The Small Things Which Matter

Ayesha

Chapter One – After New York

We lived in the E-1 house first. The people living there were going abroad for a year so they let us live in it for that time. I don’t know if it was one or two years. That house had peach trees in the back garden and the trees and ground would be covered with peaches, green ones, unripe, fallen and still growing. That was before they actually became ripe. When they were ripe, in April or May, I would run around picking them up from the ground because I wasn’t tall enough to reach the trees. My parents would hold me up and I would pick the peaches then. I loved those peaches. Even though most of the peaches on the ground were dirty and they had bird’s teeth marks and poop on them, I still loved looking through the rotten ones for the good ones. I would bring them inside and stand on the little stool and run them under the water, standing on tiptoe, my hands enjoying the icy, cool feeling and the peaches soft with water.

I stayed in one bedroom with my mother and we slept under a mosquito net sometimes. The bed sheets were white and they were pressed over the bed like blotting paper. We wrinkled them when we sat down. The morning sun was dimmer than the noon sun and it would slant in through the window and I would wake up, go into the bathroom and wash my face, passing Bahadur Bhaiyya who would be cleaning. Somewhere else his sister, Rani, would be scrubbing the floors. We three used to play together, though they were twenty years older than me. They only came in the mornings, but sometimes Rani came in the evenings too. My parents and I dusted. I liked dusting. I liked running my fingers in the trails of dust and tracing my name, and then wiping the dust away in clouds with the rags. Since I was very bad at it, my father and mother would shoo me away when they caught me at it.

At eight in the morning I went to school, and at school I played and hardly studied. We never studied, really. I knew too much so I was put a year ahead. I would have been in nursery, since I was four, but instead I was put in KG. I wouldn’t be five until September. I already knew how to read. My mother read The Wizard of Oz in our New York apartment and I started reading it when I got impatient to find out what happened next. Suddenly I knew how to read. I couldn’t read Hindi yet, though, or write that well.

Maybe if I concentrated on Hindi then I would have spoken it naturally, like everyone else, instead of gradually forgetting more and more.

My parents were always busy. Rani and Bahadur prepared my lunch when I came home at one. At two thirty they left and Ma came home.

Once Ma was a little late and I stood at the screen door, looking out at the front lawns, feeling dejected. The screen was mesh and looked like a giant prison bar. Bahadur was also the mali. He chased us away from the flowers, but sometimes gave us a rose or two.

My bare feet left sweaty imprints on the floor. I was scared. Ma had left me all alone. Rani usually waited, but today she had left. I thought about going outside, into the dancing beams of sunlight on the cement path. I thought about picking all the roses and swinging on the gate. I could go down to Taavish’s house and see if he was there. We could play house and sit on the wall and eat peaches.

But then the clouds moved in front of the sun and a shadow fell on the path. It was dark. Bapu came hurrying up the path and gathered me up in his arms, kissing me. He rushed to the telephone and started to shout into it. When Ma came home they shouted at each other for a long time. I ran into our bedroom. I hung over the edge of the bed, dangling my toes on the dancing stones of the floor. I wasn’t listening to them. I couldn’t hear them properly, or understand what they were saying.

“Don’t you know it is unsafe here? This isn’t USA, where there are apartment guards. Why do you decide to have children if you can’t take care of them?” Bapu was yelling.

Shout shout shout. Ma was crying. She was always crying. Bapu speaking into the telephone, yelling at someone in Hindi. In the evening when Rani came he shouted at her more. Everyone was shouting. I bit my hand in my worry. I ran into the living room.

“Bapu!” I yelled. He picked me up.

“Kya hua, Pulki?” He asked, affectionately. I started crying and showed him the bite marks. They were pink and neat, infringed on my hand like sharp stones. He rubbed my hand and after a while I got down and went back into the bedroom. Ma was sitting on the bed and she held out her arms for me.

“Why did you leave us alone?” I asked.

She just buried us in her arms. We were all crying and she was murmuring, “You know I love you.”

Taavish was my best friend. He lived with his parents and grandparents down the road at an F house. We had decided to marry each other when we grew up because there was no one better and marriage was useless anyway. We both agreed about that.

I always wondered why his family lived with his grandparents. He said many families lived with their grandparents but I didn’t think so. It didn’t occur to me that they were a joint family. His mother was strict and severe and she abhorred messiness. She was always telling us to wash our hands and faces and rub our shoes before we came in. We were not supposed to run around in the house.

We swung on our gates back and forth, over and over. I liked swinging everywhere. I swung between the armchairs at home. The armchairs slipped, the floral pattern blurring away, and I landed on my face. It hurt and I started screaming. The floor was cold and like a metal object, and there was blood everywhere. I wiped at my face and the sight of blood made me scream even more. Bapu and Ma came rushing into the room and amidst scolding me for swinging on the furniture, they wiped at me and treated the wound. It hurt very badly. When it healed, a little mark remained between my nose and my mouth. It’s still there, very faint.

But I still swung everywhere. On the gates, on the desks at school. Everywhere.

Barefoot, wearing a pink flowered dress, my feet caught on the ground and I swung. My hair hung around my neck in little waves and in my eyes like curves. My hands clutched the metal rusted and painted sections of the gate. Out and in, out and in, I swung. On and on. The gate creaked a little and I soared. My dress billowed around me.

We ate chocolate on my wall, sitting under the tree, our legs dangling. Taavish was wearing a sweat suit and I was wearing a tie-dye shirt and a multicoloured skirt. Now I was five. I was older. I felt older. We walked around the park in the sunshine. We talked to each other. He was paler. I was cuter.

One day it was sunny and the leaves created little shadowy patterns everywhere. The sun bore down on me and I was squinting. I was watching Taavish and his family pile their stuff outside. They were moving. Their house looked bleak, unexciting, unimportant. I stood by the gate, one hand on it, my legs skipping. Taavish and I stared at each other. They were moving to sector 40. We said we would never forget each other. I skipped away with my mother and they left. Soon the house stood there, a statue, empty. The hedges were growing unruly. The ones we walked around in the dim twilight. The garden all the kids ran around in was empty, just a mass of grass and dirt.

I had another friend, the daughter of my father’s friend. Nisha. She had short hair and she was thin. We played in my back garden on my hammock, with flowers and leaves and mud. We ran into the little field and gathered Congress grass. Nisha said it wasn’t really poisonous because she picked it all the time and nothing ever happened to her. So we picked it and I felt guilty. I told my father and he said it did cause skin irritation so we should stop picking it. We picked jasmines and leaves instead. But we never got skin irritation. We ran around barefoot in the untended grass and pretended we were gathering meals.

Later she came and visited once with her sister, in our other house, the tiny one. I was sleeping late into the morning and wearing just my undershirt. When I woke I was very embarrassed and attempted to cover myself. The sun was very bright and my room seemed dull and bleary.

I went to her house once or twice. It was not as nice as ours because her sister kept irritating us. She had more toys but she didn’t have a garden.

I went to Ankur Nursery School. Every year there was a sort of fete, and all the children wore whatever they liked and played on the slides and swings and see-saws and the bouncy clown. When I came everyone else had already arrived. I had just finished the qawwali I was taking part in. I had worn a little blue velvet jacket with gold lace over my white kurta and now I clutched it possessively. I looked younger today. My hair seemed darker and everyone seemed taller than me. I ran to the swings, throwing the jacket into my mother’s arms. I went and found my friends. We ran everywhere, over the hedges and up the slide and onto the swings. The school was unimportant, ignored for the time being. The coloured walls seemed too bright.

Sometimes Maansi made me cry. She was my enemy at Ankur Nursery and she would sometimes do things like tell me I was stupid, and get all the girls to agree, and then the break bell would ring and I would go to the classroom, and start crying, because Maansi was there ahead of me. My best friend, Vibhuti, would come up to me and then I would stop crying. But I hated Maansi. In class she always tried to answer the questions, and she pouted when my answers were right. I was smarter than her.

The street was crowded with cars that day and I wove in between them until Ma caught me and we walked home. She held my hand tightly. It was smudged with chocolate.

Chapter Two – New York

In the pictures, I was one, two, three, four years old. I was a laughing baby staring at little origami birds and trying to catch them as they swung above me in the breeze from the open window. I was like a cat, trying to lunge at little toys as they were again and again snatched out of my reach. I was chubby and had very little hair, and wore suits of red fleece. I was born in the PGI hospital in Chandigarh. A year later, we moved to USA, my mother and me. My father joined us a year later. He left a year after that. They took leave from their jobs.

We lived on the seventeenth floor of an apartment building on 96^th street in Manhattan. I liked to play on the complicated slides in Central Park. I wore my green and pink swimming suit and played under the showers and slides near our apartment building. My hair was long and curly, and reddish in the sunlight. My mouth was perked into a smile and I was sitting on the top of the slide.

I went to day care. I had a best friend called Tehya. Once Grandma was in New York and she was taking care of us. Tehya got mad at me and said, “I’m going to eat you up!” She went into the kitchen and started looking for a knife, but only found a little plastic thing. She started jabbing at me with it until I started crying and Grandma stopped her. Grandma always thought it was incredible Tehya started looking for a knife.

We went to a place where there were millions of pumpkins near Halloween. Everyone painted so many pumpkins. We went to a hospital dressed as rabbits, doctors and nurses. I looked weird in my baggy plastic outfit and my stethoscope.

For Christmas Ma’s friends Lisa and Joni came over and Lisa and Ma made a gingerbread cake. I woke up early on Christmas morning. The house was a fancy shade of grey and I tiptoed over our futon till I reached the glittering Christmas tree. It was beautiful. I began tearing open the presents. A blue dressing gown, a xylophone. Lots of other little things. I woke everyone else.

We were at David Uncle and Deirdre’s house that day. David Uncle and I had created a mysterious world of strange beings called Patitoos and he wrote stories about them and I liked them. They inhabited our world and were intertwined with our lives. I had introduced them one day by saying they were walking down the street. Since then this exciting world had been created, and it enveloped all of us. David Uncle was funny and he had a great sense of humour and always made me laugh. I hardly ever wrote to him though I should have, and we always had a lot of fun. They lived in Freeport and came into the city often when we lived there.

I liked going to Central Park the best. Once my cousins Rachel and Jenny and Adam came to visit and Rachel and Jenny and I had pictures taken everywhere. They were a lot older than me and often I got their fancy clothes which didn’t fit them anymore.

My long curls were cut off and replaced by a short mass of black hair. I wore T-shirts and shorts from Jenny, with floral patterns. I was around a lot with my friends from day care. We went and rode ponies once.

I had a godmother called Nancy Lee Wood and she used to take pictures of me and she was loud and cheerful and she was fat, too, but she wore wild clothes. I liked her a lot. She gave me my first bubble blowing kit.

Chapter Three – The Junior Wing

My first day at Vivek High School was uneventful. There were twenty kids in my class and I sat at my desk feeling it was too big and I was too small. All of us looked at each other nervously. I was scared of the classroom.

Just a few days into class one this quadruplet of girls, Mannat, Harleen, Gurveen and Ramita, snubbed me. I tried to sit with them at the swing in recess and Mannat told me to go away. I started crying and Ramita was kind and let me in. I never knew what it was Mannat and Gurveen really didn’t like about me. They didn’t like me for easily being the teacher’s pet and for being a crybaby and for being… new, I guess.

That year several things happened. My class teacher, Rachna ma’am, locked us in the classroom and we climbed out of the window, two or three at a time. Then the classes were in little sheds, all grouped around the garden.

Karishma and Baani were best friends. They even seemed to fit together and I liked them because they seemed nice and interesting. We talked a little but not that much.

Baani once got terribly hurt and there was blood everywhere. Once Gurveen was my seat partner and I slammed the desk on top of her hand. She got a terrible cut and I was terrified. I apologised profusely and the teacher got mad at me and Gurveen was even madder. I think she always resented me after that.

When people got badly hurt it was a big event, it was like something new, something we couldn’t identify with. We were all scared in a strange way.

That year we learned about commas and I thought we were going to learn about comets. I was pretty disappointed when I found out commas were just little punctuation marks. Punctuation was probably the longest word we learned in class one.

The next year I had Raj ma’am and she was the best class teacher ever. She drew little smiley faces on my nose and cheeks with a ballpoint pen. Karishma and some other kids got that done too. That year I became friends with Karishma and Baani Grewal was my best friend. She was in my bus and I would repeatedly ask, “Are you really my best friend? Am I really your best friend?” till she got irritated. A boy called Abhay and I raced each other to the front side seat, the first seat. Usually he got it but sometimes I did.

A lot of new kids joined that year, like Avleen and Rhia, who were best friends from the beginning. Our class used to have so many of those kids then. We were such a mixed in, muddled up group. Such a great group. That year 2a and 2b had their classes together in the basement of the senior wing. On one side Premela ma’am would teach her class and on the other side Raj ma’am would teach ours. It was really confusing. Then later on the junior wing building was completed and we moved in there and had separate classes.

That year we started Kathak and had really complicated exams. My father wrote a complicated letter with complicated Sanskrit words to the teacher complaining. Kathak was for two years and every November we performed a dance in the Founder’s week. We were THE class. Our class was the year which started with the Founder’s Week, a week of festivities, our class started the D section… we were just amazing.

That year Grandma came to visit and we went to Dalhousie and she took photos of everything. I wore my sleeveless dress when she came even though it was October. We lived in T.F. then. I got one of my first lehenga-cholis and I was pretty that year, tall and thin with chin-length hair and my small eyes looked good. My lips were pretty too.

Pukhraj was a failure and she and I became best friends. The teachers would often tell me that my friend did this, my friend did that, as if it was a bad idea to be friends with her. She was abnormally thin and I liked her a lot. We fell out pretty soon, though. We used to have a lot of fights. Through the years we had a varying friendship.

Class three was good. When I went to USA I made a fantastic project and my class teacher to the section a class teacher too. The a section was the worst, it was the least disciplined, and I hated almost everyone from it. I wished I could have had Mini ma’am, their class teacher, or the section c class teacher, Inderjeet ma’am for a class teacher instead of Neelu ma’am. I didn’t like Neelu ma’am that much. Once I was reading a Sweet Valley book Baani lent me during math and Neelu ma’am caught me and made me stand in front of the whole class and confiscated the book. I hated that. It was my first major punishment.

Karishma and I became really good friends that year. There was this boy called Rajan in my class and I thought he might be nice unlike the others but he wasn’t. He was terrible. He was friends with Jaideep, the bully who used to hit me for no reason in the bus.

I invited Baani over to my house and we spent the time cleaning my room. Another time we spent at the field. She said she had to wait till class four before she could sleep over at someone else’s house.

When I told about my trip to USA everyone was bored. I asked Neelu ma’am why they were all bored and she said because they didn’t want to listen.

On my birthdays in the junior wing I could wear whatever I liked. That was good. I wore my white dress that year and it was beautiful. Everyone said it was.

Once we had a food project and I made a sticky mess of a cake. It was my one day of popularity. Everyone was using the spoon to eat it. It was like fudge. It was really good and by the end of it people were just licking their fingers from the bowl. Even then I was conscious about hygiene and I didn’t like them fingering my chocolate.

We skipped rope that year. I couldn’t do it properly. Once while the rest of class three went to see Godzilla (I didn’t because my mother didn’t want me to) my mother arranged for me to go with class four and meet Ruskin Bond in the library of the senior wing. I thought it was a big thing and I got his autograph. I asked him if he believed in fairies and he wrote, Yes Ayesha I believe in fairies! I still have those autographs in the books of his I have. He talked to everyone. I’m glad I missed Godzilla.

The senior wing library was connected to the junior wing class 3 staircase by a little door and a staircase. I went through that, and I liked that. It made me feel big, to go to the senior wing for a day. Later we went on a tour to see our new class teachers in the senior wing.

That year for Founder’s Week we had another dance, a fancier one, and I talked to a girl in class 2 called Ishrat.

I thought going into class 4, the senior wing, was a really huge deal. I looked forward to it so much.

Later on in class 3 in the afternoons we got free time to play on the swings downstairs. It was so good. I would talk to whoever was my chosen friend while I pumped, standing on the swing.

Neril

Chapter 4 – Moving out

I didn’t tell Ayesha about the plane tickets. I didn’t even tell her about going to the school office and telling them she would be leaving after the first term. There’s a lot your children don’t know about what you do. Maybe that’s advantageous, because I know if I’d told her things might have turned out differently.

Wren came to visit. It was May and excruciatingly hot, and she had just flown in from France. Wren had a good life. We all knew that. She lived in a cute little house in Paris and she had good clothes and furniture and never had any problems with bills.

I think it was because we had her so young that we were never able to give her what she needed. She hardly had parents and we hardly could take care of her. Ma was always taking care of her, even though she was very angry about me becoming pregnant just like that. Ma wanted me to turn out like she did, with honours and a great university job and everything. Well, I did. I got a PhD. I went to college and graduate school. Only then I went to India. I don’t think she really wanted me to go so far away. Ma liked having people around her. After Joey moved to Hastings she lived all alone in that house, with memories for company. I think she missed Pa a lot.

I don’t know exactly what it was that killed Pa. He was sixty, and that’s not very old. He wasn’t fragile either. When he went into depression we should have realised something was wrong. I wasn’t there when he died. Ma says it was a calm, moonless night and Wren was asleep. She was painting and then at midnight she went into the bedroom and Pa wasn’t there. So she went around looking for him, all the way down into the cellar. It was damp and musty in there since we never used it anymore. Only old junk and useless metal compartments were still around. It was very dark and the lamp didn’t work. So she was holding a candle and that’s when she saw his body, all contorted and disfigured. He was dead. Next to him was a broken glass and a small packet of some pills. I forget what they were. Some kind of morphine, I guess. She says she screamed and dropped the candle. She might have started a fire but the damp extinguished the candle. Wren had come down to the kitchen on hearing Ma scream.

