DON’T TAG ME
an in-universe extra from Don’t Tag Me: a novel about love, visibility, grief, and the strange ways we carry ourselves between worlds and borders.
this excerpt is a stylized 12th grade list essay from one of the main characters. readers can find it… but only if they’re okay with crossing a few boundaries and committing a small breach of privacy.
laith noor has spent most of his life learning how to translate himself — between languages, drum beats, and the impossible distance between who we were and who we become. he has one question — how far can a heart travel?
but between the lines, another question waits: what do we do with the love we can’t remember?
Laith Noor Al-Maghrebi
AP English 12
Mrs. Lemmings
6/13/2020
Grade 12 Final Paper - List Essay
When someone asks me, Laith Noor—the boy who’s 18 and on the edge of everything—where I’m from, I always say California. Not because it’s the truth, but because the reality is a bigger can of worms that even my closest friends can barely get a grip on. The term “Third-Culture Kid” barely touches it. I speak four different languages: Egyptian Arabic, Formal Arabic, French, and German… and my family? Spread across so many countries that it feels like I have a bed to crash in all across Europe and the Middle East.
But how far can a heart travel?
When I was 10, something strange happened. It started like any other day in Glendale. Mom was taking us to the shops. Nothing unusual, right? I was just a snotty kid who still had an accent, still said Bebsi instead of Pepsi, and there was a pack of Pokémon cards by the supermarket line that I just had to have. So, I obviously had to abandon my Mom to grab them. It was an immediate need. I found them, flung them in the cart, and followed my Mom around the store. But that’s when I noticed it—the shop employees were following us, too. I didn’t know the word for it, yet, but the feeling was there.
When I was in sixth grade, my teacher made us write a letter to no one in particular. The prompt? A message we felt needed to be out in the world. I wrote:
.لسه بشوفك في أحلامي
I still see you in my dreams
4. When I was four, still in Cairo, Baba took me to see a play at the Cairo Opera House. It was Winnie the Pooh, and there was a serious problem: he was stuck in his tree trunk. Tigger tried to pull him out—stuck. Christopher Robin tried—still stuck. Stomped his foot. Pulled up his sleeves—then turned to the audience.
“Meen—Who—” he said, “Can help our friend?”
I didn’t even raise my hand—Baba did it for me. I squirmed. Tried to pull my hand down. But it was too late—I was chosen to aid our distressed yellow adventurer. The path to the stage felt endless, and I hesitated until a gentle hand pushed at my back. The lights were warm against my body, and for a moment, I froze. A sea of faces in front of me were all staring back—until I saw one smile. It was then I knew I could help.
5. Sophomore year, I stopped speaking Arabic at school. No one will beat you up if you just say Pepsi.
بس دلوقتي، هاختار أكون شجاع.
But now, I’ll choose to be brave.
I can’t hide who I am.
6.At the age of six, we moved to the United States, or “Amreeka,” as I called it until I was seven. It was a move I want to forget during a time of my life where I desperately wish I could remember more—Baba’s accident was only the year before. Mama was already remarrying. “We’re moving, we’re moving,” she kept on saying, “Isn’t that nice, ya Lulu?” It didn’t feel nice. It was the initial test—the starting point: How far can a heart travel? All the way from Al-Quhirah to Crenshaw, with love from a little boy who didn’t know how to hold it.
7. Last year was the first time I played a show. Drums and singing—at the same time! Super impressive, I know. (My ego will be the death of me someday.) My stomach twisted as my hands tried to hold the beat. The venue was a shitty run-down bar 15 minutes from my home. Tommy lied about my age, and I don’t even want to think about what Mama would say if she knew I was somewhere with alcohol. The light beat down on me, my eyes stinging from both the glare and the insane amount of sweat dripping down my face. My heart was going going going until my voice squeaked. That hadn’t happened since… well, the year before.
8. Even at 18, sometimes I wonder if I don’t actually remember his face. Or his voice. Like, maybe I just memorized the tapes Mama kept under the stairs. I do remember, however, what it felt like to be held. The smells of cigarettes and oud, and how his beard was never too scratchy when he hugged me. But what if I remember those because that’s what everyone tells me? I don’t know.
9. At zero, I was nothing. A great ball of energy—all of the possibilities of who I could become, wrapped within my mother’s belly. I’ve lived two lives so far—one in Cairo, and one here in California. They may be the only two lives I’ll have—but here I am. 18. On the edge of everything, with many futures looming in the distance. I am different from that little boy of seven—my heart will travel, and I will allow it. The light of the world may be blinding—and in the stage-bright light, there may be a sea of faces that I won’t recognize, but I won’t freeze.
I will look for the smiles.
And know love is there, hiding.
Waiting for me.
P.S. sorry this is so long Mrs. Lemmings. wasn’t too sure of how to end it and it kept going, lol. I’m sorry!