Chapter 4: The Visit

The next morning, I sat on the bed wondering how to face the family. I hoped Dad had left for work, but if this was like any other day, both parents would be sipping their tea in the kitchen. Last night was one of the longest waits I had ever experienced. The house was silent until about 2am when the front door closed softly, and the faint sound of padded footsteps retreated to the bedrooms. I guessed my parents thought it was just too late for a full-blown argument and risk waking up the neighbours.

Sighing, I grabbed my bag off the floor and unzipped it to check if I had all the books required for the day. A crumpled piece of paper fell out and I smoothed it open. Hmm, the field trip is today. I had totally forgotten about it. Did I want to go? I wasn’t sure. If I did go then that would mean I wouldn’t have to think about schoolwork for the day. Another added bonus would be that I would get home an hour later which meant spending less time at home. It was a no-brainer, grabbing a pen, I signed on the permission slip, faking my Dads signature with the finesse of an experienced forger. I was going on that trip.

I tip-toed down the stairs, careful to miss the fourth step from the bottom that creaked and groaned as loud as a fire-engine on duty. Pausing at the bottom of the steps, I craned my head to peer as far into the kitchen as possible. As predicted, there sat my parents, staring silently into the ocean of tea in their mugs. My breathing quickened and came out in short, sharp bursts. I had to face the music. If I didn’t greet them this morning, then there’s no telling who would be the first to smack me one.

“Good morning,” I mumbled as I entered. I stood awkwardly by the fridge unsure if I was allowed to open it.

Silence.

I took my chance and opened the fridge. Still silence. Grabbing a juice, I poured it into my water bottle as fast, but calmly, as I could. It spilled a little and I wiped it off with the sleeve of my jumper. Still silence.

I knew the routine. This wasn’t the first time I got the silent treatment. My parents actually thought this was a type of punishment, but little did they know it was exactly what I needed right now. This was in fact a reward. With the anxiety of last night leaving my body, I grabbed my rain jacket and headed out the door, careful to close it softly as not to show anger or rage. I didn’t want Dad chasing me down the street with a shoe in his hand.

Arriving at school, I saw two coaches parked in the bus zone. Clusters of students waited impatiently to take their seat and get the show on the road. I spotted Anna talking to another girl and wandered over to her.

“Hannah! You made it! How did you convince your parents?”

“They don’t know. I faked the permission slip.” I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no teachers were about.

“You faked the slip?” the girl standing with us gave a nervous laugh, “why would you do that?”

I sized the girl up. She wasn’t Pakistani. She wouldn’t know the politics of field trips. “My parents are strict. They have a problem with everything.”

“Won’t they ask why you are home late?” She asked.

“I’ll text them later and say I have to get some books from the library or something,” I had planned out my excuse on the walk over to school. If they asked me anything then this was the best reason. However, there was a chance that they may not ask at all, as last night’s drama seemed to have shocked them into giving me the silent treatment.

We boarded the bus and permission slips were collected. Headcount was next and within minutes we had set off towards the city of London, where the British Museum was located. It must have been an hour before we arrived in Bloomsbury. The coach circled the block a couple times and then dropped us off in front of a large, dated building that reminded me of a wedding hall. I could have sworn it was the same building as my second-cousin got married in. But that building was in Walthamstow, a town miles from where we currently stood.

The bright sunlight cast long shadows on the paved, front entrance. Shielding my eyes, I followed the shadows towards the main doors that were enclosed behind eight Roman-looking pillars. From this angle, I could see that the museum was at least twenty times larger than that wedding hall I had in mind. I was excited to get inside and see a little bit of the world’s history. It was my second time inside a museum, but I could barely remember the first. It must have been when I was small, probably taking some relative from Pakistan to see the sights and sounds of London with my family.

The inside of the museum was nothing like the outside. Modern, clean and air. The interior was sectioned off into rooms large enough to hold artifacts. My feet tingled as I noted staircases leading up to a first floor. From the outside, the building seemed like a one-story affair. Eager to leave the group of students, I checked to see where the teachers were. One of them was busy giving out instructions on what to look out for and the other was handing out worksheets that we were to complete. Each student was assigned a group and my heart plummeted when I stood beside the two boys who were supposed to keep me company for the next 4 hours.

The group dispersed and I turned to face the boys. “Guys, if you don’t mind, I’d rather do this alone. We can meet back up at the end of the day.”

“Um, I’m not sure about that, Hannah. We are supposed to stick together. You know, for safety.” One of the boys piped up.

“I won’t leave this building. Don’t worry, it will be fine. You guys go ahead!” I began to walk away leaving them both gaping after me.

Once clear of any remaining students, I opened up the floor directory and took a look at what they had to offer. Immediately, my eyes drew upon the description of artifacts brought in from the Arab world. That sounded interesting and I headed off in the direction of the exhibition. The museum was quiet, with each passing step a peculiar feeling overcame me. There was a flutter in my chest and a spring in my step. The feeling radiated outwards and it felt unusual. What was that? Happiness? I was actually happy. Me, happy? I thought giddily. How on Earth did that happen? I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so free and light.

I skipped around the corner and found myself in a dim room, which was roughly the size of a football pitch. Scattered around were various pottery pieces, weapons, books and other memorabilia that were encased in glass displays. Upon, further inspection, I saw that not all the pieces were that well-protected, some were within touching distance. I wondered around the room and paused at a large tapestry that illustrated several men on horses. A war was raging, bodies were strewn along the peaks and troughs of an Arabian desert. The painter had chosen neutral tones of beige and browns that were broken up by splashes of faded crimson that ran as blood.

The description informed me that this painting was drawn by an artist simply known as Hashim, who had created this masterpiece over 500 years ago when the first great war raged against the unknowns. I looked back up at the painting. Who were the unknowns? I wondered. The war didn’t have a visible opponent and I made a mental note to look into what happened.

To gain a different perspective, I took a few steps back to see if I could make out who the horsemen were battling against. No matter what angle I viewed it from, the answer was still unclear. My attention was diverted when I bumped into a low glass cabinet. Inside lay a bronze coloured sword with the most intricate detailing along its handle. It was stunning. The creator must have spent hours chiseling and filing the fourteen-inch weapon. I scanned the description and learned that I wasn’t looking at a weapon as such. It was a gift an Iraqi princess from the 1700’s had given her husband on their wedding night. It wasn’t meant to be used for battle but for display purposes only. I smiled as I romanticized their relationship and tried to imagine what their wedding must have been like.

“Excuse me, Miss!” a little boy called as he ran past me.

Snapping out of the day-dream, I stepped out of the way and continued around the room fawning over the history of each piece. The shadows lengthened but I didn’t notice. Time crept away but again I didn’t notice. I was in heaven, floating in the peace and tranquility and surrounded by history. So oblivious was I, that I didn’t even notice I had caught the attention of someone who watched every step I took with an interest that would consume me