We still don’t know why he poisoned himself. We didn’t know he was so depressed, or why. He had a good life. He had had a hard life but then he was living good. They were happy. But then, Pa was always very secretive.

Sometimes I think about what Wren must have thought. She was seven and she never knew anyone dead before. I guess I asked her but she said it was very hazy and she didn’t know. Rajan and I had finished our PhD s, his in chemistry and mine in biophysics. We came home for the funeral and then we left with Wren. For two years we lived in Bhopal. Then we moved to Chandigarh. It was a lot of hard work getting the job, for me. When I came there many people didn’t like it. What business did a white woman have coming in to the university? I don’t know how I got the job, because they were so reluctant. I don’t even know why I came there, because I was hated the way some of those people treated me there.

On the other hand, some people were really good. We were still young and we had loads of friends. We used to have a fun life then, though we didn’t have much money. We rented a house in sector 38 and then Ayesha was born. Wren went to Carmel then because that was the best we could afford, and it was a good school. But we sent Ayesha to Vivek when she was almost six. I guess Wren was too much adjusted in Carmel to move somewhere else. And she was sixteen then, in class eleven. Vivek wasn’t good in the upper classes.

But sometimes I think it would have been easier for Ayesha if she had had an older sister at her school. That gained prestige for you, having an older sibling.

Ayesha isn’t like her sister at all. She thinks a lot about things. She’s very mature for her age and I don’t mean physically, though she’s fairly tall and looks older. We were disappointed in Wren, when she said she didn’t want to go to graduate school, she wanted to become a fashion designer. We wouldn’t have minded if she wanted to become something else, something worthwhile. But Wren was doing everything we had raised her up not to be. Maybe that was a failing. She was always really stubborn. Ayesha isn’t that stubborn.

But she got her job and now Wren’s one of those top notch people, or something. I don’t know. I hardly want to know. When she comes to visit it’s easy to see that she doesn’t belong to us anymore. She changed her name too, to Wren Taylor. Now why did she do that? I don’t know. I don’t know why she wanted a completely English name, or why she wanted to estrange herself from us. She was resentful, I suppose, because we were never good parents for her. Not until she was too much older and she already had ideas and opinions.

So now Wren’s here to visit. Rajan and I have separate houses. He has a T-2 house and I have an N.T.F. house. I guess that made Ayesha happy, moving back to where her friends were. They’re inseparable, and now I know she will hate to move away. Tomorrow we have to leave, so I have to tell her today.

“You see, Mom? That’s just your problem. Why do you always hide things and then spring them on people at the last minute?” Wren was exasperated. She doesn’t think this is a good idea.

“I’m not a strong person, Wren. You know that.” I said. “If she had persistently told me not to, which she would have done, I wouldn’t have.”

“So then that’s your problem. But you don’t have to ruin her life at the last minute!” Wren widened her kohl lined eyes at me and tossed a strand of perfect red hair off her shoulder.  She does everything she can to look foreign. Her hair is always dyed and she always wears short dresses and skirts. I hardly know what the real Wren looks like anymore.

I sighed. “I’m not ruining her life. You know she’ll have a better education out there.”

“Yes, but you’re ruining her life here.”

“What would we do here? We aren’t fluent in the language, she’s always wanted to go…”

“Yes, and that is why she would have agreed. That’s why you should have told her beforehand. Do you think she can deal with this in one day?”

Wren was sitting on our sofa, right in the centre, her legs crossed, one perfect heel over the other. One perfectly waxed leg over the other. Her clothes are always expensive looking and elegant. She was wearing a dark navy velvet skirt and a pressed, spotless white blouse with small yellow flowers on it. Her shoes matched her skirt and everything about her was neat, clean and precise. Wren is like that. In the two weeks she’s been here she’s been straightening out anything around the house that isn’t perfect. The house looks more like a magazine interior than a real house, now. I suppose Rajan’s house is like that too, though I haven’t been there in a long time. Ayesha goes between our houses. Rajan and I have worked it out and he agrees that it will be good for Ayesha to study in the US. He hasn’t told her yet, because I told him I’ll tell her. He probably thinks I’ve told her already. Since the divorce, we’ve gotten along much better, and I’m glad.

I always hear Ayesha before she comes, if I happen to be at home, which is not very usual. But these past few days I have, especially since I quit my job. When I told Ayesha I quit my job she was dismayed. To her everything is a catastrophe. She asked how we were going to do without any money and I told her I was going to look for another job. That was a month ago, and I played around the thought of telling her then, but I didn’t. This last term has been difficult enough. She isn’t used to a sudden amount of rigorous studying and she’s apprehensive about the rest of the year.

I know she will like the idea, but she will be very angry because she’ll have to leave her friends on such short notice. Her friends will be shocked. She’ll be shocked. She’ll come to visit, of course, but not right away. We don’t have a lot of money. It may not be until next year or the next before she can come back here. And I know that’ll be hard, leaving her old life behind. Who knows what life will be like there.

I’m moving in with Ma. She’ll like that, I suppose, though I don’t know if I can make up for all those missed years. I haven’t seen her as much in twenty three years. She’s old, now, nearly seventy seven. Sometimes I worry about her. It’s amazing how active and what an amount of energy she has. The way she keeps her huge big house in order. But then, my mother was always a very determined, strong willed person.

I guess we’ll live with her permanently, help her clean and stuff. I can drive Ayesha to and from school until she gets her driver’s license. I’ll get a job. I’m pretty sure I can, I have the credentials and everything. Not right away, but soon. A high school teacher would be good. I’ve had enough of university students. Maybe really young kids would be good.

The schools in Santa Fe aren’t that great but there’s one or two which are pretty good. Ma thinks I should enrol Ayesha at Casablanca High School, a new one that came up about seven years ago.

Ayesha thumped up the stairs and I dreaded her coming in. Dread was like this hand tightening around my heart, until she crashed in, slamming the door behind her and dropping her bag and water bottle on the bed.

“Finally,” She sighed, “Peace, and freedom.”

She sat down in one of the armchairs and looked from Wren to me, back and forth. Wren was twirling a strand of hair around her finger. She rarely messes up her hair. I knew she was nervous too.

I got up and went into the kitchen to get a drink of water. When I came back, Ayesha asked, accusingly, “What?”

“What?” I looked at her evenly.

“Oh, come on, Mom.” Wren collapsed in her seat.

“What?” Ayesha asked again, this time very quietly.

“Tomorrow we’re leaving.” I said. The water sloshed around in the glass. “At one a.m. at night. We’re going to Delhi at around four in the afternoon. We’re going to go to the US, to Santa Fe.”

“What?!” Ayesha was shocked, and pleased. “Really? You were planning for us to visit and you didn’t even tell me?”

“We’re not going to visit… we’re going there to live. Permanently. With Grandma.”

The smile stayed on her face for a long time, like her jaws liked to smile, which might have been true. Her eyes stayed fixed on my face. Her hands were motionless and for a moment I was afraid. Then abruptly she got up and walked into her room, shutting the door, with the curtain, with a slam. I eyed the door apprehensively, looking around for cracks. “You know you’re not supposed to slam the door.”

Then Ayesha came out again and got the phone. Then she went back in. I could hear her voice for a while, in crescendos and falls. Wren looked at me with her eyebrows raised.

“Did she notice you sending off the books?” She asked.

“I guess not.” I said. “I’m always doing things with the books. Why would she be concerned?”

Then Ayesha came out.

“How come you didn’t tell me?” She asked, quietly.

“Because…” I trailed off.

“Because you think everything should depend on what you want, that’s why, Ma!”

“No…”

“Ma.” She walked over and sat down. “You know I always wanted to go. I can’t believe this is true. No, I don’t believe it.”

“It is true.”

“Why couldn’t you tell me before? What about my friends? I’m never going to see them again! Do you think someone can just suddenly have this thrust upon them?”

That afternoon I drove Ayesha over to her friend Nitya’s house, then to Karishma’s. Each time I had to stay for some coffee, or tea. That’s one thing I don’t like about visiting grown ups. They always make you stay for tea.

Finally we went home and Ayesha spent the whole evening with her friends Anya and Kavya. I packed her things for her. We could take loads of things. Rajan had agreed to sell off our furniture or give it to someone, whatever, at least most of it.

Almost all my things were packed. My room was bare that day. The bed seemed unreal, with its bare mattress. I thought about bringing the mattresses, but I decided that would be futile. Wren packed all the kitchen things. We were bringing everything we could in case we had to move somewhere else. Finally we packed the mattresses too. I had hired a truck to bring our things to Delhi. I only wondered how we would manage at the airports, especially in Los Angeles, where we would have carts and carts of boxes and suitcases.

Ayesha had complained about everything. How she could have bought a new slam book, had her shirt autographed, if only I had told her before. How was she supposed to start a new life on such short notice?

Now I carefully folded her socks and underwear, her T-shirts and pants, into the medium-sized suitcase. All the winter clothes were already packed. I was bringing one quilt and two blankets, but not the others. By the next afternoon, when the truck had arrived, the whole living room was piled. Ayesha was outside with Anya and Kavya. For me it was so much easier, I thought, because I did not have any very intimate friends. Rajan was downstairs too. He was coming with us to Delhi. Govind was driving.

Then Ma called and said in Los Angeles there would be a U-Haul ready for us to pile most of our luggage into, whatever we could afford to have arrive a few days later. I don’t even know why I wanted all that stuff, it would just pile up at the house. I just wanted to somehow create a feeling that I would always have enough in case we were to move again. But I was pretty sure we wouldn’t.

The drive to Delhi was not as easy as it should have been. I had watched Ayesha hug Anya and Kavya in turn, and Anya was crying. Ayesha was crying by the time she got into the car. It was pitiful to watch them waving at each other. We didn’t talk much. We were going by Japan Airlines and I just anxiously waited for us to get there. Everything seemed to tell us to hurry.

In Delhi we stayed at some old friends’ and then went to the airport. Ayesha and Rajan had the saddest parting. I always knew Ayesha was closer to Rajan than me, so I knew that would be the hardest part. Wren had come with us and was leaving for Paris.

I wondered what life would be like for Rajan after this. We hugged too, because after all, we’d known each other for almost twenty five years, and we were friends nevertheless. I thought it would be like a piece of my jigsaw puzzle missing, to not see Rajan again much.

Wren left for her flight. It was earlier. Our luggage had been sent off and now Ayesha was subdued. She wasn’t tired. She hadn’t slept at all. We boarded our plane and she was still unnervingly quiet. I felt as if I was too lowly to speak to her. I went to sleep soon and she read a book she had, something she had got at the book fair that morning, Anita and Me. I hadn’t gone to her parent teacher meeting, Rajan had. The teachers hadn’t known she was leaving until then and then they were all over her, Rajan said. She probably didn’t like it much.

I didn’t wake up until it was time for breakfast, and then Ayesha was asleep. I woke her up. She still didn’t talk to me and I was wondering when she would.

In Tokyo she finally talked to me, though mostly she complained. Usually I snap at her when she complains but I was too tired to, then. The flight to Los Angeles soon was over and the U-Haul came and took all our luggage except Ayesha’s medium-sized suitcase and my big suitcase.

We proceeded to Santa Fe straight away. Ma was really happy to see us. We went out to lunch and then when we got home we collapsed on our beds. Ma had cleaned out Chris’ and my old rooms for us, and Ayesha took my old room.

Chapter 5 – Rajan Sharif

I was sixteen and a half when I went to college, because I had skipped two classes. I went to Brown and Ma was very proud, telling everyone how smart I was and how good my grades were and how I would probably grow up to win the Nobel Prize.

The day I left it was raining. I was very nervous and the magazines I was reading in the car kept slipping all over my knees. Joey had come with us and he was complaining about something as usual. Ma reached back and spanked him with her hairbrush. We whined and then shut up when he noticed no one was listening.

I wasn’t dressed spectacularly or anything. Just in my jeans and a T-shirt. I didn’t feel like dressing up, though Ma kept bugging me to. Then finally it was too late and we had to go.

The university was austere and when I got into my hostel room, I thought maybe I’d be alone, but I had a roommate. Her name was Sandrea and she eyed me up and down contemptuously.

“How old are you, anyway?” She asked.

“Seventeen in January.” I said, hesitantly.

“Huh! Well, you must be a genius then.”

“No… I skipped first and third grades.”

She was silent, sitting there on the couch, one leg crossed over the other. I decided she was unpleasant.

“What’s your name?” She asked, leaning forward. She had a curling lip and long, pretty blonde hair.

“Neril Corett.”

“What kind of a name is that?” She wrinkled her nose. “Neril Corett? Huh!”

“What kind of name is Sandrea?”

We didn’t get off to a good start.

I met Rajan around the time I turned seventeen. He was from India and he was a little older than me, in my year. He was also a little young for college. That summer we started dating and we went to Boston, Massachusetts and New Orleans together. Around my eighteenth birthday, I got pregnant, and that pretty much made Ma mad. Rajan and I got married a while before Wren was born, and I stayed home for a year with Wren while Rajan  continued at Brown. I managed to get back into Brown later, and we continued. We graduated at the same time because Rajan took an extra year for his PhD.

And all that time, Wren lived with Ma. We barely saw her during those years. She was a mistake and we wanted to take care of her, but we couldn’t. There was a whole lifetime ahead of us and we couldn’t let all the opportunities pass us by just like that. And Ma insisted I have a full, good education. Rajan’s whole purpose of coming here was to get a really good education. He didn’t come from a family with a lot of money, and he had managed to get a scholarship, that was why he came here.

Rajan was the best husband or boyfriend. He was always nice and we went out with other people, we fooled around a lot, it didn’t bother us. We were young then. There was a romance about us that might still linger. There was an excitement, a sense of fun, lingering around Rajan. That was what I liked about him. He wasn’t patriarchal or possessive. We never tried to possess each other and that was why our marriage lasted so long without hatred. We never wanted to get married in the first place and that was why we eventually started fighting so much, I think.

By the time Ayesha was four, we fought about everything. Small, tiny things that didn’t make sense were mixed in with the big things, until we were totally screwed up. We hated living together. We stayed together for so long because of Ayesha and Wren, because we didn’t want them to end up depressed and with parental problems. We wanted them to have a good life. I guess we failed in trying to make Wren a person with honourable ideals. It was a silly thing to do, unsafe and dumb, to have a baby like that. Other people were more careful. I always thought we should have been too. But I was glad once Wren was born, because I did try so hard to love her. She was my daughter and I feel guilty that I never could give her the life she really deserved. We both felt so guilty.

So when we took her to India with us, we tried to make her happy. She was seven and she missed Ma. She hardly knew us and it took her a long time to get used to us. It was when Ayesha was born that she actually settled down and we started becoming more like a regular family. But we moved far too much. When Wren was eleven we moved to New York City, and then back to Chandigarh when she was fourteen. It was alright for Ayesha, she was just four when we came back. But Wren had just settled down and made friends, adjusted to her life. It was good in New York City, they liked it. But Wren was uprooted and then plunked down in her old life again.

And then there was the fighting. Whatever normal life could have existed, the chances were gone once we started arguing. People are like that. They can’t stay together for so long. They have to move around and in India we felt confined. We weren’t that young then. We were ready to explode, and then we did. I don’t know what we argued about. Nothing, it seemed. Nothing at all. Just everything.

In 1999 we separated and then in 2000 Rajan tried to get the divorce. Those were a complicated two years. The children weren’t involved that much. Wren was grown up, anyway, she wasn’t a child, and she was away at college. Ayesha was a child and didn’t understand so well about divorce. By the time it actually happened, though, she was pretty well mature too, and then she thought it was complicated, I guess. We were divorced in late 2002. That was when I moved to N.T.F. and Ayesha started staying a month at my house, a month at Rajan’s house.

And now everything has changed all over again. I think my mother was right. She said I had this craving for change, and I think that’s true. My whole life I’ve just wanted to change from one thing to the other. I’ve just wanted to change my life, and I haven’t had time to actually enjoy living it.

Ayesha

Chapter 6 – That day

It was that day I realised I had been at Grandma’s house two whole weeks. Ma came in and woke me up at nine fifteen and I didn’t want to get up.

But my mother said we had to go to the farmer’s market to get Grandma’s tomato plant for her (she was at her art class then) and we had to go soon. So I got out of bed and in a little while I was dressed, and had eaten my breakfast and everything. Then my mother was still getting ready. I sat at the dining table, jiggling my legs around and reading Anywhere But Here. I felt miserable for some reason. And sleepy. I wanted to watch Star Wars 4, the video of which I had gotten yesterday. My hair felt dry and matty even though it was tied in a ponytail. I was worried. Not about my homework, because I wasn’t doing it since I was never going back to Vivek. Not about whether my friends had forgotten me yet, because they were replying to my emails, except Sanaa and Swati. Not about the messiness of my room, because who cares about that? Not about washing the dishes, because I had done that already. I didn’t know what I was worried about.

Ma came breezing out in some jeans and a T-shirt, her greying hair in waves around her face. She smiled at me and pulled me up.

Ma had already learnt to drive here. She said it was easy.

We drove downtown and parked in the library parking lot. We spent a long time at the library and then walked around outside, around the jewellery stalls at the Plaza, everywhere. I was grumpy and grouchy.

“Cheer up.” Ma said, squeezing my hand.

“I don’t want to.” I mumbled, looking at a necklace that cost $ 35. We couldn’t buy anything. Ma was devising ways to not let me get anything. She would say, let’s look around a little more, and that meant no. That was so duh, and I was getting more and more irritated.

