray car and driving me out of that drab gray monolith. They helped me out of the car and into my apartment. Where once had stood a beautiful heavy door now was nothing but a few lines of yellow tape. Police lines, home. I sat on my sofa while they told me everything.
Ayesha, Tony and Yossi were close to where the bombs had gone off. They had not survived the blast. The police had thought that this was an Al-Queeda suicide bomb attack and they were the members of the death squad. When I had called after them, the police had sent a SWAT team to arrest what they thought were the rest of the death squad. Perhaps this was not a suicide bombing but rather a planned bombing that had gone awry. They had been caught unawares by the bombings. Things were chaotic. They had followed up on any and all leads. When they barged in and Ali had emerged. They thought he had a bomb remote trigger in his hands.  Ali had been shot dead. I looked around my apartment and could see the chalk outline of where he had fallen. Only the feet were in the drawing room. The rest of him lay inside the bedroom. I wondered if he had suffered. I wondered if the others had suffered. I could still see their smiling faces. We had had dinner here only last night. No..no..not last night but ...I didnt even know how many days or nights had passed since I had seen them. I only knew that I would never see them again.
I felt a sqeeze on my shoulder and looked up from behind a veil of tears into the face of the female police officer.
"Again...we are very sorry. This would never have happened." her voice trailed off..." If you need anything. Anything at all...here is my card. Please call us." she said kindly. I accepted the proferred card.
"Ali Jones, Detective Ali Jones" I read. Was fate mocking me? Kismet is a strange thing, I remember Ali saying in his soft deep voice. How I longed to hear that voice again.
I watched them duck under the yellow plastic cordon. and leave. My tears dripped onto the card and made the card wet. The tears would not stop.  Their footsteps grew fainter as they left...leaving me with my grief. After what seemed an eternity, my tears stopped for a while. I must have emptied my tear glands completely. Tony and Yossi- gone forever. Dear sweet Ayesha would never boss over me....Ali...my Ali...my love would never hold me. Never caress my hair. never kiss me....I looked up half expecting them to burst out of the wood works laughing at my gullibility. No...that would never happen. I would never see them.
After a long time, I started to realise what lay before me. I needed to organise their funerals. They deserved that at the very least. They were not criminals. They were decent people. I had to speak to their families. My family now and ...What would I say? Did I have something appropriate to wear? Did they wear white or black to funerals in their home?
I looked down and saw my t-shirt. Orange is the new black., " I could hear the familiar voice say in my ears. Along with voices of the others. I sank onto the floor from the sofa as tears sprung unbidden from my eyes again as memories and images flooded my mind again. Orange is the new black.