9 - Roozbeh

I met Rouzheen toward the beginning of high school, during her "Christian phase". During that time, she experienced a new and enriching lifestyle, and a culture that ran deep into the lives of most of her friends, me included.

She had tried to share her faith with her older brother, Roozbeh, and he responded by expressing hope that she would get beyond what she was going through.

"What about Grandmom?" he asked Rouzheen, "Do you think that Grandmom will go to hell?" Their grandmother was still living in Iran.
"I guess I don't know," Rouzheen responded, and as time progressed, she gradually drifted away from the Christian faith.
Then, very abruptly, Roozbeh died.

He died at the end of Rouzheen’s senior year in high school (my junior year), and although Rouzheen still felt close to her Christian friends, she couldn't have been more disconnected from the religion they followed - the religion that claimed that her brother had gone to hell.

Roozbeh was remarkable – he finished college at Texas A&M in 3 years (with a Genetics degree), then he earned a master's degree at Oxford. Roozbeh listened to The Gypsy Kings, and he tie-dyed his own t-shirts. When you talked to him, he was interested and responsive to what you said. He was the easiest person to admire, and the hardest person to outdo – and he inspired an unbelievable amount of jealousy in the person who eventually killed him.

Roozbeh’s story, for many reasons, deserves an entire book of its own. It is interesting and complex, and asks many of its own difficult questions. I’m going to try, at great risk, to summarize part of it here, because my oblique interactions with Roozbeh (and the memory of Roozbeh) have played a major role in my own life’s story.

In Tyler, Texas, Roozbeh and Zaid found that their middle-eastern bond was stronger than their middle-eastern conflict. Roozbeh (Iranian) and Zaid (Iraqi) had both emigrated to the states because of the war between their countries (in the 1980's), and they discovered, at Robert E. Lee High School, that their classmates didn't know the war, or about the difference between Persians and Arabs. In this environment, the two became unlikely friends. Roozbeh excelled socially and academically, and Zaid struggled to stay in school - but the bond between them had been fused, based on their similar yet so different pasts. After High school, Roozbeh went to A&M and continued his academic success, and Zaid went to Texas Tech for one semester, then returned to his home in Tyler.

Sometime during that year, Zaid became tormented by thoughts about Roozbeh, the repressed memory of an event involving drugs and sexual misconduct - Roozbeh completely denied it. They drifted in different directions, unable to mend their friendship. Roozbeh finished college and went to Oxford, and Zaid remained in Tyler. In the summer of 2003, Zaid contacted him, asking to meet. Zaid’s family had warned Roozbeh’s parents, saying that Zaid was becoming unstable, but Roozbeh had hope. He felt no reason to fear, and he wanted to talk things over. He waited in front of the bookstore where they had planned to meet. When Zaid arrived, he produced a rifle, and he shot Roozbeh through the hand and into his stomach. He died within minutes. Zaid is currently in prison, and Roozbeh is dead.

I was eating breakfast at my kitchen counter when my mom called me over to the newspaper and pointed to the article. I closed my eyes after reading its brief description. Nothing made sense in the world, and Roozbeh's death was no exception.

Few words were spoken at Rouzheen’s house that week. They had flowers and food and family members, but very few words. I sat with Rouzheen and a few other friends; together, we tried to eat some of the food people had given to offer condolences. Klint Bicknell was there; I hadn't seen him in nearly a year. I thought about how he didn't believe in God anymore. I thought about how I didn't believe in anything anymore, except maybe silence and hugs.

In that house, I witnessed a community grieving together. They spoke Farsi when they needed to speak, grieving in a world that didn’t make sense. It was the first time I had seen anything like it outside of my own community, the Christian community. Although most of Rouzheen's relatives were strangers to me, I couldn't help but recognize the connection they had to each other.

One of Rouzheen's church friends came over to offer condolences - really, she was more of an acquaintance. She asked Rouzheen, just to make sure, if Roozbeh had placed faith in Jesus Christ as his personal Lord and Savior. She hoped that they could feel comforted by a simple "yes," then maybe they could talk about what heaven is like, the heaven that's only for Christians.

Lacking the energy or the will to ask her to leave, Rouzheen internalized the pain. The words had cut deep into her memory of a life that she once loved, the life she had lived as a Christian.

Rouzheen’s friend had presented 2 clear alternatives:

A. In order to reconnect to her Christian fellowship, she could believe that her brother was in hell, and that he’d lived his life dead to the Spirit, or

B. Siding with her family, and everyone who actually knew him, she could continue to remember Roozbeh as someone who had lived, and lived abundantly.