At lunchtime my mother and I finally went to Subway’s, after a lot of debate because all the restaurants cost so much. They didn’t have the veggie patty and my mother let them put meat everywhere. I couldn’t stand it and said, “You could tell them not to put cheese on your part but you couldn’t tell them not to put meat on my part.”

“Take it off then. I didn’t say you had to eat it, did I?”

“It’s everywhere.”

“No it isn’t. Take it off!” I was trying her patience.

I took it off and handed it to her.

“You’re so mean.” I said, “You can spend money on yourself but you never want to spend anything on me.”

“What do you want? I’ll buy it for you.”

“You could have had your teeth done in India. If I want a glasses appointment I don’t get it, I had to have it there, but you get to buy new glasses here and everything.”

“You wanted new glasses?”

“I wanted contact lenses.”

“Fine, then get them! Why can’t I use my money the way I want to?”

“Oh yeah, you can spend on yourself but not on me. I’m your daughter, you’re supposed to care about me.”

“Well, I don’t, then. I can spend my money on myself, because you’re mean and I’m not.”

She was in a terrible mood. I knew she didn’t mean that at all, she was just mad, she would get me appointments if I wanted, but I hated her for saying that.

“Fine, I’m going. Give me some money and my library card.”

“No.”

I looked at her for a while, then got off the stool and left, finishing my sandwich and chucking the napkin in the bin on my way. I was trembling inside. I hadn’t tried this before. I didn’t know my way around here. At least in Chandigarh I knew my way around places. Inside my mother was still eating, and the men and girls next to our place were laughing and guffawing. They had irritated me.

I walked out of the restaurant and toyed with the idea of waiting in the shops and then following my mother. I decided to forget that and walked on ahead, out of the mall. I knew where I was going. To the library. I walked through the white stalls and then walked one way, but it didn’t seem the library was that way. I walked the other way and then still couldn’t find it. I came back to the stalls and then wondered what I should do. It was afternoon. There were people everywhere. I could ask anybody where the Main Library was. I went and asked a stall keeper but she didn’t live here, so she didn’t know. There were a few policemen on the corner. No way was I going to ask them. I didn’t like the police. Hateful people. I sort of ducked as I walked the second time past them, so that they wouldn’t see me, because what if they thought I was lost? Then I noticed my mother going somewhere in the stalls, and I ran after her. But she had vanished. I didn’t know where she was. Then I noticed this little old lady with red hair and after some time I asked her the directions.

“Oh, I’m sorry, honey, I don’t know.” She said. I looked around and said, distantly, “Oh, okay…”

Then I walked around some more, thinking more and more that this was a bad idea, and why did I do it? It was dumb. I was just creating problems for myself.

Then just as I turned to the correct corner, and was approaching the library, someone clutched my shoulders and said, “Hey, baby, come with me.”

Right away I knew it was my mother. But it was astonishing how many thoughts flashed through my mind just then. What if it wasn’t really my mother? Then I would have to tell my father… I would turn around and say, “No,” coldly, and walk away. I had it all planned out.

But then my mother was laughing and saying, “Did I scare you?”

“Why did you do that?” I started crying.

“Did I scare you?” She was laughing with a mixture of relief.

“No, I knew it was you, but that wasn’t nice.”

“I can’t believe this. You get mad at me for fixing my teeth, and putting meat on my sandwich.”

I was silent and started walking.

“I thought you were waiting for me! I had to go and then I had to come back because I left my bag there…”

“So you weren’t looking for me at all. I meant it. I thought you would at least come and look for me..”

“Of course I was looking for you! You shouldn’t do that again, Ayesha, you don’t know what could happen. What do you think I was doing, going all over the place, if I wasn’t looking for you?”

“You went back to look for your bag.” I wiped my eyes with my sleeve. She hugged me.

“Of course I was looking for you.” She said.

We walked back to the library parking lot and she got her car out and we drove home. Ma played Billie Holiday songs while we drove, and I stared out at the bushes and trees and thought how easy it would be to just click open my seatbelt, open the door, and jump out, and die. But I wasn’t brave enough. The worst thing about killing oneself were what if one survived?

When I got home I told Grandma about it. I expected some sort of shock or something but Grandma didn’t seem shocked, or relieved. That was what seemed so disappointing. I always seemed to act for an audience, never for myself. My life seemed to be for an audience.

Chapter 7 – The New Life

I wanted to be different now that I was finally living here. I wanted to be someone fantastic, someone cool, with a great wardrobe, and great taste, and I wanted to be beautiful.

I bullied Ma into letting me de-hair myself, so I got a cream and shaved my legs and arms and underarms with it, and I got plucking equipment and plucked my eyebrows and upper lip, and also found a certain amount of other things for hair and skin, such as a conditioner, body wash, three different types of lotion, several different types of hairbrushes and combs, pimple cream (though I don’t have acne, just a few pimples), several different kinds of soaps and shampoos, lots of tissue paper, curlers etc.

Grandma got me a dentist appointment, an eye appointment and a hair cutting appointment. I knew this probably cost a lot. I got contact lenses which took me three weeks to get used to, and my hair was in a feather sort of cut that draped around my head and shoulders.

But I thought I still looked ugly. I started brushing my teeth better, too. I couldn’t buy a lot of clothes until there was more money, but I did go to several thrift stores and buy some clothes. I wore some of Grandma’s clothes, sometimes, too. She had some nice clothes.

I wanted to look especially good for the first day of school. Ma was going to start at Santa Fe High, the school she went to when she was younger. She was going to teach physics and biology. She was pleased about her job, though she would have preferred to teach something else. She would have liked to teach art or something. But you really can’t have everything.

On the first day of school, Mom was nervous too. I woke up before six and by seven I was ready. I was wearing a short denim skirt with knee length leather boots that belonged to my mother a long time ago, newly polished and shined, and a stomach T-shirt, completely black with white zebra stripes on it, under a denim jacket. My hair was shiny and wavy and I wore a denim hat. I put mascara and cherry lipstick and very little jewellery on. I had gotten my ears pierced and the front strands of my hair dyed lighter, and I thought I looked pretty good.

But when I got in the car, I was so nervous. Mom was dressed in a white floral shirt and a long denim skirt, and she looked like a teacher should. But I did not look like someone who was going to school. Mom had given me an odd look when she saw me. I got out of the car, went in and took off the boots. My legs were sweating like crazy. I put on my denim platforms instead, and went back outside. Then we went.

Mom dropped me off at Casablanca High School and for a moment I was frenzied. I didn’t know what to do. I adjusted my bag and walked purposefully towards the big building. People were everywhere, lounging about, least dressed for school. Nobody seemed to see me or notice me or anything. I walked inside and down the hall until I found my locker, and homeroom. I didn’t know how to open my locker, and for a while kept jiggling the dumb combination lock. Then suddenly it clicked open and the door slammed out, nearly banging me. I gingerly hung my bag on the hook, taking out my notebook, binder, a new notebook and my pencil pouch in the shape of a black kitten. Then I closed the locker and walked into the classroom, which was empty, obviously, since the bell hadn’t rung yet. Even the teacher wasn’t there. It was a normal looking classroom, with bulletin boards and chairs around shiny circular tables, and a blackboard.

I sat down at one of the front chairs and wondered if anyone else would come and sit with me. The table had five other seats so I assumed someone would have to sit down.

When the bell did ring, an assortment of people came flooding in. Two guys and three girls sat down at my table, and one of the girls asked who I was, but otherwise they didn’t talk to me at all. They continued talking to each other as if they had broken off in the middle of a conversation.

The teacher was a grouchy old man who didn’t say much, just called roll call and banged his fist on the table to ask for silence every now and then. When the bell rang again, about forty five minutes later, during which I had written two poems, drawn some stuff and doodled in my notebook, everyone got up again and left. I was the last one to leave.

My next class was Language Arts and I wasted five minutes trying to find the classroom. The class had just started when I came in, but the teacher was a young woman and she was nice. She smiled at me and I took an empty seat. She introduced herself as Laura Ashley.

“Do you mean like the clothes brand?” Some guy asked, and everyone laughed.

“No, not like the clothes brand.” She was laughing too. “My whole life people made fun of that,” She joked. If someone made fun of my name I would be embarrassed.

She proceeded to explain what the whole class was about, and then had everyone introduce themselves. When it was my turn, I said, “Um, my name is Ayesha, I’m from India and… I like writing a lot, and I also like music and drama…. I read a lot too.” Nobody paid much attention except some people who asked me what it was like in India, which is such a difficult question I usually disappoint everyone when they ask it.

Everyone was new, but I was the only person who was new to the school system and didn’t know anyone else.

The first few days were like that. No, actually the first three weeks were like that. I sat alone in the cafeteria and dreaded school, though some of my teachers were nice. I decided I didn’t care about looking great anymore, and just wore jeans and a T-shirt and brought a jacket to school every day. My birthday passed without comment. I was fourteen, but didn’t feel older, or better, or anything. Ninth grade was not good, I decided, here or in India. It was easier here but I felt miserable because I missed my friends so much and no one spoke to me here.

Ma had a much better time of it. She was the teacher, so her students had to talk to her. She said the students had discipline problems, though, and were sometimes really unruly and she couldn’t even yell at them a lot.

My favourite teacher was Laura. She said I had writing talent, which was definitely true, and I started showing her a lot of my works. We went over them and discussed them. The first two months went by and still I didn’t have any friends. I was getting to feel quite lonely. Ma said she enjoyed her classes but I didn’t enjoy mine. I really wished I could be with my friends.

The only class I liked was Language Arts. It was basically English, with literature, language, everything. I had it for an hour every day. One day in November I walked into the class early, sat down at the usual seat, and then when everyone was assembled, Laura smiled specially at me and said, “Today I’d like to read one of those pieces I assigned you to write. A particular member of this class wrote a piece which I thought everyone would be interested in.”

A sickening feeling started in my mouth and I swallowed. I tried to signal frantic eye messages to Laura but she didn’t seem to see. The topic was “Role Models” and I had written all about a certain grown up I had once known called Mukta, and how in the period of two days I had changed my opinion from her being my role model to not being my role model. I wouldn’t have written about her if it wasn’t going to remain secret, because that was a private feeling and I didn’t want to share Mukta with anyone else.

Some people looked curiously at me. Of course everyone knew it was mine, who else wrote that well?

Suddenly I realised Laura had started. At some point I heard her saying, “ ‘…. that day she was going to stay overnight at my house. I was really happy. That was what was strange… the way my moods depended on people sometimes. She came over and for a while the house was empty and she was trying to get me to dance. I never could dance but then I tried to. I was always really shy and I never really liked dancing that much because of it, so it was as if my muscles were cardboard. I didn’t know how to move to the rhythm of music. So we had a good time, anyway, and then my parents came home and we ate dinner and then my father was watching a movie on TV and Mukta got interested. I still remember what that movie was. ‘Basketball Diaries,’ and it was about a guy who’s on drugs and it was kind of gruesome, you know, and why would anyone be interested in it? My father watched TV just for the heck of it when he was tired and for some reason they both thought this was a good movie. My father used to watch the movies as if he was actually watching the way they were made, the lights, the camera, the movement, the way everything was photographed, the actors stepping out of their real selves into something different, something to entertain people. That was why he never called a movie scary, or whatever. Anyway, so now Mukta was interested. I was stupid then. I guess I really might have been tired like everyone said, but I got mad at Mukta for not paying attention to me then. Then even when she tried to make me understand I just said well, okay, I’m sorry, but I decided she wasn’t my role model after all. I know that is so dumb, so stupid to base one’s opinions and ideals on one small little incident, and it’s so childish, I was acting like a baby, but it made me think that Mukta was really just like all the other grown ups in many ways. There wasn’t really so much different about her, except that she was a bit more understanding. Then I thought well, role models aren’t really satisfying. Why should people have role models? What if the role model suddenly lets fall some things that make the people realise that they’re not perfect at all? That’s so disappointing, but nobody is perfect. I think people should base their ideals on what they observe and not on other people’s ideals. People should have role models that are themselves. This is not a good example and it is not meant to be an example. It’s meant to be just a small little incident, just something that happened that won’t make any difference. It’s just a curious thing that happened.’ ” Laura stopped. I closed my eyes.

I was actually embarrassed. Now it sounded like childish prattle. Nothing embarrassing, but even things that are not embarrassing make people embarrassed, often. I just wished Laura hadn’t read that out. Now everybody was staring at me curiously, like I was some alien being or something.

“You know what I liked about this piece?” She was saying. “I liked it because it showed just that – an interesting small incident and how small incidents make us act, and react, and think, you know. They make us angry or upset when there’s really nothing to be angry or upset about. And I liked this essay because it was the only one which was a real event, a real thing. Everyone else, though they may have written exceptionally well, did not really think about what the words role model meant to them…”

I felt so dumb then. I hated being the centre of attention, this time.

Two days later I was sitting at the cafeteria table, eating lunch as usual. I didn’t buy my lunch because it was gross, I brought some food from home. Today it was a sandwich with soft broccoli, guacamole, tomato, cucumber, olives, sprouts and peanut butter. I know that sounds rather weird, but I liked it. And somehow I manage to eat sandwiches neatly.

So I was munching meditatively when these two people, a guy and a girl, came and stood next to the table. The first thing I saw was their shoes. The girl was wearing leather ankle boots and the guy was wearing sneakers. I looked up at them questioningly. I recognised them. They were from my English class. The girl was also in my maths class.

“Hi,” He said, “Can we sit here?”

“Yeah.” I nodded, hope surging up in me.

“We’re Nyle and Ezra.” She said. “You’re Ayesha, right?”

They set their lunch trays down on the table. Identical. A small carton of milk, a straw, a spoon, fork and knife, napkins, a messy looking casserole, a very thin crusted, watery looking pizza slice. I swallowed. It looked disgusting.

“Yeah, I know,” Ezra said, catching me looking at the food. “It’s barfable. Sometimes I bring my own lunch but usually I forget.”

“I don’t bother. See. What I do is bring the lunch to the table, then,” She gingerly picked up the paper plate with the casserole thing on it, and dropped it in the bin nearby. Then she dropped in the pizza slice. She scattered a few crumbs on the plate, then took out a bunch of mushed up paper, and stuffed that it in the bin too. “See, you have to be careful because if they catch you you’re in trouble. Cathlyn writes complaints in the school newsletter about the cafeteria food, but they take no notice. And my mother asks to make sure I’m eating but she never comes to know what the real truth is.” She smiled, satisfied.

“But then aren’t you hungry?” I asked, as Ezra rolled his eyes. Nyle shrugged. “After school we go to the café near the library and I eat a burrito or something.”

“Um… do you want part of my sandwich?”

“No, that’s okay. Hey, why don’t you join the school newsletter team? You’re obviously good at writing.”

“Yeah,” Ezra said, “That essay Laura read in class was…. interesting.”

“I’m very bad at teamwork.” I said, “but maybe I will, sometime.”

I took the chance to study them. Ezra was very good looking, with long reddish hair, till his shoulders, parted, and green eyes. He wore baggy clothes, and a denim jacket with worn cuffs. His sweatshirt said “The way to success is failure.” He had a silver hoop in one ear. His hands were long, slender and beautiful. He had clean nails. I hate it when people have dirty nails. He looked a bit scruffy but not really. He was tall and lanky.

Nyle was tall too, but she was too thin and kind of angular. Her face was serene and her eyes were plain grey. Her hair was long and wound up on top, blonde with purple streaks. She wore jeans with peace signs on them, a sweater with peace signs on it, and peace sign earrings. She looked interesting. She didn’t look neat either. Underneath her sweater she wore a long shirt that was bright turquoise and had gold stars on it. There was a long rip up one side of the jeans. Her sweater was frayed at the top and bottom.

I thought they looked kind of cool in an interesting way. Better than I did, anyway, in my floral sweater and blue velvet pants. I looked too neat. Even my hair was too neat.

“Was Mukta real?” Ezra asked.

“Oh…” I thought about it. Should I lie, or what? “Yes, she was real.” I said, finally.

“You seem to be awfully close. Do you still know each other?”

“Yeah, we communicate. She’s kind of an oddity.”

Ezra smiled. “Most people are, don’t you think?”

I looked around. “Yeah.”

“We noticed you were being ignored.” Nyle announced. I did not really think this was appropriate, and nor, I think, did Ezra, but we didn’t say anything. “You could be an interesting person, though.”

“Oh… thanks,” I said, vaguely, wondering about her.

“You take school seriously, don’t you?” Nyle asked.

“Well…” I said, “In a way… because I’m used to it. Where I used to live, school wasn’t such an easy job.”

“Hmmm… did you use to have exams all the time?”

“Not all the time.”

“Anyway,” Ezra said, “How do you like it here?”

“It’s good… in some ways.”

“Yeah… do you live with your parents, or what?”

“I live with my grandmother and mother.”

“Oh. Where?”

“On Agua Fria Road… West. It’s number 60. You know, it’s on the outskirts.”

“Yeah… we live next door to each other,” Nyle said, “On Don Diego Road.”

The bell rang then so Nyle and Ezra brought their trays to the cafeteria pile up and I went to my chemistry class.

I guess I had friends then, sort of. Nyle and Ezra didn’t really have like loads of friends, but they knew everyone. They got along with everyone. Ezra took violin lessons. He came on the radio every now and then and wanted to study at Juilliard someday.

Kavya

Chapter 8 – My Father

I don’t remember my father much. He was tall and his eyes were a bit like mine, everyone said. I don’t really remember anything we did, except vague pictures of people laughing and talking and him in them. He died when I was six and no one ever talks about him. I don’t remember anything he said to me. I remember we went on a trip to the Bhakra Dam and he was there. I remember him carrying me off the Sukhna Lake wall when we first  came here and I liked to run around on the little stone wall. Kids always get shouted at because of that.

