Middle of Everywhere - Mary Bray Pipher [17]
Jabha was the second-to-youngest sister. She was fun-loving, sweet-natured, and lighthearted. She had been born during a famous battle and named Jabha, which means "battle," to commemorate that event. However, Jabha was a terrible name for her, so she was nicknamed Meena. Meena always wanted to go everywhere and to do everything. She asked lots of questions and made jokes whenever she could. Her favorite word was "tasty."
Shireen was the baby of the family. She could have been a model if we allowed our models to be size eight and of medium height. Partly because she was in school, she was the quickest to learn English and to understand American ways. She was very focused on getting a good education. Shireen had a close relationship to her mother and was used to getting star treatment in the family. Even as a new refugee in town, she was poised and confident.
That first day we talked about buying a car. Thé sisters had only been here for three months and didn't have much money. All had learner's permits. Leila said they had three thousand dollars and wanted to buy a Honda or Toyota.
Later I called a friend who sold used cars. He said he would look for a good deal. I said Jim and I would contribute some money, too. Leila came with us to the car dealer. She wore a scarf and carried a big plastic purse. It was a bitterly cold day and she shivered in the icy Nebraska wind. She test-drove the car and listened as my dealer friend explained the warranty and the car's flaws and virtues. I thought we had a deal, but after I took her home, I got a call. To my surprise, she said in her heavy accent, "I went to the library and the blue book value isn't so good for this car you showed me." I marveled that Leila, in a foreign country, somehow knew to use a blue book.
The sisters eventually bought a car and I began driving lessons with Shehla, Meena, and Shireen. These driving lessons allowed us many quiet hours to talk. After we got through the harrowing first stages of learning to drive with a stick shift, on the right side of the road, and in city traffic, I became their cultural broker for jobs, education, and physical and mental health.
We started out driving on Saturdays, in parking lots and on empty streets. Shireen or Shehla would drive first, then the others. We laughed a lot. I kidded them about my hair getting grayer every time we drove, and we teased Meena, saying she would be a race-car driver because she skidded on the corners. Shireen and Shehla had practiced driving in Pakistan, but Meena started from scratch. She was nervous when the car jerked, died, and screeched. When Meena finally executed a smooth start, Shireen shouted, "You go, girl."
I noticed that Meena became anxious whenever we passed a speed limit sign. Finally, I asked her what made her upset when she saw these signs. She explained that it was hard to drive the car at exactly the speed limit, not one mile faster or slower. This misconception made me remember a Hungarian woman who thought that at intersections she was supposed to drive right under the red light and stop. Before I figured out what she was thinking, she almost got us killed.
Later the sisters practiced driving at the Department of Motor Vehicles. There were always other immigrants in the parking lot learning to drive in old beat-up cars. I pretended to be the examiner and said officiously, "Young lady, you have done very well." Even such a small joke elicited a laugh.
The sisters wanted to know how I became a psychologist and writer. They didn't understand how the different colleges in our city connected with the GED program. They were desperate to catch up. Meena wanted her GED immediately, but her teacher had urged her to be patient. I said, "Don't worry, Meena, someday you will be president." But she told me, "Only people born in America can be president."
We talked about what psychologists would label post-traumatic stress disorder. The sisters had nightmares and trouble sleeping. They