They say one person can change you forever, even if they never intend to. And that I am sure of, because Zeid never intended to.
The first time I met Zeid I was so fake. I kept praying he won't feel my forced casual attitude, or my trembling knees.
"Hi Zeid.."
"Oh Hi Dima"
"I'm here to-"
"Oh I know,I've been told, please have a seat"
"Thanks... so.. umm do we start from the beginning...?"
"Yes, please."
I held the thick black book in my hands. I read the title engraved in golden letters out loud. Flipped the cover, and through the first introductory pages, and started reading for fifty-two minutes.
The first day was over, and it was worse than I expected. Why do I always assume I have strength that I don't? Why do I always put myself in situations where I know for sure I will collapse?
The next day I went back, at the same time. I found Zeid sitting patiently, like he always did, in his black jacket, his hands on his lap, his right hand slightly curled over his left. He stared blankly at the floor.
"Good morning Zeid"
"Hey, Dima... I got you the tape recorder and some tapes, can you start recording the first chapter today please?"
"Yes, sure."
Zeid opened his old weary backpack and took out a dark green walkman from it. he held it carefully in his hands, by turn, he started feeling for each button and explaining slowly: " This button is rewind..forward...stop.. pause.. play... and the red one is record"
I thought to myslef... What does red mean to him? Is it any different than yellow, green, purple... Isn't it all just black?
He finished by showing me the eject button and how it opens the tape case. I smiled as I felt him proud to know all those buttons and their functions.
"Did you memorize them or do you want me to repeat them again?"
I smiled again saying: "No Zeid, I think I'll manage" What was silly to me, was considered an accomplishment to him.
"Please use it gently Dima, It's the only recorder I have."
"I will"
Everyday I would go read to Zeid his material. He would listen with the anticipation of all first-year students. And when I go back home, I would start reading and recording my voice on the tapes he gave me, so that Zeid can study by listening to those tapes.
"Zeid, why did you choose to study Islamic Studies?"
"Well, I can't study engineering for sure!" He chuckled. "I had limited choices, and I chose Islamic Studies because it makes me a better person."
I thought the deppression I sank into would fade into the daily routine of having to face Zeid. Only this depression grew deeper. Whatever I did, I felt guilty. Once, I walked him to class, he tripped over a step. I felt guilty, I should've warned him. Another time, he was about to trip when I told him to watch out for the step. I also felt guilty, I probably made him feel weak and helpless. I even felt guilty for just being able to see.
After two weeks Zeid had to take the English level exam. If he fails he will have to take three English courses. If he passes he will take only two. If he passes with a high average, he will have to take only one.
I had to go with him to read him the questions, and click on the answers he chooses.
Zeid was very calm that day. He told me that he was good in English and he is hoping to pass and take only two courses.
The exam started and I read the questions, each twice. Zeid took a lot of time to answer, and ended up giving me wrong answers for most questions. I would click on the wrong answer he chose and move to the next question. I started feeling that Zeid won't pass. There were a lot of questions left and not much time. I started reading three multiple choices instead of five. And yet he would give wrong answers. I started giving only two choices and he got some right. We finished all questions and had four more minutes to review. I looked at Zeid knowing he won't pass. I looked at him in his same black jacket, same white top, and same black shoes. I felt guilty that he will have to pay for three courses instead of two, knowing that to him it makes a big difference.
I remembered when Zeid told me that he is out of empty tapes. And that I should wait until he goes down town to get new tapes. I told him there's a store near university that sells tapes. He grimmaced saying they're too expensive, 20 piastres each.
I went back to the first questions Zeid answered wrong, put the right answers instead, and told him we're done. We waited for the result. He passed. I told him, and he laughed out loud disturbing other students who stared at Zeid and suddenly looked away when they realized he couldn't see.
When we got out he called almost everyone he knows to proudly tell them he passed. He held his cell phone, clicked 6 times on the middle button and counted outloud: "1,2,3,4,5,6. Does the name say Mohammed?" I looked at the cell phone "Yes it does." He pressed call and yelled "I told you I will pass I told you! hahay!". Zeid was so happy like a kid who got a new bike. Only I was almost sure he never got a bike. I even didn't help but to laugh at how he teased his friends and told them "And you said I won't pass!! Well you all owe me one JD!!!"
At this moment also, I felt guilty. I wanted him to know that I answered at least ten questions for him which he got wrong. But I knew I would kill his pride, the most special thing about Zeid. I also knew I would feel worse if I didn't tell him. " You know Zeid I helped you a lot, you really need to study for this course, you don't want to fail it."
"I know Dima, I know" was all he said.
We later became good friends. I would go to the center everyday, read to him and give him pop quizes which he hated the most. And I would get angry at him for not studying. I looked at him as a younger brother and somehow felt very responsible for him. He even taught me how to read and write alphabets and numbers using Prill's method. He explained to me the different tools he uses in writing. He always talked about this new special typewriter he heard about, which some of his friends at the center bought.
"It is very efficient, if I use it, it will take half the time to do my homework!"
"So why don't you buy it?"
"Well, it is very expensive, around 200 JD"
Again, I felt guilty.
In Eid I told a group of my friends that we should all gather money and get it to Zeid as a Eid gift. But I changed my mind at the last minute, knowing that Zeid's pride will refuse it and I will feel guilty for making him feel needy.
The semester was over. At the beginning of the second semester I called Zeid to arrange a time for reading. He told me that this semester he only wants me to record tapes, and a new volunteer, a guy, will read to him in the center. When I aksed why, embarrassed,He told me that he is an Islamic Studies student and it is better if a guy reads to him. This semester I haven't heard of him, neither tried calling him. Not wanting to embarrass him.
Zeid changed me a lot. He did really - like they say- see with his heart. He was always proud of his accomplishments. He never said 'I can't'. He was very independent. At the end of the first semester he knew the university by heart and never tripped on steps anymore. He never complained. Even when I overslept and missed the reading sessions. Even when I was late in recording him the tapes and gave the lamest excuses. He never complained. He was good at everything. But most of all, he was best at listening. His special disability of not seeing gave him the rare ability of true listening, analyzing personalities depending on their voices, ideas, and thoughts, without having to face all barriers of the deceiving outer looks, that we, normal people, judge others upon.
I miss him a lot.