He died in a car accident. I don’t remember anything about that day, really, except that I was sitting in the living room, on the sofa, my legs dangling off it, and my face was frozen. The biggest thing I remember is that I didn’t cry. Not at all. Not until days later, and even then, I had known him so little I could not summon the strength to cry. Everyone around me was crying – Renu, Amma, Ankit, even. That’s strange. I’ve never really known Ankit to cry. He doesn’t, usually. People say I don’t, either. I just don’t think crying is a necessary thing. It doesn’t solve problems, and everyone thinks you’re so lame then.

Well, we moved to N.T.F. right after that. I know we weren’t supposed to get into that house right away and we were given extra advantages. I don’t know how I came to know about that because certainly nobody ever told me. It was just an inkling, maybe Ayesha said that once. We were pretty close so she didn’t mind saying whatever she liked to me. I used to feel kind of weird about that but now I don’t, probably because I’ve never ever had a friend like that other than her, and I never will find someone like that again. I’m pretty much over all that. I liked her too much for petty feelings. And I didn’t realise how much I would really miss her until she left. Everyone says that and now I’m saying it. I’m unoriginal. So what?

Ayesha used to ask me why Renu left. At first I was kind of evasive about it, and she was hesitant to ask me. Renu was our all-purpose maid, she took care of me, doing my hair, we sent her to school, she cleaned and helped my mother, everything. I don’t remember exactly when she left. Maybe I was ten. It was before Ayesha moved to T-2.

People said I was always serious and mature, sort of, for my age. Ayesha was tall and bigger than me, but she was five months older, too. She was a whole class higher and she had that advantage of knowing things. But I guess when we were younger I was more sensible. Now she’s probably got more sense, like she kept trying to prove. I wish she didn’t keep trying to prove it though. What was her business doing that? Ayesha was always trying to prove things. She never realised people liked her the way she was, without proof. She went through a stage where she kept asking for proof and that was maddening. She would do it to irk everyone, asking give me proof, for like the fact that she was pretty. Now how can you prove that someone is pretty?

She wasn’t pretty like the other girls, you know. Not like those girls who waxed their arms and legs and threaded their lips and plucked their eyebrows (though she does that now too, and that just made me feel empty when I heard it, for some reason) and put on makeup (and she does that too, she must be a regular beauty) and spend ages in front of their mirrors. She’ll always be prettier than everyone else because of the way she is. She has a kind of aura that’s beautiful, and extraordinary, and she knew it too. You could see that. She would twirl around in front of the mirror for ages and she loved long mirrors. She would peer at herself, dissatisfied. But she could have been satisfied, if she wanted to be. Ayesha never could just be. She kept trying to prove herself, prove her points, prove everything. She was insecure.

Amma and I and Renu and Ankit managed perfectly. Even when Renu left, we continued and managed perfectly. We had money, and good clothes and food and a clean house and I helped my mother. She’s really finicky and now I hate helping her. Now I like to wear cool clothes and watch TV. I know Ayesha would be disappointed I don’t read as many books anymore, but she has to realise I’m not her model or anything. She thinks I agree with Anya about everything but that’s not true. I’ve spent so much time trying to prove that to her and I’m not going to prove it anymore. Anya is an individual and so am I. I have the right to be one and she doesn’t have to interfere.

You know what Ayesha does? She spends too much time thinking about others, thinking about what they think of her. She doesn’t have time to just be herself, without an audience. If her life were a blank stage she would wilt, because she acts for an audience. But she’s marvellous when she’s herself. She’s an interesting person and people like to meet her, but she’s the one who’s so critical.

Renu left because Amma decided we could manage, and they got into disagreements. I don’t really know what the whole reason was. Do you think my mother would really tell me? I remember I used to say I liked to talk to my mother about things but I hate doing that now. Now I would never tell her the stuff Anya, Ayesha and I used to talk about.

Well, I never really thought about my father that much. I didn’t have cause to. I had hardly known him and maybe that was an advantage. Nobody ever talked about him. The subject just wasn’t brought up. It was like, no one talked about it. I never even wondered about it. I bet Ayesha does but then her father isn’t dead. When someone is dead you don’t like to talk about them that much. I think she understands that, because the topic never comes up between us either.

Another thing Ayesha doesn’t seem to understand is that my brother and I are not close. She thinks if you live with someone you have to be close to them. She should look at her parents. They never were close were they? And Ankit and I are close, but we aren’t close enough to confide in each other. Why would we? I would never tell my brother anything. I have friends enough already. Ayesha’s right. I’m always surrounded by friends, not like her. She loves to talk so much, and maybe that’s because she never had as many people to talk to, and she’s so brilliant. I and Anya are just not brilliant minded or something like that. We’re smart and we have our opinions and ideals but we don’t go around trying to prove that we’re different like Ayesha does. Anya tries to act sophisticated but I like being me. I think that’s a good thing.

I don’t know what it would be like to have a father. I’m around other people’s fathers and Ayesha’s father used to tease me and Anya, Anya especially, and we kidded him right back. But I don’t know what it is like to have a father. How would I know? Fathers are so varying too. Ayesha and her father are really close and he’s really nice and a good father. But Anya doesn’t like her father that much and they aren’t close. He’s creepy in some ways and kind of weird.

Chapter 9 – The Middle of Summer Vacation

I woke up at nine and for a moment I thought. I stared at the ceiling. My mother was up as usual. I could hear her scolding Ankit for something. The door was open and the AC was turned off. It was hot. The sheets were tossed around me and my pyjamas were kind of twisted. My hair was messy. I remembered I had gotten a feather cut and had told Ayesha about it in my latest email. I didn’t write her that often, just once a week or something, because I just couldn’t summon myself to. I wasn’t lazy, I just hated typing and it was hard for me to do everything: read the stories and poems she sent me, and write to her, and get on with my life otherwise. I missed her too much, too, to be able to easily write to her.

I missed her already so much and it was only three weeks gone. But it’s different when you know that person is never coming to visit. Now I knew what Ayesha meant by forgetting someone. Because maybe Ayesha would come back during holidays for the next three years or something but then after that… what? Because she would go to college, and we would finish class twelve. Then we would go to college too. Who knows if we would ever meet again? Who knows if we would continue to communicate forever? That’s a hard thing to do.

And who knows what she would become?

I would never forget her. But after a while we probably just wouldn’t be friends anymore. I always said she was one of the best friends I ever had, but I think she was really The Best. Anya is great too, but she’ll never be like Ayesha. I won’t ever be able to wipe out these seven years I’ve known Ayesha, ever since her seventh birthday party when I didn’t come. I was six and a half then and now I’m thirteen. Ayesha will be fourteen in September. There’s so much that has happened. Till we were ten, I never even thought she was my best friend. We were like third best friends or something. Then things changed. She says things changed during that year she moved to T-2 but they really changed before that. Maybe there were two changes.

I think we were pretty grown up kids. We already knew so much, too much, really. Ayesha knew about sex, and stuff like that, when she was seven, so she told us. I think my mother got started in on it once but I told her I already knew. That was last year, in October or something. I can’t believe my mother waited that long. What, didn’t she think I already knew a lot of things?

And then we always acted as if we were all so lordly. At least I know Ayesha did. Kriti probably fell out with us because she wasn’t like us. She didn’t want to be sophisticated, and she was just too sensible. On Anya’s birthday, when she wore that red suit and knee socks and those nylons and sandals, I just couldn’t stand it. It just didn’t make sense how someone could be so out of date. It was mean to laugh at her when she went but I didn’t care. Because hell, didn’t that girl have any sense at all?

That day we had to go to lunch at Anshul’s house. I closed my eyes. The world underneath seemed black and empty, then I opened them again and sat up. I walked into the bathroom, slamming the door. I examined myself in the mirror. My hair was messy, but it looked excellent when it was neat. I touched my ears. It was new to have pierced ears. I decided I would wear those earrings Ayesha gave me a long time ago, when I didn’t have pierced ears, the peace ones. They looked cool. I remembered we had to leave at eleven, so I decided I should hurry up.

I never thought I was pretty, there was always the hairline problem because of that idiot cut the idiot barber gave me when I was small. Then my eyes weren’t spectacular or anything. I wasn’t tall, and I didn’t have like any features that stood out or anything. My nose is nice, and my lips are okay, and I look okay, but not like, pretty. Ayesha says I look pretty when I’m wearing really good clothes, but mostly the comment you are pretty is directed at Anya, who retains prettiness even though she is small and too thin, and angular. She is pretty.

But I looked good with that haircut. I finished bathing and dressed, quickly, putting on those jeans with the sequined patterns on the thighs and legs, with my glittery shirt. I put on the earrings and cherry lip gloss, smiled at myself in the mirror, ignoring my imperfect teeth (they’re not really bad, just a few gaps) and walking into the other room. Amma was already dressed and Ankit was slouched in a chair, reading.

“Kavya, why have you woken up late? We have to leave in half an hour. Here, quickly. Eat your breakfast.”

My mother was always rebuking me for something or other, and I shot her a mean look as I started eating my paranthas.

That afternoon I went to Anya’s house straightaway, because I really wanted to see her. I see her all the time but I still like to see her even more.

Anya was all, “What happened? What was the party like? Did Anshul say anything? What did you do?”

I sat down on one of the sofas. “Is anybody home?”

“No.” Anya sat down too. She was wearing a huge T-shirt and jeans. Obviously she wasn’t dressed up.

“Well, no, Anshul and I didn’t talk to each other alone.” I sighed. “We didn’t get a chance to.”

“But you wanted to, right?” Anya winked, smiling. “Kavya…”

“Oh shut up. Anyway, there was another guy, cute, who had blond streaks in his hair. Isn’t that cool? His name was Raghav.”

“Oh.” Anya twirled a strand of her curly hair around her finger. “So did anything good happen?”

“No. Nothing really. “ I sighed.

“I wish you and Anshul could have talked, alone.”

“Yeah. What did you do all day?”

“Nothing. I was reading this book.” She showed me a book called “Summer of my penpals.” Recently Anya was gotten interested in books. When Ayesha became a member of the British Library she became one too.

“Has your internet started working yet?”

“Ye-es…” Anya hesitated, and the book snapped shut.

“So have you written to Ayesha?”

“Not yet. I’m planning to.” She sighed. “I wonder what she’ll be like. I wonder whether she’s met any cute guys.”

“Yeah. She hasn’t though, not yet.”

“Well… she will, anyway.” Anya sighed again.

“Why, don’t you miss her?”

“Of course I do.” Anya looked around the room and sighed for the third time. “I wish we had something to do.”

“Tomorrow we’re going to Fun Republic.”

“Yeah… and at six Star Wars 2 is coming. Hey, I wish we could watch the other movies.”

“Ayesha’s already watched 1 and 4… too. She’s planning to watch 5 and 6 soon. 3 hasn’t come out yet.”

“Well, maybe Pallak can rent DVD s and I can watch them there.”

“Yeah…”  I trailed off and looked around. Ayesha just was supposed to be there and I couldn’t stand the thought that she wasn’t coming back.

Ayesha

 Chapter 10 – Julia

Sometime in December they announced that there was going to be a Christmas dance on the 24^th, a special occasion for Christmas Eve. There wouldn’t be any school, since that was officially the first day of Christmas vacation, but at nine in the evening the dance would take place in the huge art barn outside the school. People from Santa Fe High School would come too. Those were the only two public high schools in Santa Fe so it wasn’t like there would be any dearth of people. I had no delusions about being asked. After being ignored for two months and then making friends only with two people, I wasn’t expecting any surprises.

They had come over to my house twice or thrice so far. But mostly I walked home with them, since Don Diego wasn’t far from Casablanca. We usually hung out at Ezra’s house because Nyle’s house was in a mess. Her mother and father were getting divorced, and her mother was depressed and stayed in bed and drank and smoked all day, and her father was always away. Her older sister had left home and lived with her boyfriend in Albuquerque.

I was glad my parents weren’t like that. Though I couldn’t say much for Wren. Wren always went off and did her thing whenever she wanted, and she was a lot farther away too, in Paris. But I never had a situation so bad as Nyle’s and I wished I could identify but I couldn’t. She was so cool, though. She went around acting herself, the girl who isn’t shaken by anything. She’s really scary when she wants to be and the thing I really like about her is that she has that reckless look in her eyes, like Natalie Portman does. Of course she has light hair and eyes but still. Her hair is mostly streaked different colours.

But Nyle thinks it’s a great coincidence my parents are divorced too, and I have an older sister the same age who goes off and does her thing, without thinking of anyone else. Well I don’t know if Wren never thinks about other people but she sure never seems to. She never thinks for herself either. Anyone who becomes a fashion designer can’t be credited with a brain.

One day in homeroom there was this new girl. Mr. Smyth had her introduce herself. Her name was Julia Evangeline and she was a professional violinist. That was some surprising information and at the cafeteria she walked up to our table and smiled at us, and asked if she could sit with us. Nyle agreed and she set her tray down next to my lunch bag. She sat down and smiled again.

“I’m Julia,” She said, as if we didn’t already know. “You’re in my homeroom, aren’t you?” She was looking at Ezra and me. “And you all are in my English class.” She said.

“Yeah.” Ezra said. “That’s right. I’m Ezra.”

Nyle looked at Julia carefully, then said, “I’m Nyle. And this is Ayesha.”

I was irritated. I liked to introduce myself, myself. No one was supposed to do my work for me. Julia looked at me again, and her eyes lingered on mine for a long time, till I felt uncomfortable and looked away. Julia was a really beautiful sort of girl, in a strange way. I barely noticed what they were all talking about. Julia had long red hair that fell over her face and blew in the breeze, and seemed to float around her. Her hair looked as if it probably smelled great. I wondered what her hair would smell like, what shampoo she used to get her hair so floating like that, and whether she used conditioner.

She had long, long, tanned legs, and she was wearing a floral skirt with ruffled endings, the style that’s in these days, ending just below the knees, that swished around when she walked and showed off her precise figure. She was tall, taller than Nyle but a little shorter than Ezra. About 5’7”. The ruffled endings of her skirt touched my legs and I jerked them away, so that she looked at me strangely. The material felt odd, like spider webs or something. I wanted to touch it and find out what it was made of. I wished I had a skirt like that. She was wearing a black satin strapless top with the skirt and I wished I could look glamorous like she did.

“Hey, Ayesha, are you still around?” Ezra laughed, looking at me.

“Oh, what?” I asked. I looked around at everyone and tried to smile naturally.

“Where are you from in India?” Julia was asking.

“Oh, a place called Chandigarh. Near Delhi.”

“Really? That’s cool.” She studied me. “So what do your parents do?”

“Uh, they’re professors, well, now my mother teaches at high school but she used to teach at a university until she moved here.”

“What about your dad, where does he teach?”

“He teaches back in Chandigarh, at a university there...” I paused, “We used to live in that campus.”

“Oh, so your parents are divorced?”

“Yeah.” I tried to look indifferent, “They got divorced two years ago and my mother and I moved here this year.”

“So how long have you been here?”

“Since May. Um... are you really a professional violinist?”

“Yeah, I was wondering about that too.” Ezra said. “How many years have you been taking lessons?”

“I wouldn’t call it lessons.” Julia smiled. “I live with my teacher, Professor Kline. He’s one of the best violin teachers in the US, and unfortunately very expensive, though I earn money from my shows.”

“So where have you performed? How many times?” Ezra looked interested.

“Oh, since I started, when I was three, I’ve had about thirteen performances.” Then she looked down at her hands as if she was afraid she was boasting, which she was. “I plan to go to Juilliard. My mother and father think I can get into an audition in June.”

“Wow. That’d be cool, to get some place like Juilliard. That’s like, the ultimate, isn’t it?”

I was getting irritated at how Ezra was sucking up to Julia and so I said, “Uh... I’ll be back...” and dumped my bag in the garbage, then headed for the girls’ room. I stared at my reflection in the mirror for a long time. The bell rang and bunches of girls piled into the bathroom, laughing, talking, staring at me weirdly. I walked out and down to my art class.

Julia came to my house on Saturday morning. I was reading and then the doorbell rang. Grandma opened the door and when I saw that it was Julia I nearly dropped the book. I walked over to the door, composed, smiling.

“Oh, hi, Julia.” I said. “I didn’t know you had my address. This is my grandmother.”

“Hello... I’m Elizabeth Wilson.” Grandma said, brushing back her hair. “What’s your name again?”

“Julia Evangeline, Mrs. Wilson.” Julia smiled at Grandma and said, “I’m new at school. Ayesha and I are friends... aren’t we?”

I thought that was a strange thing to say but I just nodded. “Oh... why don’t you come into the living room?”

“Yeah, you have two doors, don’t you? This is a cool house...” She stared up at the ceiling. She had a wonderful, aquiline neck. She was wearing shredded short overalls, sneakers, ankle socks and a sleeveless spaghetti strap tight top, over a black top. Her hair was in a high ponytail and she looked like she had been working out.

Then suddenly I noticed that Julia had a violin case with her.

“I hope I didn’t disturb you,” She smiled at me, sitting on the low sofa, “Hey, were you working on collage?” She asked, looking at the magazines and scissors on the table.

“Oh, well, I was planning to.”

“Well then, maybe we can do it together, huh?” She smiled. She had perfect white teeth.

“Would you play something on your violin for me?”

“Sure.” She took out her violin. It was beautiful, all polished and pretty and black and shiny wood. “What shall I play?”

“You’re the first person I’ve met who uses the word shall... anything you want, Julia.”

Julia laughed. “Yeah, I’m old-fashioned, huh?” She stood up on the regular floor, rather than the depression here, and stood erect, holding the violin gently, carefully, with ease. “This is A Mozart sonata.”

The moment she started playing I was impressed. I was already so impressed by Julia, with the beautiful long red hair and the jade green eyes. Tall, slender Julia who just walked up to a table in the cafeteria and started talking to people, just like that when she was new. Beautiful Julia who was a professional violinist, who came over to people’s houses, who had guts.

And her music was like Mozart’s, that’s what it sounded like. To my amateur mind. It was beautiful. Usually I get so bored listening to music but now I was so wrapped up in it. She was so wholly concentrated. Her head wasn’t shaking or anything but her eyes were shut and her brow a little wrinkled, and her fingers seemed to flow, and the bow sliced as evenly as a cook cut cheese with a knife, but with so much more grace, so much more beauty... and she didn’t notice when Grandma called, “What’s that record you have on, Ayesha?” Then she skidded to a stop in front of us and she backed away, surprised. She continued standing there, listening, her eyes closing, until Julia finished and took a deep sigh and smiled, setting down the violin and bow.

“That was amazing.” Grandma said, “Julia, that was truly amazing. Do you study at a professional music school?”

“I’m hoping to get into Juilliard.”

“Well, I’m sure you will. I can’t believe it, I thought it was a record playing and I was surprised because Ayesha doesn’t usually like classical music....”

“You don’t?” Julia’s face fell.

“Oh, I do!” I assured her. “I do. Your music was one of the best things I’ve ever heard. I do like classical music sometimes, Grandma. Haven’t you noticed I listen to Beethoven and Bach sometimes?”

“Oh, well...” Then Grandma’s timer rang and she rushed back to the kitchen.

“Julia... your piece was beautiful...” I must have sounded strange because she looked at me niftily.

“Well, thank you.” She said, gracefully, “So tell me about your life. What do you like to do? Who are your friends, besides Ezra and Nyle?”

A week before the dance Ezra asked Julia to it. She lived on Cerrillos Road and her mother was a professional dance teacher. Her father was in business. He and I went over to her house that day. It was snowing and I wore a purple jacket and my black corduroys. When we got to her door Ezra smiled at me and I took off my hat, feeling a sudden blast of cold wind.

“You look cute,” He said, “You have snow on your nose.” He reached out a gloved hand and wiped it away, and I reached my hand to his when his hand dropped, and then the door opened and we guiltily let go of each other’s hands.

Julia was practising and I went into her living room. I started looking at all the photos of Julia and all her prizes and things. Then Julia came into the hall and she and Ezra were talking. I couldn’t hear what they were saying but I slowly traced my fingers over one of the photographs. They were talking intimately, very softly. Then I turned and walked towards them.

“What happened?” I asked. They looked surprised. Julia looked confused.

“We’re going to the dance together,” She finally said, smiling awkwardly. They were holding hands.

“Really?” I asked, softly, but more in that quiet voice than the mushy voice. “Great.” I looked straight at Ezra then. He looked back at me, and he looked confused, too, as if there was some mistake. Then I smiled, and he turned red and looked away.

“I don’t really take dances seriously, Ayesha.” Ezra explained, when we were at his house later on. Julia had to go to the airport. Her parents were leaving for NYC, where they lived. Her professor was back from some trip. We’d met him. He was nice.

“Nor do I.” I said, though I never was at a dance before.

“So... you seem to be taking it seriously.”

“Well, it is my first dance. But I don’t care, because who makes a fuss about dances? They’re dumb.”

“Yeah... I hope you don’t mind my asking Julia.”

I looked at him sharply. If he thought I would mind he wouldn’t have asked her, would he? But that wasn’t what was bothering me. It was something about the way Julia had looked confused. But I wasn’t really bothered at all.

The evening the dance was to take place, we ate dinner at Nyle’s, for once. We ordered pizza and ate it in the lounge, which was set up as our dressing room. Nyle was going with a senior called Mikhail. She had everything organised.

“I don’t see why I have to dress up specially, Nyle.” I said, “Since I’m not going with anyone, for one thing.”

“Yeah, but still. You should look cool, you know.”

Julia was flopped on the bed, wearing just her bra and underwear. She was on her stomach and I thought about what a pretty figure she had. And she was so indifferent. She could just lie there in her underwear.

“I think I should just wear what I’m wearing.”

“No way!” Julia said, “Absolutely not.”

In the end we were actually pretty cool looking. They bullied me into it.

Julia’s hair was black eyed and she had on a black leather miniskirt, black fishnets, black knee-length leather boots, a chic black jacket on top of her strapless black top. Some black jewellery. Black mascara, black lipstick, black nails. No blush, because pale was in. Her hair styled to look hanging into her face. I wondered what it would be like to kiss someone with black lipstick.

Nyle’s hair was a little spiky, dyed the rainbow. She was wearing multicoloured jazzy pants and a slinky glittery rainbow top that exposed her entire back, a lot of her stomach and neck and was very risqué.

“Nyle, I thought Ezra and you were going out.” I said, when Julia was in the bathroom.

“Huh? What gave you that idea? We’re friends.”

“Well... whatever.”

“He likes you.” She mussed up her hair, then combed it, then sprayed it.

“No he doesn’t. He likes Julia.”

“She asked him, Ayesha. Not the other way around. And it’s just a dance. Grow up. He’ll probably ask you for most of the dances.”

I was wearing a glittery black long sleeved turtleneck of satiny material, that bared my stomach and had wide ended sleeves. Nyle said it went with my hair, which was left open. I was wearing silver moon earrings and had normal makeup on. On the bottom I was wearing black velvet pants with sequins on the borders, with black suede platforms. I guess I looked the most basic, the least wild, but also the most chic. Julia was hot, Nyle was wild, and I was cool. I smiled at myself in the mirror before we left.

The dance was normal. The shack was decked up and even had a disco ball, and it was lighted in neon colours. The chaperones gave an introduction, and then a band called Noise came and started banging the drums and electric guitars. Julia asked Ezra to all the fast dances and I was glad because I don’t know how to dance, really.

Nyle disappeared almost as soon as we got there and I sat around feeling lousy till eleven. Nobody talked to me, except Julia and Ezra every now and then to encourage me, but I didn’t get up and dance. I decided I would never come to dances again.

Then a slow song started up, another band called Deck’s Angels. Ezra and Julia continued dancing. They were snuggled up into each other and at the end of it they French kissed. Then I just got up, and then turned around, one last fleeting hope. Julia was standing in the spotlight, alone. She looked mad. The song ended, and I walked outside. Ezra was sitting by the fountain and I thought it was an ideal romantic setting.

“Hi,” I said, and sat down beside him, dangling my legs, kicking the brick. Then I stopped. I wondered if he really did like me.

“Hey,” he said.

“What are you doing out here?”

“I don’t want to dance with her.”

“Why?”

“Because... I don’t know. She’s kind of possessive.”

“Yeah, I see what you mean.”

“I wanted to ask you to dance with me, Ayesha.”

“Oh.. why didn’t you, then?”

“Because...” he shivered. “It’s too cold here. Let’s go in.”

We went in. I was feeling really cold out there too, so I was glad, and then Ezra asked me if I would dance with him the rest of the night to make up for earlier. I said I didn’t know about all the time, wouldn’t that be possessive of him too? We laughed and then I somehow figured out how to slow dance. But I got kind of uncomfortable after a while, so I said, “Can’t we just not dance? I mean, I like it, but it’s kind of boring.”

“Yeah. You’re right.”

“I’m going to go to the punch table, okay?” I went over and got myself a glass of punch and there was Julia. I gulped.

“Hi,” She said, “I was watching you.”

“I know.” I drank the punch and threw the cup into the trash can.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Ayesha.” She said, “I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

“I know, Julia.” I said. “I’m not angry.”

It’s funny how people can make you feel weird. Julia does that to me, she makes me feel as if I really want to know her better. She smiled at me and then a guy asked her to dance and she went away. I watched her for a long time until Ezra came and turned me around. “I think you’re the one who’s zoned out by her,” He said, smiling slightly.

“I’m not zoned out, Ezra,” I said, “She’s just... interesting. There’s something about her.”

“I know. There is, isn’t there? She’s pretty weird.”

“Not weird... just... interesting.”

“Yeah, whatever.” We seemed to be walking somewhere and suddenly we were in a dark, separate room. He turned on the light. It was a studio. I looked at the pictures, then at him. “Why are we here?”

“I want to show you something.”

I was a little bit apprehensive when he said that, but I followed him anyway. It was a collage and the strange thing was that it was made up of different images of my face.

“Remember when we were fooling around with the camera? Well, I used some of the shots in my collage at my art class here.”

I looked at it closely. it was huge, and covered with me, and also other things blended in with paint, funny swirls and other pictures of music notes and disconnected words like TRY, WHEN, HOPELESS, WISH, KID. Some flowers and birds and landscapes and shadowy figures of other people. Hands. Different hands of different people.

“Do you like it?” Ezra asked. “The theme is you. I wanted to talk to you ever since you came to the school, but I couldn’t for a long time. Then Nyle came and we all got introduced.”

I looked up at him. “This is really cool,” I said, “Thank you.”

“That’s all right.” He pulled me to a standing position, and we looked at each other for a long time. “I’m glad we’re friends.”

“I’m glad we are too.” We were subconsciously holding hands, our fingers intertwined with an odd grace.

“You’re an interesting person, Ayesha. Interesting in a more natural way...” He kissed me, right in that art studio with the door open and our hands intertwined and the collage on the table in front of us. Subconsciously I kissed him back, and subconsciously I thought, this is my first kiss, what a nerdy thought.

Chapter 11 – Drugs

The popular crowd at school were to be avoided. I didn’t see Julia again until school started in January because she was so busy with her violin. She practised at least seven hours a day. I thought that was amazing, but she seemed to love practising. She got up every morning at five and practised till Professor Kline dropped her off at school at eight thirty. He was a really dignified, sophisticated person and I wondered why he turned up at the school every morning and afternoon in his sleek stretch limo, why he didn’t just have someone pick her up and drop her off since he was obviously posh and delighted in it. Julia said they were very close. I supposed that was a good thing. Anyway, they ought to be, since she’s been taking lessons since she was three. Not with him, at first, though. First she had Professor Yuna, a regular teacher, then Professor Delane, and then Professor Kline. Professor Kline was The Elite.

I admit I did suspect Julia of taking drugs, because she hung around Amelia Vancough and Maril Delinhey, who were the coolest, most dangerous, sexiest, hottest girls in school. Everyone knew they were on drugs. I saw Julia at their table at lunch a lot and she was often with them and missed classes. Everyone knew they took drugs. They got stoned sometimes, though none of the teachers ever came to know about it. They scribbled all over the girls’ rooms. I was getting sick of reading dirty trains of language on the back of the loo doors. And besides they just looked stoned. They dressed mostly in strapless and spaghetti strand tight tops and slinky pants and tight bell bottoms and everything was navel bearing, and hip bone bearing. And they were skinny.

One day Julia came to school dressed in a tiny leopard skin patterned, tight velvet miniskirt, an indigo silk sleeveless top with rips in it over a black bra that everyone could see, and over all that a sort of white ripped thing. Her hair, that beautiful red hair, was all chunky and ripped and dyed black and blonde and purple in places. Her legs were covered in hot pink tights and she slugged around a giant jacket with her, and that was leather and ripped too. Her boots were leather ankle ones. She looked cold, that was my first observation. She was now the talk.

For weeks it went on like that. I don’t know why she wanted to be in with them, and now she never talked to us anymore.

When Ezra caught me looking at her miserably, he said, “I told you she was weird.”

“How can she be a professional violinist?”

“How do you know she is, Ayesha? People lie, you know...”

“She played for me.”

“Oh... did she?”

“Yes.” I looked at her. “Maybe she does have some useful stuff in her...”
”You know what...”

“What?”

“You’re obsessed with Julia.” Ezra looked at me strangely, and I sat up straighter. I felt kind of weird about that.

“I’m not obsessed with Julia,” I said, slowly. He continued to look at me, his eyes boring into mine, until Nyle came over and sat down. I shrugged inwardly and tucked a strand of hair behind an ear. Julia walked past and her leg brushed against my chair. I looked around and watched her walk over to Amelia and Maril. They were laughing so raucously the whole cafeteria was diverted. Then they swaggered away, Julia tossing her hair like Amelia did. Luke Dinara and Mikhail Demarr walked away with them. I saw Julia look up at Mikhail and kiss him, in that disgusting tongue licking way. They walked away.

“I can’t believe I ever went out with Mikhail.” Nyle said, bossily moving her food around and setting up her tray.

“Yeah, he’s not so much, is he?” I said, spooning cold noodles into my mouth.

“You know, he’s fucked half the girls at this school... and others.” Nyle said.

“I thought you didn’t use that word.” I said, “It’s them who use it.”

“Yeah, but he really deserves it.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Ezra asked.

“You know,” Nyle said, ignoring him, “I mean, who wants to be like them? I’ve heard Maril inflicts hurt on herself. Like, she stabs her arm. She’s had loads of problems, though. Her father is a classical drunkard.”

“That’s not an excuse... your mother is an alcoholic and smoker, and a pathological lunatic too...” Ezra said.

Nyle shrugged. “Yeah, I see what you mean. But Maril’s father hits her and her mother.”

“So why don’t they get out of the place?” I asked.

“I guess they don’t have any money. He does have inherited money, you know. She’s rich now, but if they get away, she won’t have anything. She’s so classical, though. She sits in the alley and smokes weed and fags.. how obvious is that?”

“Anyway.” Ezra said, “We already know what they are, so why do we have to talk about them?”

“But Julia was really nice, you know...”

“She wasn’t really. She did try to get Ezra.... I never can believe you kissed her, Ezra. I believe she has a tongue ring.” This made me feel embarrassed. Ezra turned red too. I wished Nyle wasn’t so... matter-of-fact.

“Well...” Ezra muttered, “She kissed me, not the other way around. You didn’t notice. Anyway, she didn’t have a pierced tongue then.”

“Yeah, really, how could anyone kiss someone with a pierced tongue?”

“But she did sort of... apologise for that. I think... I didn’t mind... why would I mind?” I faltered, thinking I did mind, so pettily, then.

Two weeks later Julia turned up at our table. Her hair wasn’t dyed anymore and she was wearing a cashmere sweater and jeans.

“Hi,” She said. I grimaced inwardly, though I couldn’t help looking at her. She looked pretty again.

Nyle was looking at her rudely. Ezra wasn’t looking at her at all. Julia smiled hesitantly.

“What are you doing here?” Nyle asked. “Trying to steal our notes or something?”

Julia had been slack in her school work the past month or so, but that was a pretty dumb thing to say and for a moment Julia’s eyebrow raised in that superior way.

“Don’t get all haughty on me.” Nyle said.

“I’m sorry.” Julia said.

“Well, we don’t need your apologies, honey.... get lost.”

Julia sat there uncertainly and shot me a pleading look but then she got up and walked away. I looked at Nyle, who looked back at me. “That’s how they act when they get shunned. We don’t need to associate with stoned ones.”

“You don’t know she was ever stoned.” Ezra said.

“Ezra, are you still soft on her? If she wasn’t stoned, she certainly took drugs. Come on. Do you think someone who associates with those girls could be innocent? I’m telling you, she’s just another bitch. And a lesbo too.”

“I think that’s a terrible thing to say.” I said. “What do you have against homosexuality, Nyle?”

Nyle looked surprised and raised her eyebrows. “Well... I guess you’re one of them too, then. Kissed a girl, ever, Ayesha? Or are you too docile for that?”

I stood up. For a long moment I just surveyed her and she looked a little afraid. That was the first time I had ever seen Nyle’s reckless eyes weaken, and I was pleased. She didn’t know how to resist realness.

“Nyle, shut up.” Ezra said. “Ayesha’s right. What do you have against homosexuality?” He stood up too and held my hand.

“Nyle,” I said, “I don’t know where you get your beliefs from, but I pity you for it. I pity you for being a bitch, yourself. I pity you for not thinking.”

I walked over to another table with my lunch, and Ezra followed me after a slight hesitation. Nyle slumped back in her chair, angrily.

“Ayesha.. she’s been my friend for a long time.” Ezra said.

“I know. And she’ll come around eventually. Nyle can’t exist without people to boss.”

She did come around soon enough. By the last period, chemistry, we were friends again. She said she shouldn’t have said that, and she didn’t really have anything against homosexuality, she was just mad.

I didn’t know.

Julia and I have French classes together. She sat next to me and asked if I could come over sometime. For a moment I was afraid, but then I agreed. I was just too curious.

“Ayesha,” She said, when we were in the last backseat of the limo, after introductions with Professor Kline, “I am truly sorry for everything that happened.”

“I don’t think that’s really appropriate.”

“Appropriate! What’s appropriate? God, Ayesha, I really swear I never got fully in. I never slept with anyone, never took drugs, and did not pierce any weird parts of me. I did not stab myself, I did make out with guys but never went that far. That’s why they rejected me. And I have a choice... to be with them or to pay attention to violin. And you know I would choose violin, and being friends with better people.”

I was silent for a few minutes. “So then why did you become friends with them in the first place?”

“I wasn’t... before I used to be at a private school, and I was popular there. I wanted to be popular here and now I realise this really has ruined me. My sister found out and she was really mad. She was only glad I never got in. They tried to persuade me into it but they couldn’t... because I didn’t want to be like them. You know I’m not like them.”

“Yeah, I know, Julia. But you really hurt all of us. You could have thought about us. I don’t need all your mollycoddling, I want some real stuff.”

Julia looked at me. “What do you want to know?”

“Why you couldn’t just be happy with us.”

“I was.... but Amelia invited me over to a sleepover and then it just started. I didn’t want to be outright rude because I wanted to make friends.”

“Surely you know about the drugs and everything. I can’t believe you would be so stupid.”

Julia was silent. “I – I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know if I can trust you. I don’t know if I can believe you. Okay, about the piercings I can but I don’t care about that. What about drugs? Can you prove you never were on drugs?”

“I wasn’t. Ayesha... I wasn’t. I swear I wasn’t. I never tasted anything.”

The house was unnervingly posh and clean and neat. We went to her room, which was a little messier. “I wasn’t allowed to sleep over at their houses, or go out late, because of violin. I only saw them at school and after school sometimes. I wasn’t really part of them, they just thought I was pretty.” Julia sighed and flumped on her bed, gathering her knees up to her chin. I loved her hands. They were long and slender like Ezra’s. Mine were slender too but not that slender and graceful.

“You are pretty, Julia, you’re beautiful...” I sighed. “I can’t believe you did this.”

Julia bit her lip. She was crying. “I know... I can’t believe it either.”

I hugged her impulsively, and she hugged me back too, and she smiled. “Are we friends, Ayesha?”

“Yes.” I smiled. “I hope we can continue to be.”

“Oh, we can. We can.”

We looked at all her cool clothes. They could be kept, really, because sometimes ripped stuff is really interesting looking.

I don’t think Nyle ever really liked Julia that much, but she did come to such a state that she was nice to her, and they were friendly. Ezra liked her okay. I think... well, I had always liked her a lot. I liked all sorts of things about her, and I just really liked being with her. I liked being with her the way I liked being with Ezra, who was supposed to be my boyfriend. Well, I know he loved me, and he was so good and romantic I really thought he was as near perfect as you could get. And he knows just the best places to kiss someone. Like we were hiking in the mountains and we got to this stream and were sitting on a large, flat rock with our feet in the icy water, and it was cool and refreshing even though it was icy. We liked it. It was July and summer, so it was less icy than it otherwise would have been. We were leaning on our backpacks and we just spread out my huge towel and lay side by side on the rock and the blue, blue sky with the white, white clouds and the trees fringing a picture were right above us and it was beautiful and the best place in the world right then. So Ezra just sort of leaned towards me and began to kiss me, and I wrapped my arms around him and rolled over on my side so that it was easier to kiss him, and it was wonderful. We never kissed passionately like idiots but my heart always sort of pounded because I loved kissing him, and once when we were wrapped into each other, all snuggled up nicely, he said I was nervous, but I said I wasn’t... but I don’t know, maybe I am nervous.

Satine

Chapter 12 – Moving to Santa Fe

I didn’t want to move to Santa Fe. I never did. I was happy living in New York City, where I belonged. I’m that kind of a girl, and I can’t live in this dump. Nothing happens here. It’s a dumb small town with nobody in it, nothing in it. I was on Broadway and in all sorts of shows but it seems that was all a mistake. It seems all my singing is useless. What’s the point of being a child star anymore? I don’t want to be one of the most wanted teenagers anyway. I still sing because I love singing, so you can say I still practise. Now all that seems truly worthless though. I can’t do anything without Tamara. She was the one who really belonged onstage and she dragged me onstage along with her. She was so amazing.

And now she’s dead, Dad is broke, my millions are in a trust and can’t be retrieved till I’m eighteen, Mom’s baby was stillborn, and I’ve stopped my career. Dad thinks we should change our names so we aren’t bullied by the press. As it is, I look so different. Satine LaMarr, the cool popstar, never spent her life with everything belonging to her black, her hair dyed and chunked off, and looking like a drug addict. I’m not a drug addict, though, and I don’t want to be, either, but that’s how I look. Mom says I’m too thin, I don’t eat enough, I look terrible, I’m too pale. Dad spends his day looking through newspapers and shouting at job agents and companies over the phone. When the phone bill came he was shocked. He and Mom had a monstrous argument. Santa Fe is an expensive place to live and I don’t know why they chose it. Dad says Albuquerque is too unsuitable, and NYC is much more expensive. We found this apartment in this dilapidated old adobe building somewhere in town. The landlady, Ms. Agren, smokes and she’s middle aged and fat, and wears bright pink lipstick and is really sardonic. I don’t like her. She starts shouting every time Mom and Dad scream at each other. The other day she told them to bloody well get divorced rather than disturb her peace, as well as the others'. I have no idea who the others really are. There is a family of drug addicts downstairs next to Ms. Agren’s, and Dad is concerned about our safety. But they hardly ever get out of the house and we are really careful to sidestep their place.

Next to ours is this old man’s place. He’s weird, but he’s okay. He collects all sorts of junk and makes things out of it. His walls are papered with chewing gum and chocolate wrappers. I wonder how long he’s been collecting. His place is a dump, though, you can smell this terrific smell as soon as you walk in. It smells like stale glue mixed with smelly socks.

There’s a family from Russia with five bratty kids upstairs, the last and third floor. The oldest of the kids is eight and they all scream so much I think Ms. Agren should be concentrating on them rather than us. They have a dog, too, who barks all day long. I really wish we could have some quiet here.

The press wouldn’t recognise Mom and Dad much, because they’re not so known. It was always Tamara and me. Now my parents are Lucia and Renard Lyons, and I’m Iris Lyons. I don’t care anymore what I am. I just have to remember our new names. I guess my parents are getting new ID s. I know how to drive too but I obviously don’t have a license yet, since I’m only fifteen. I just have a learner’s permit and it has my faux name on it. I wonder if I’ll spend the rest of my life like this. Everyone will wonder where the LaMarrs are. They know Tamara’s dead but they don’t know about the rest of us.

Mom’s going to be a history teacher at the school I’m going to go to, Casablanca High School, come September. Now she’s working at the Main Library, as an assistant librarian. Dad has some money left over from whatever he got when he was fired (it’s funny to think someone who manages a company can get fired) and I work at Target as a salesgirl. I hate that job, and luckily the manager doesn’t know how I disillusion customers so much, otherwise he’d definitely fire me. Dad’s having less luck because he only went to college and everything he applies to is already filled up. Mom has an MA in history as well as a PhD and she has all this past experience and all.

Mom says the money from my job is mine and I can do whatever I like with it. It’s just sitting around in my locked desk drawer because I don’t seem to need anything. Our house is cramped with stuff, because in Brooklyn we lived in a mansion and there was so much stuff. A lot of it was auctioned off but still our place looks like a crowded garage sale. When people see our car they stare because they wonder why someone with such a posh car would live in a cheapie apartment building. I don’t like living here. It’s way too noisy and I have no one to talk to. I always thought I would always have Tamara.

I don’t know what I’m going to do for the next two months. Even when I go to school I’m going to be singled out. If everyone knew I was Satine LaMarr I would be surrounded by millions of adoring admirers, and I would be the coolest teen in the city. But I’m not Satine anymore. I’m someone else. I’m never going to be Satine again. I’m never going to be one of the coolest teens in the country, as well as many other places in the world, again.

I’m just me. What is there to even notice about me? Nothing.

Our apartment has two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, a bathroom, a balcony and a sort of general purpose room. There’s all this rich, expensive furniture and stuff everywhere and I can’t even make friends with regular people because they’ll think I’m weird. I’m fifteen and I still have insecurity issues.

Mom says I was stupid to dye all my stuff black, but I don’t think so. I think she should stop telling me what to do. I’m the one who’s wearing the stuff, I’m the one who has to deal with it, so she should get out of it.

I know I should be understanding towards Mom, but none of us are understanding towards each other. If Tamara were here things would be perfectly fine. Dad would be able to find a job and the baby would have been born and we would be able to continue being teen stars, and we could live on the money we would be earning right now. I guess life never grants you the life you really want forever. Life is such a terrible thing. But if I died I know Mom and Dad would be worse off than ever, so I can’t die. And I’m too cowardly to die. Most people say it’s cowardly to commit suicide but I think it would take a lot braveness to kill oneself. Sure, people think about it but it’s very hard to do it. And maybe it’s a way of escaping after all, but who knows what they’re escaping to? Death is the next adventure, as that cliché goes.

Mom seems smaller than she ever was. When she was pregnant she wasn’t that fat as some people get. For a long time the baby didn’t even move at all and then when she went into labour she started bleeding everywhere and the baby was dead. It was a boy. I think maybe it would have been interesting to have a brother. I would have named him Anji. I don’t know why, I like that song by Simon & Garfunkel and it sounds like a nice name. Anji LaMarr. Maybe Mom was so upset when Tamara died and that’s why the baby was stillborn. But the doctors said there was something wrong with him long before that, and he was so premature, three months early, he would have died anyway. Three months. That is a long time. If the baby had lived he would have been born yesterday, July 7. Mom sometimes gets into stupors and then Dad says the best thing is to leave her alone. Nobody thinks about me. Nobody ever leaves me alone but I’m so solitary anyway I get much more loneliness than I otherwise would have gotten.

Dad’s got a job, finally. He’s going to work as a cook at a restaurant, because of his extraordinary culinary skills. He says it isn’t a very good job but he might get a better job later. He might start managing the restaurant after a year or so, because the current manager is someone he knows and likes him. I don’t think that’s a very fair system but I didn’t say anything because I hardly care.

The restaurant is Deux Peugeots, where they have excellent pizzas.

Dad was full of stuff about how we must be brave and all that junk but he’s the one who complains the most and he’s the one who keeps crying all over the place. I’m surprised this house isn’t a pond of tears. He gets saddest when he comes into my room, which is completely black. The walls and ceiling are black and bare. It’s uninspiring.

All my things are black but Tamara’s stuff is in boxes and boxes in the large broom cupboard, the one that’s pretty dusty. One day when I got home from Target, after I parked the second hand car I bought with my savings from before, the one which I painted black and the one which looks a bit crappy, and suits me – I went to the broom cupboard and pulled out all the boxes, sending clouds of dust everywhere, flying like swarms of mosquitoes.

The first time we went on Broadway was when I was seven and Tamara was eight. We gave a series of songs, including Desperado. I loved singing Desperado, especially saying the word Desperado. It had its own beautiful rhythm to it, and our voices sounded especially beautiful when we sang it. I liked the last line, ‘... before it’s too late’ a lot too. When we finished the audience rose and gave us two standing ovations, and this frantic music critic said we were sensational, unlike anything he had ever heard before. We were in some Broadway plays and performed a lot, because our singing and dancing skills were amazing, according to everyone. When we were ten and eleven we started singing pop and coming on MTV and magazine covers, and we starred in one or two movies. Tamara was the better dancer, and I was the better singer. I wrote songs, and Tamara was the fashion and setting designer. We worked with a music director called Evan Hartley, as well as some others. Tamara’s money was also in a trust, and it would all belong to me when I grew up. I wished I was eighteen already, so I could give Mom and Dad all the money.

One box was full of LaMarr sisters brochures, and our awards. Tamara’s first pair of ballet shoes were entwined with mine. Pale magenta and pink. They were so old and worn, and tiny. I picked up one shoe, and ran my hand over the fragile fabric. I was three when I started ballet, and two when I started voice and piano. Tamara always did things a year later, and often she resented that. In the state ballet festival, Tamara was first and I was second. That was when I was five.

Then there were all our ballet outfits, and our tap dancing shoes. I looked at them and tried to remember everything, but I couldn’t remember exactly what had happened when and where. I repacked some boxes and then turned to one which had Tamara’s clothes in it. Just regular, normal clothes, expensive ones from Gucci and Chanel. A scaly gold short dress she wore this February. Pointed high heels. So many things. Then there were normal T-shirts and miniskirts and shorts and jeans and tops and strapless things, and a lot of jewellery.

I was almost finished packing when the door slammed. I knew it was Dad and I quickly shoved the boxes back in the closet, and closed it. He came in and for a long time we looked at each other, and he looked puzzled. Then he walked past me into his and Mom’s room. One of the kids shrieked upstairs, and the dog howled.

Desperado.... I still remembered that song, and sang it softly under my breath. I walked into my room and sat on my bed, still softly singing. Then I stopped mid-song and buried my face in the pillow. The phone rang and I shot up and picked up my cordless. It was Mom and she said she wasn’t going to be home until after supper because a child got hurt and she was taking him to the hospital. I was sick of people getting hurt, dying, having problems and I quickly hung up, told Dad, and then flopped back down on my bed. I got up and opened my closet, and took out all our CD s. We had made ten albums. I looked at our smiling faces, all decked up in makeup, and then threw the cases, with the CD s in them, against the wall. I took the flimsy song words on paper and ripped them up, till coloured confetti showered on my legs and hands. I dashed the cases and CD s more on the walls and stamped on them and pounded them with some coloured stones. Then I cleaned up all the glass and paper and brought the wastebasket out, to empty it into the garbage bin outside. Dad met me at the doorway.

“What have you been doing?” I couldn’t tell what his expression was. There was regret, guilt, sadness, fear and surprise all mingled together. Also... weariness.

“Nothing.” I said, and walked past him. He turned me around.

“You better tell me what it was, Iris...” He warned, and I raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? What are you going to do if I don’t?” I walked outside and he hung there, defeated, and I clattered down the stairs and bit my lip hard, trying to stop my eyes from filling up with tears. I dumped the plastic bag in the dustbin and then went back upstairs, slammed the door of my room, and collapsed on the bed. I wished I could smash all our CD s in the whole world. Then the LaMarr sisters would truly be gone.

Chapter 13 – School

When I walked into my tenth grade homeroom, some people looked at me, but most didn’t. I was in a Ms. Greene’s homeroom. What an unoriginal name. Ms. Greene was young and pretty, and shrewd. She looked at me for a long time when I introduced myself. I didn’t know what to say. I just said my name and that I liked music, dance and poetry. I had thought someone would recognise me but no one did. Or at least no one said they did, if they did. I guess I looked different, without makeup and with shorter hair all chunky and black, and the way I dressed. Satine LaMarr would be likely to look cool.

I was bored. I wasn’t nervous because my whole life I’ve been around people. So many people have watched me on TV, and listened to me. Magazine interviewers have asked me what my favourite kind of lip gloss is. There is really nothing I could be nervous about.

At lunchtime I looked around the cafeteria for a long time until I spotted a group of kids at a table in the far corner. I purposefully walked towards them, holding my tray, looking down at the disgusting bland food. Plain spaghetti with some weak tomato sauce, and pork chops. Some leftover lasagne. I knew it was leftover just looking at it.

There were three girls and two guys at this table. One of the girls was really pretty, with Asian skin and amazingly shiny black, wavy hair. There was another girl dressed weirdly with purple and bright pink streaks in her hair, and another one looking very neat and precise. One guy was sitting next to the Asian girl and his arm was around her. She was saying something. The other guy looked solemn and his eyes looked shrewd, like Ms. Greene’s. He was talking to the weird girl. The neat girl was listening to the Asian girl.

I reached them and they looked at me. The Asian girl looked expectant, the rest looked confused. There was a seat next to the good looking guy with his arm around the Asian girl.

“Hi,” I said, “Um... can I sit here?”

“Sure,” The girl with the weird hair and clothes said, smiling a purple lipsticked smile at me. I sat down, and looked around at all of them, trying to retain my smile.

“I’m Nyle,” She said, “What’s your name?”

“Iris.” I shoved a clump of hair behind my ear and she introduced everyone else. The Asian girl was Ayesha and the guy between us both was Ezra. The neat girl was Julia and the solemn guy was Jordan. Julia was pretty too, but in a different way. Nyle had sardonic eyes. Jordan looked too melancholy. We talked for a while about little things. I told them I used to live in NYC in a mansion and now I lived in a dump of an apartment building here. They found this funny, though if they knew everything about the issue they wouldn’t have.

“You look familiar,” Ezra said, peering at me.

“I do?” This is the best thing to say, I’ve realised. I smiled innocently. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn lip gloss.

“Yeah...” He stared at me for a long time, then gave up and said, “I guess not, really. It was something about your eyes.”
”Why did you move?” asked Jordan.

“Oh, my parents had all sorts of problems.” I said, airily. “We all had problems. My mother works here. She’s Lucia Lyons.”

“Oh, the new history teacher,” Julia said, “Yeah, Ayesha and I like her. You’re probably stuck with Mr. Savin, though.”

“I haven’t had history yet.”

The bell rang and we all parted, dumping our trays into the giant sink. Ayesha brought her own lunch. We had English together and she walked with me to the class.

It’s easy to make friends.

Ezra and Ayesha were going together, and Jordan was Nyle’s cousin. He was new like me and I think I got along best with him. Julia was a professional violinist and she had tried to get into Juilliard in June but hadn’t succeeded. She had another audition in October. Nyle was kind of strange. She was cool, and brave, and she said whatever she liked.

In October, three days before Julia’s audition, she invited us to it. I accepted, because I wanted to hear more music. I wished I hadn’t destroyed all our CD s. Now I had lost Tamara’s voice too.

I think I should have been more careful. One afternoon I was practising on the piano, singing Desperado, and I didn’t notice the doorbell ring or Dad let someone in. I finished the song and kept my fingers on the keys in one long roll, and then got up. I continued standing, dropping the music notes. Jordan was leaning against the doorway, and he was half-smiling, though he looked confused, and surprised.

“You’re very good.” He said, walking towards me. “You sound like... Satine LaMarr.” He waited, expectantly. When I didn’t say anything, he picked up the music notes. He looked at it. “It says, ‘Satine LaMarr’ on this.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Give me that.” I said, snatching the notes from him and setting them on the piano lid. “You shouldn’t have snuck up on me.”

“I didn’t. You were practising, so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

There was a silence.

“Are you Satine LaMarr?” He asked. “You look sort of different now.”

“Famous people look really different in real life,” I retorted.

“Is your hair actually black, then?”

“No. I dye it.”

“You are Satine... then. How come you’re concealing that?”

“Don’t want the press barging up on me,” I muttered. I turned around. “My career’s over.”

“Why? Because Tamara died?”

I slouched over and didn’t answer. I thought that was mean of him to say.

“I’m sorry,” He came over to me and placed his hands on my shoulders. “I shouldn’t have said that.” He turned me around gently. He was a little taller than me. “You look better in real life, Satine.”

“My name’s Iris now.”

“But really you are Satine.”

“So?” I shrugged. “I have to keep that a secret. Do you think I want everyone barging in on my life?”

He was quiet for a minute, then he said, “Yeah, that makes sense. All right. I won’t say anything.”

“What a childish thing to say.” I laughed slightly.

“But you love singing, don’t you?” He asked. “You shouldn’t have given up.”

“You’re not the master of my life, Jordan. Besides, Tamara and I were a team. And...” I turned away and opened the lid of the piano, and struck a few keys. The sound resounded throughout the house.

“I was really surprised, though I did suspect it.”

“Oh, really?”

“Why do you wear black?”

“Because I want to.” I sighed and said, “This place is terrible. I’m sorry I don’t have a better house.”

“It’s okay, your house is fine.”

“My parents aren’t so rich anymore.”

“What about you? You must be a millionaire.”

“Well, yes, but that’s in trusts.” I looked around. “Why did you come over?”

“Just to see you.”

“Oh... what do you want to do then?”

“We could go into town or something.”

“Yeah... we could take my beat up car. I decided to get a beat up one because I’m pretty beat up too.”

“You’re not beat up. Can you drive, then?”

“Obviously. Can you?”

“Not that well.”
”I’m pretty good at it.” We laughed, and when we got downstairs, Jordan said, “That’s not very beat up. You should see my brother’s. He’s had it for five years and it looks like some junkie’s pit.”

I opened the door with the key, and sat down in the driver’s seat. I opened the door for Jordan.

“It doesn’t even have automatic locking and unlocking.” I said, “That’s the worst part.”

“Carl’s car often breaks down in the middle of the highway. Do you get nervous while driving?”

I got the car out of the driveway and onto the road. “No, not really.”

“I do. Carl says that’s a failing in me. He drives so recklessly he gets called up by the police every now and then. He never stops at stop signs and last year his fender got almost completely broken.”

“How old is he?”

“Twenty. He dropped out of school and works at a crazy music store.”

“Do you think you might drop out of school?”

Jordan looked out the window. We were on the highway, cruising along.

“No... what about you?” He asked.

“No. I want to get a good job.”

“You could just return as a singer.”

“I won’t. Jordan, don’t you understand? I can’t. If not for Tamara, I never wouldn’t have even got there. I don’t want to be something without her.”

“Yeah... um, when did you learn how to drive?”

“Well, I first did when I was ten, on my grandparents’ farm, and I practised more when I was fourteen. I turned fifteen in June. It was a relief to know that I was driving legally. I look older for my age, so I could pass sometimes for sixteen. Now some people might think I’m seventeen or eighteen.”

“That’s useful.”

“Yeah. Uh... where do you want to go?”

“Here, park here... we could walk around.”

We got out and walked around window shopping for a while and then went into a cafe, a cheaper one. It was suppertime and so we decided to have supper there. We ordered a pizza to share and I had pink lemonade and Jordan had Sprite.

“Why don’t you taste this? It’s good.” I said, “You can take some with your spoon.”

He tasted it. “Yeah, but it’s too sweet.”

We started eating then, slowly.

“You know, I really liked your music. Yours and Tamara’s.” He paused to wipe his chin, “Your lyrics are really meaningful. Who wrote them?”

“Me, mostly.”

“Really? Ayesha’s a good writer too.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Anyway, you do know how to sing. Not like some people. And you’re not like some girls.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like Britney and Christina, for example. They’re so dumb.”

“Yeah. I met Britney Spears once, and she’s really snobbish. And she sells her body too much.”

“Well.. for a long time I had a crush on both of you.”

I laughed. “Really? Both of us at once?”

“Well, you’re prettier and you sang better, but Tamara was really cool too.”

“I’m not pretty. You must be so disappointed.”

“You are pretty. Even in black.”

“Not.” I said. We continued talking till we finished, when we paid half-and-half. I left the tip.

The sun was setting as I drove back. “Where do you live? I don’t know my way around here, so you’ll have to tell me how to go.”

“Oh, I can call up from your house, it’s okay.”

“Well, okay. Whatever.”

Jordan stayed till eleven thirty, because his mom was too tired, his father was never home, and Carl wouldn’t get back till eleven thirty, from someone’s house. Mom made us snacks. Dad was complaining about how the manager of Deux Peugeots said the way he cooked meat was disgusting. “Lucia...” He called, “How are you supposed to cook meat if you don’t cut it up? I can’t help it if the meat was a little bloody.”

“You’re not supposed to let the manager see you, honey.” Mom called back. I hate it when my parents sweet-talk each other.

Jordan laughed. “That’s funny. Is your dad a cook?”

“Yeah. He thinks it’s a terrible change from managing a company.”

“It could be more interesting.”

“Yeah. What do you want to be when you’re older?”

“I don’t know. That’s a difficult question. Maybe an ornithologist.”

That sounded boring too, but I didn’t say anything.

“Do you want to see a movie?” I asked. “We have some good ones.”

Eventually we decided to watch The Matrix Reloaded, for the millionth time. When it finished Carl was downstairs honking. I walked downstairs with Jordan, and when we were at the bottom of the stairs, it was dark except for some light from the cars and street lamps, and Jordan suddenly held my hand and said, “Say you like me, Satine.”

“I told you to call me Iris.”

“Okay, Iris, whatever. Because I’ve always liked you, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know. I don’t know, Jordan. I like you a lot as a friend. You’re a very good friend. But I’m not sure if I want to... love anyone anymore.” To my great embarrassment, I felt my ears cloud up with tears. I stepped forward a little. Jordan reached up to my cheeks and brushed away some tears. I liked the way his fingers touched my face. It was sweet. He hugged me and I gingerly hugged him back.

“I understand.” He said. “I think we would be better off as friends, too.” I wasn’t sure if he meant that. I smiled and kissed him on the cheek. His cheek was soft. He didn’t shave, yet. He did have slight sideburns and a slight moustache, though. I ran my fingers over his cheeks. “I think we would make very good friends.” I said, “Since we already do.”

“I had a great time today, Iris.” Jordan said. “Thanks.”

“I had a great time too. Bye,” I called, and went upstairs. I went into my room. Mom called out to tell me to go to sleep, because I had school the next day. I ignored her and stared at myself in the mirror. I hated my hair. Maybe I would stop dyeing it. I was wearing black anyway, I didn’t need to dye my hair. But when I tried to wash it out, I needed to wash it six times before all the dye came out. People say my hair is autumn like. I guess it is, because it’s amber mixed with dark brown and red. It reminds me of shadowed leaves on the ground. Now it flowed around my face. I still didn’t look like Satine LaMarr, though. When I was on TV my hair was always styled and long and perfect, and sometimes dyed. My face was a layer of makeup.

When I got to school the next day everyone was surprised to see my hair such a different colour. Jordan fingered it, and whispered in my ear, “It’s beautiful.” I smiled. I liked his breath on my ear. It tickled and I reached out a hand to softly brush him aside. He kissed my fingers. We were both ignoring all the rules and we knew it.

I think he was too much in love to stop. And I think his being in love made me be in love too. But I loved Tamara, and I used to love my parents too. But they were all... so different now. Tamara was dead, Dad was an irritable loser and Mom was a depressed hag. I know I shouldn’t call my parents that but I really don’t care anymore. I don’t care about much anymore. I’m resigned to the fact that I’m a different person, and probably a more disappointing person too.

Who knows. My parents probably think I’m a sad case. Tamara would hate me now.

Chapter 14 – Tamara’s Death

It was the day of the party that was being held for celebrities across the country. Brittany Snow was talking to Raven a few feet away. Britney stood in the middle of it all, press people in black suits everywhere. Britney was dressed in a long gold shimmering dress and expensive jewellery, her hair spread eagled. Her breasts seemed to be pumped out and seemed glistening, and exposed mostly. She looked terrible and for the first time I noticed a small roll of fat on her belly.

When Tamara got out of the limo there were lights everywhere and she walked the catwalk up the red carpet. Even Britney was surprised, shocked, as if someone could even dare to be better than herself. I stepped out and walked up the carpet too. Press reporters were asking me all sorts of questions but I could barely hear what they were saying in all the noise and confusion, and I couldn’t answer. I ignored them.

Tamara was standing at the top of the steps, smiling and waving. She looked beautiful. She was finally sixteen, and this seemed like her birthday celebration. That morning when she woke up she was ecstatic. “I’m finally sixteen,” She kept saying, until I was irritated. It wasn’t such a big deal. So I was irritated with her, a little, and thrust her present a little too hard in her hands. It was a dress from Chanel, the kind I would hate and she would love.

So she was standing there, and for a moment I stood still, looking at her as she stood there, so beautiful. This man stepped up to her and then he was suddenly very close to her. There were no people around them. I started towards them, running, afraid suddenly. “Oh, you’re afraid of everything, Tina,” Tamara said all the time. I didn’t care. I was paranoid. So what. My high heel tripped on a wrinkle in the carpet. “Damn!!!!” I screamed, as I tried to get up, but my ankle seemed surprised. A great time for this to happen, I thought, as I feebly stood up and desperately tried to move. There was a huge explosion. A bomb had gone off. People were screaming and screeching and everyone was running everywhere, crashing into me, crashing into everything. I was blindly cruising towards my sister and the man, and then when I got there for a long time I stared down at her body. There was blood dribbling down from her mouth. It was disgusting. Everything blurred. Everyone was screaming, shouting, and there were policemen. I heard someone say, “Suicide bomber.”

Then some policemen and women were dragging me somewhere, and I was screaming, though I didn’t know about what. My sister was on a stretcher and was led past. I don’t know what happened to the man. I looked around as if he was still alive. Some people were putting him on a stretcher.

A long time later I was in the hospital and I was asleep. Later some police people asked me questions. They had feared someone would be after me too, but they had received information that the guy who killed Tamara was a single bomber, and that he had some peculiar lunatic desire to kill Tamara. They didn’t know why. I didn’t know why, either. Why would anyone want to kill my beautiful, tall, amazing sister? Why would they want to kill someone so lovely and nice, and great, and cool? Why would they want to kill someone with such an irresistible voice? I never knew. I never wanted to know. It would only sicken me.

My parents were crying. My ankle was healed soon. Dad was fired. That day he swore so much I was amazed. I never knew he swore so much. He cursed God for taking Tamara, the baby (Mom went into labour when she found out about Tamara) and his job. He cursed so much. I wanted to tell him there was no God and everything was useless.

Later he sobered and thanked God for saving Mom and me. But he cried so much. I had never seen him cry like that and I never want to see him so much in grief ever again. Mom was in the hospital, exhausted and in a completely irrational state of mind. I didn’t see her till much later.

It all happened so fast. I finished ninth grade, the house was sold and so was a lot of the stuff, we were in our car and headed to Santa Fe. Dad said we ought to save money rather than take a plane ride. So we spent about ten days travelling, and then when we reached we stayed at Travelodge until Dad found the dump.

If anything, I should have died, because Tamara would have been able to continue.

It wasn’t my fault but I really should have died instead. I should have been able to save her.

Chapter 15 – Forever

Once I wrote a song for Tamara called Forever. She never knew it was for her and I never told anyone. It was one of my secrets, like the way I thumbed through all Tamara’s People, Vanity Fair, Quizfest, Cosmo and Women magazines sometimes, and whatever other junk. I remember four lines of it especially:

You are like that sunshine, the sunshine that is mine, and I will want you to know that

for you are mine too, like honey fragrances on ice

you are the metaphor robed in green, you are immortal

the dancing fairy never lies and I know that you will live forever..

I liked that song a lot. I wish it was true, because it did always seem like Tamara was an immortal goddess. She liked that song too. I liked the way her lips moved when she said Forever.

I was lying on my bed thinking about that song, singing it under my breath, trying out the tunes. Suddenly I desperately wanted to hear it, and the CD was gone. I dialled Jordan’s number on my phone. The phone was covered in black fur and it was slippery soft. I tried to hold on to it tightly. “Jordan.” I said when someone finally picked up the phone.

“Oh, I’ll go get him.” A female voice said. It sounded like a young female voice and I suddenly wondered what she was doing there.

“Hello?” Jordan.

“Hi, it’s me.”

“Oh, S-Iris.” He said, flustered.

“Who was that picked up the phone?”

“Oh, that was Nora. We’re kind of.... going together. You know.”

“Oh.” Why did he ask me if I liked him, then?

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“No.”

“We’re more of just friends.”

“Yeah. Listen. I wrote a song once for Tamara. Forever. Do you have it?”

“Oh, yeah, probably. Why?”

“Can you play it to me over the phone?”

“Well....”

“Can’t you?”

“Okay. Hold on.” Nora was asking him something, and he said something. Movement. Then his voice. “Okay, I’m putting the phone next to the speakers.” Suddenly the music flooded in. I held the receiver to my ear tightly and closed my eyes. I loved that song. When it finished Jordan came back to the phone and I thanked him. Then I hung up. He made no reference to the song.

I wondered why Jordan never told me he was going with Nora. He probably wanted me too.

“Nora and I were going together,” Jordan tried to explain at school the next day, “But we aren’t anymore. She thinks we are but we aren’t.”

“Jordan.” I stopped and faced him. “I don’t care.”

“You do care,” He said, oddly.

I sighed and ran my hand through my hair. “Okay. Fine, whatever. Now, why were you going with another girl if you asked me whether I liked you?”

“I don’t really like her that way. She’s just a friend.”

“But she doesn’t think so. You shouldn’t do that, Jordan, you know.”

He was quiet for a second. “I told her I liked you.” He said, and then the bell rang and we went to our different homerooms.

Hugh Naden already asked me out. But I refused because I know for a fact he smokes marijuana. I saw him sniffing a paper bag the other day. He smokes outside school with the rest of his crowd. They all wear shirts that say Fuck U or Cock, or something obscene, anyway. He just grabbed me by the hand and said, in the hallway, “Wanna come for a toss after school?” I looked very hard at him, intensely through his eyes. “No.” I said, very quietly. Then I walked away. I think he was a little surprised.

Hugh walks hunched over, his baggy clothes looking like rags on his frail body. I actually feel sorry for him. But I feel so sorry for myself I don’t think about him or anyone else much.

In French class I talk mostly to Ayesha. We’re friends, though she’s really very different. I like Ayesha. I was wondering what it would be like to kiss her, when suddenly Madame Annes called on me. I don’t think I should get myself involved with Ayesha, but there’s something about her I really like, the way I really like Jordan. I don’t like her friend Julia that much. Julia’s too neat and pretty in a coquettish way. Julia’s prissy. Ayesha likes her, but they’re just friends. Julia’s leaving for a week for Juilliard. She got in.

When Julia left, Ayesha actually cried. I walked home with her and she reminisced the whole way. I invited her up and she looked around the dump. She also thought it was weird the way I had all that black stuff.

“You’re pretty, Iris,” She said, looking at me intently. She was sitting on my bed, her long tan legs crossed prettily. She was wearing a floral silk shirt with a fringe and a denim miniskirt. I sat down beside her.

“You’re pretty too,” I said, smiling at her, “You really are.”

“I’m not.” Ayesha said, looking down at her dangling feet like a small child. I brushed her hair aside and the moment I touched her cheek she stood up. She looked at me for a long time, and she knew. She tucked some hair behind an ear and said, “I think I should get home now, Iris.”

“Why don’t you call your mom up then?”

“Yeah, I guess.” She went to my phone. Her mom couldn’t come for another couple of hours.

“So what do you want to do?” She asked. She looked a little nervous.

“Don’t be afraid.” I said.

She raised an eyebrow. “What would I be afraid of?”

“There are lots of possibilities.” I shrugged and smiled at her serenely. I walked out into the hall and ran my fingers over the piano keys. The music was beautiful.

“That reminded me of Julia.” Ayesha said, sadly.

I looked at her, leaning against the piano. “Were you in love with her?”

“Oh, no...” Ayesha whispered. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Oh.” I said. “Do you really love Ezra, then? No, you don’t. You just like him.”

“I don’t know.” She said. “I do love him sometimes.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I like Jordan, you know. You could say I’m in love with him.”

“Does he like you?”

“Yeah.” I said. “Do you want something to eat?”

“No. I’m not hungry.”

“Something to drink then?”

“No. I’m not thirsty either.”

“Do you kiss Ezra?” I asked. “Of course you do. You must.”

“Well...”

“Whatever. I guess it doesn’t really matter.”

“Why do you keep asking me all this stuff?” Ayesha asked. She stepped a little closer. I could almost feel her breath on my chin. “Why do you need to know?”

“I was just asking you, Ayesha. You don’t have to get all offended.”

“You like me, don’t you?”

“Yes. Of course I like you.” I smiled.

“No, I mean...”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do you like me, Ayesha?”

“As a friend, yes. Otherwise, I’m not sure.”

“Hmmm... you’re not sure, are you?”

There was a very long silence. Then I simply came a little closer, leaned forward, and French kissed Ayesha on the lips. The surprising thing was that she kissed me back. I smiled at her and then went into my room. I leaned against my door, suddenly feeling high. I closed my eyes, like I had when I’d kissed her. I could smell her peppermint scented lip gloss. Her lips were soft and tender, as if she had never been in a major snogging session. She was a pretty innocent person. Her nose was pointy and straight, and her eyes were pretty and softly mascaraed, shut. There was a tear under one eye, and when I kissed her I wiped it away softly. I had kissed her cheek too, and I had hugged her afterwards. She hugged me back. Her body was beautiful. Her hair had swept down while we were kissing, and I had kissed her hair too. Her hair tasted like peppermint. I wondered how she managed all that. She would have liked Tamara better, though. Tamara had liked both girls and boys since she was ten and she was an expert on kissing.

I loved Ayesha. I loved Jordan. I loved Tamara.

There was one thing I knew about Tamara, though, that was different.

I would love her forever.

Forever.

Myna

Chapter 16 – The Dream

Last night I dreamed Mama and I were in a garden, a garden where there was an old lady sitting, selling dreams. She was old and frail and she was mumbling and chanting. The garden was beautiful, like a painting. The grass was mossy and soft, and there were trees and bushes and flowers everywhere. There was a perpetual rainbow in the blue, blue sky even though it wasn’t even drizzling. Mama was speaking to the old lady, buying dreams. She handed me one and I swallowed the toffee, saying this couldn’t possibly be a dream, it was just some old toffee, the old lady was cheating her. But then I fell asleep and I was dreaming of my real life. I woke up and I was crying. The tears fell like little streams of icy cold water. The sun was rising. I went upstairs on the roof and sat among the potted plants, among the violets and chrysanthemums and marigolds and daisies. My mother only planted basic flowers, and they were so beautiful. She always tended them so well. Now I watered them and took care of them but I knew I could never handle plants with such care as my mother had. I felt cold in my ratty old nightshirt with the holes in it. I wore it because it was my mother’s.

My bare feet felt bruised on the hard brick, and I tiptoed back inside as the sun spread its wondrous hues of pinks and oranges and blues across the sky. I remembered that next door there was Ayesha. When I met her she was shy like me, and fidgeted with her fingers. She was nice and I had seen her twice since. But I knew she would forget me. I went to the Waldorf Private School and she would start at Casablanca High School in September. Maybe it would be just this summer. Maybe it was already over. I thought it was. I had a feeling she just wasn’t that interested in me, and I understood that. I was a different person. I liked art a lot and I was always exulting in nature. She wanted to be someone cool, with cool friends and a boyfriend and everything.

Forget about it, it doesn’t matter. That’s what Mama would have said. She would have told me to just be who I was and I would be liked by some people and ignored by others. She probably didn’t even think of me. She was a very interesting person and she probably just didn’t like me that much. But maybe she did. I was just jumping to conclusions because she hadn’t called in three days and I was too shy to call her.

I went downstairs and into the bathroom. After my shower, I used Mama’s apple scented lotion and her cold shaving cream. I figured out how to use the cream myself, though it hurt because tingling sensations ran up and down me as I rubbed all the hair off. I used it anyway. I was fourteen and I did not like to think of myself as hairy. Mama used to say that it wasn’t a necessary thing to do, and I would ask her why she did it then. She was always silent.

Dad and Lauren let me keep all Mom’s things that she didn’t take, but they thought it was a little silly, I could tell. I didn’t care. She left almost everything and I knew exactly what she had taken. She took all her underwear and her money and car keys, her car, some pairs of jeans, some T-shirts, a lot of cool stuff, though she left almost all the really precious stuff, including her wedding and engagement rings. I asked Dad if I could keep them since they weren’t married anymore. He agreed, and I wore her engagement ring every day on my ring finger. I knew everyone would tease me when I went back to school, but I didn’t care. Sometimes I kissed the ring. It tasted cold and metallic, weird and bitter and toxic. It was beautiful – platinum with gold spirals, and a circle of emeralds and in the centre a diamond. The wedding ring was pretty too – gold with silver twining and three black sapphires. Dad just used to wear a simple gold band. When I saw that ring on his pale, white finger, I felt special, as if I had just espied a trunk full of jewels. I don’t know why. Now I don’t know what he did with that band.

Johann said I said smelled really nice, beautiful. He said it suited someone who was so beautiful. I wasn’t sure if I was in love with Johann. He was fourteen like me and last year he started asking me out. We were going together and he totally loved me. We had gone to school together and known each other since kindergarten. He lived next door. In the fourth grade on Valentine’s Day he kissed me on the mouth right in front of all my girlfriends. I was so embarrassed I wouldn’t speak to him for a month. He was probably really embarrassed too. It was a very quick, light kiss but sometimes I close my eyes and try to imagine it back. All my friends laughed and were surprised at the same time. In fifth grade they all said I should go out with him. At our first dance, in sixth grade, Johann danced with me all night, but he didn’t kiss me. In seventh grade we teased each other a lot and finally in eighth grade he asked me out. I don’t know why he waited so long. He could have asked me out in fifth grade.

Lauren’s really young. She’s just twenty three and Dad’s forty eight. More than twice her age. They were going out ever since she started at college and he was her professor. I think it’s terrible he was dating his student. Sometimes he never came home for night and I suppose he was at her apartment then. That’s just such a sickening thought. Mama used to droop like a flower then, and she would slouch in her chair. She never got angry. She was a gentle, quiet person. I tried to imagine her as part of a rock band in high school. It was impossible, but it was true. She had some cool clothes which she would fool around in. We were like sisters then. She was a lot younger than Dad too. Now she’s thirty seven. I wonder if it’s Dad custom to marry girls younger than himself.

Mama sends postcards from all over the country, but never with any addresses. I guess she moves too much, and she never bothers to use email. I wish she would. The postcards are meaningless. Just something like I’m exploding with delight here, what about you, honey? We’re just having so much fun. Yesterday we banged in an ice cream shop and drunk so much wine the shopkeeper threw us out. Oh it was such a great experience. I haven’t been drunk in such a long time. Hey, hang in there, darling. I’m coming home sometime. Love, your cheerful mother, Adrienne.

That was just so unlike her. She never wrote letters like that. She was a sensible, practical, gentle, quiet person. She was mature. Now she was an immature, idiotic teenager. Sometimes I wish I could explode at her. No mother tells her daughter she was drunk and loved it. And such tiny, chatty letters. She never writes me real letters. Dad says I should just forget about her and there was always something wrong with her. I think he’s the one who always had something wrong with his mind, because it’s him that made her this way. Those postcards sicken me so much I’m in a bad mood for the rest of the day. They’re just so stupid.

I still save them. I don’t know why.

I went outside to the mailbox. I picked out the stuff, quickly rifling through it until suddenly I found this envelope addressed from my mother, with an address on it.

I sat down right there on the rock and tore the envelope open, and grabbed the letter, hope spreading through me. I hadn’t realised how much I looked forward to receiving all her letters until now.

I started reading.

Dear Myna,

I don’t know how to begin, because it seems futile to apologise for everything, and try to explain. I didn’t mean anything I wrote in my letters. You know that. Your father may try to tell you that I always had something wrong with my mind, but that is untrue. Some of the postcards I wrote when I was drunk. I admit that I have been drinking too much. You would not be proud of your mother now.

I wanted to act as if I was quite different. Suddenly I seemed to wake up from this stupor and realise that I didn’t mean any of it, I was a very different person, and I have a daughter. You will probably never understand why I left. If you are angry I understand. This letter does not sound appropriate and I seem stumbling. I never was like this before and you probably know that.

Your father and I were disappointed with each other, but that is not really why I left. I think I left because I was tired of the home life, shopping for groceries and then coming way out there and just cleaning at home. I wanted to be someone exciting and maybe I left to be someone like that. I don’t think I have become someone I want to become. I am living with a certain man called Andre Martin, who I was very intimate with in college. We were glad to meet again. He was saddened to see me in the condition I am in. I think we are going to have a better life now. We are living in New York City in an apartment on the seventeenth floor of a building.

How have you been these three months? I am sorry for leaving you, but I didn’t leave because of you. Please try to understand that. Maybe you can come and visit sometime, though I don’t think this summer will be good. I think you have to adjust to life without me, because I’m looking for my own life. I’m sorry. That sounds very harsh and I don’t mean to say I don’t love you. Please believe me when I say that I do love you.

How are the flowers? I hope you are watering them. Has your father remarried yet? I suppose he has. What is his new wife’s name? Isn’t it Lauren or something like that?

What are you doing? Are you going to go somewhere? Have you made any new friends?

I am working as a journalist for a magazine, The Explorer. Maybe you can read it sometime. There might be one of my articles in it. I don’t think you would especially like it that much, because it’s a news magazine, but I think you might. Andre is the editor of The New Yorker. He and I are happy. I often think of you. I wish you were here but I don’t think you would really like to be here. I know you don’t like being with your father and stepmother but one of the things we have to do in life is be brave. And you are a brave person, Myna. I know you are and I know you can have the courage. When you are older you can see me again. I am sorry my leaving was so abrupt. I didn’t try to prepare you for it because I thought you might persuade me to stay. But you know I wouldn’t have been able to live like that. Even divorced I could not live in Santa Fe. And I don’t want to uproot you. Please try to understand that.

I just reread this letter and it sounds terrible. I am truly sorry. I am very weak.

Love,

your mother,

Adrienne Caper.

I sat there for a long time, drumming my fingers on my knees. Then I stood up and walked inside. I left all the other mail on the kitchen table and then walked upstairs to my room. For three hours I tried to write a reply, and my room was littered with crumpled up paper. Finally I finished writing a fairly good specimen and leaned back, tired, to reread it.

Mama,

I wasn’t happy to read your letter. I tried to write a reply for ages and ages, I’m sorry for you too. I’m sorry you had to write that you were sorry a thousand times. You were right about one thing. You are weak. I don’t want to hurt your feelings either, Mama. Maybe it’s true that you still love me. I wouldn’t know. But you don’t know how I felt when I read your postcards. I think that you were drunk is not a very good excuse. Oh, I don’t want to be hard on you either, Mama. But you are making me be. You should have told me you were going to leave, because I would have been prepared then. I’m not brave. I don’t know why you made that up.

And I still love you. You really disappointed me but then often people who I love disappoint me. I am watering the flowers. I wish you were here to tend them, because they miss you a lot too. I’m not going to forgive you, because I don’t think you need forgiving. You’re going to live your life there in the city anyway. You want to have a new life. Fine. And I can visit you later. Visit you and this man called Andre. Who you knew before. And you expect me to understand. I’m sorry, Mama. You always thought I was an understanding person, but I guess I’m not, because I can’t understand this. I can’t understand why you didn’t write meaningful letters, or why you’re drinking a lot, or how that can make you happy. I can’t understand why you couldn’t take me with you. You know I would have adjusted. We were a team and you broke our team. I don’t know why you had to do this. No, it doesn’t make sense why you couldn’t have had your new life with me. I understand that you were unhappy but even though you deny it I’m not sure I wasn’t part of that old life you wanted to abandon. I know you could have taken me with you. You have only feeble excuses. I don’t know what you think of me anymore, whether you want me or not. No, I shouldn’t have said that, I cannot be possessed.

I don’t know if I want to write to you or ever visit you. I don’t really want to hear all your pathetic excuses. I know that’s a mean thing to say but I don’t care. I cherish every memory of you, Mama. I don’t want to get passionate. I’m not a passionate person. I want us to be together, and you don’t want that. I don’t know why. I’m sorry, Mama, for everything. For me you are an apple fairy and I thought I would grow up to be an apple fairy too, but I guess I won’t. Maybe you aren’t one anymore. You are a different person, and if you aren’t already you will be. I hope you are sincerely happy with Andre, and your job, and your new life. I’m being sincere here, not sarcastic. I miss you, Mama, but I’m not sure if I’d like the new you.

I finished ninth grade and I met a girl who just moved in next door. We might be friends. I’ve been doing nothing much in particular. Yes, Dad married Lauren two weeks after you left. They are happy and think I am silly. I think they are silly and I don’t need all your guff about being brave.

And I don’t know why you couldn’t have even written a longer letter to me, I was hoping you would. Couldn’t you find something to say about your new life that was interesting? I’m sorry, Mama, because I don’t want to make you sad, or sadder. Maybe I sound just as terrible. I don’t really want to know about your new life anyway. I want to be with you,

I will never forget anything about you. But I will adjust to my new life. As you have already done with yours. Goodbye.

Your daughter,

Myna Raven.

I made Dad post it before I could change my mind. He asked me if I really wanted to write to my mother and I said yes. I felt sad and miserable and I ate breakfast gloomily. I wasn’t sure if I should have written that letter. I felt so bitter inside. My handwriting was so much more simple than her flourishes and sweeps and big spacing. I thought the part about the apple fairy was dumb, but that was really how I thought of Mama, a fairy with long hair and wings covered in hues of apple, yellow and green and orange and red. Like autumn and spring mixed together.

The phone rang and I lunged for it. Lauren was reading Vanity Fair and chewing on a granola bar. She’s so dumb. She looked at me for a minute when I lunged for the phone, then went back to her reading.

I picked up the phone and tried to compose myself. “Hello?”

“Uh, hi, this is Ayesha.”

“Oh, hi, Ayesha. This is Myna speaking.”

“Oh. I was calling because I was wondering if you wanted to come over.”

“Oh... thanks. Okay. Where have you been?”

“Oh... we went hiking yesterday and then I had some classes before, and I was too busy... I’m sorry, I should have called. You probably felt bad about that. I should have...”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind. Um... when should I come over?”

“Oh, anytime. Now could be good.”

“Okay, then I’ll see you in a little while. Bye.”

“Bye.” As I hung up I watched Lauren chew the granola bar. I would be going to Ayesha’s house. I felt happier.

Sonya

 Chapter 17 – The Granddaughter

My mother named me Sonya after her best friend, who she lived next to all her first eighteen years. They lived in a New York City apartment building, on the seventeenth floor, side by side. My mother and grandmother were both ones for borrowing names. Maybe my mother was more original because she didn’t name me after her, like my grandmother did. My grandmother’s name is Ayesha Sharif and she named her only daughter, my mother, Aicha. Which is really quite the same name. Grandma wanted to live in New York City and she did. Grandma always did what she wanted and when I’m older it would be nice to be like her, independent and brave.

We don’t live in the city anymore. My mother liked New York City but she was more of a traveller. She would go about everywhere with me. Sometimes she thought it was really an opportunity when she got pregnant with me at age eighteen, because she didn’t really want to go to college anyway. I guess it was an opportunity for both of us, because we went everywhere, saw everything. I was born on a vacation my mother and her boyfriend were taking in Nancy, France. They considered naming me Sonya Nancy, but that sounded stupid, so they let it be Sonya. Sonya Deene. I had my father’s name even though he died the day after I was born. He was crossing the street and a truck ran over him. Maybe that sounds unrealistic but it’s true. Mum used to say he was a very romantic person, but he may not have been in the family long, because he wasn’t much of a fatherly person. He was eighteen and reckless. He drove my mother to the hospital on his motorcycle at an immensely high speed when she went into labour. After Mum was seventeen and graduated from high school, she and Darren (my father) went to England and went to Oxford for a tour, and Cambridge, and to Camden and everywhere else. I don’t know much about England. After France they were planning to go to Switzerland, but then I was born and Darren died. Mum said when she found out Darren had died she went into hysterics, because she was so tired out from having me born. She and I stayed in Nancy for three more months and then we went back home to New York City. Mum thought she would try and settle down to a normal life, but she couldn’t do that. Six months later we were off again, to Germany and Switzerland and Holland and Austria and some other places. I think we toured most of Europe. We went to places like Czech and Yugoslavia too.

The last four years we went all over Asia. I never had as much time for school and stuff, and I never took it seriously. I always got good grades anyway. I read a lot, I guess. But then I never had much of school anyway. I’m only in the sixth grade.

Grandma and I live alone, in a little house in Rochester. I’ve only lived here for two months, since my mother died in the spring. Everyone said she committed suicide, because she left notes and everything, but I never thought she would do something like that and I still think maybe she was murdered instead. Grandma told me she was dead and she was shuddering, and I was standing very still in front of Grandma’s couch. I was looking at the photographs while all this commotion was going on in the other room. Then Grandma cried out and she came into the room I was in, and I turned around and looked at her. Grandma always said I was an awfully serene and quiet child, but she said it was amazing how I didn’t even cry. I didn’t cry... I guess that was because I wasn’t even thinking of death then. I was thinking of my mother in her velvet dress when she was at the party the night before, and how her neck was white and long and her hair swung around and coiled in dark rings around her throat. She was laughing and her lipstick was sparkly red.

I sat down on the couch and played with my fingers, and thought I would never have long, slender fingers like my mother did. Did. I think then I realised what Grandma meant. I didn’t cry, though, even though I knew my mother’s body was in the next room. She had drunk a glass of water full of morphine. There was a train of blood from her mouth. Nobody knew how that happened, and I thought it was a clue. I didn’t know why or who, but someone could have killed my mother.

Sixth grade is such a boring year. It’s the end of elementary school and no one will talk to me anymore because they feel awkward, because my mother died. They anyway always felt awkward around me, because I said strange things and was so quiet. In fifth grade when we were in India I had a friend who was a boy and we liked each other a lot but then I moved. I think he was the only ever friend of mine who was really a great friend. His name was Arjan.

And then I always dressed different, so everyone thought I was weird. Today I wore white nylons with a brown pleated skirt till the middle of my thighs, and a dark red pullover. Nobody wears pleated skirts anymore.

Web Hosting · Blog · Guestbooks · Message Forums · Mailing Lists
Easiest Website Builder ever! · Build your own toolbar · Free Talking Character · Email Marketing
powered by bravenet.com