As soon as she entered the building, Jaya joined the throngs of people ahead of her who began walking faster, even running (those who were physically able, for many in the crowd were in wheelchairs or walkers) to secure their seats in the large open auditorium. Jaya skirted around the edge of the crowd and found herself a good spot toward the front, directly facing the stage. It helped that she was alone, as most people had come in groups.
Sitting cross-legged on her floor cushion, Jaya closed her eyes and began to do her pranayama, deep breathing exercises. The sounds of thousands of people moving and speaking built to create a buzz around her. She was not accustomed to being in crowds of this size. After some time passed, a sudden hush fell over the crowd and Jaya opened her eyes. The Guru was walking onto the stage, escorted by a woman in a white sari, the color of widows and religious devotees. He sat on a raised platform, on a floor cushion just like the rest of the audience. It was completely silent in the large auditorium, and even this moment of absolute quiet felt holy. The Guru put his hands together and bowed his head. The audience did the same, some prostrating themselves on the floor.
He began to speak in a mellifluous voice that hadn’t come through on the CDs. He told the story of Lord Ram, from the Hindu scripture Ramayana, which everyone in the audience surely already knew. The Guru started with Ram’s boyhood, described his home and the land on which he was raised, his ambitions and altercations with others, and finally his exile to the forest. Along the way, the Guru departed from the story to explain how the events in Ram’s life mirrored our own. When Ram was confronted by others who challenged him, he reacted first with pride and anger. He battled with others because of his ego, and it wasn’t until he was banished to live alone in the woods for years that he understood the fault in his ways.
Before Jaya knew it, the white sari–clad woman had returned to the stage to assist the Guru from his seat, and an announcement was made that lunch would be served. Jaya unfolded her tingling legs and stretched them out in front of her. Glancing around, she was almost surprised to see so many others, two thousand people in all. She had forgotten the crowd as she listened. She had been so singularly focused on the Guru’s words, she didn’t realize three hours had passed.
During the afternoon session, when the Guru described Ram losing his wife, Sita, and spoke about how we all lose those we love and this was a great unifying truth amongst humans, Jaya began to cry. Tears rolled down her face and she tried to discreetly wipe them away with her sleeve. Then, she heard sniffles and muffled cries from those around her and realized she was not alone. The woman sitting next to her, an elderly woman with a small gray bun, reached over and took Jaya’s hand. She felt the strength from the old woman seeping into her, stabilizing her, drilling deep into her core. At the end of the evening lecture, Jaya felt welded to her spot on the floor. She watched a cluster of people surround the Guru as he left the stage.
“Those are the disciples.” The old lady nodded toward the stage. “They travel with Guru and live with him at his ashram in India.” She stood up, tucking her cushion under her arm. “This is your first time, seeing Guru?” she said, and when Jaya nodded in response, she wobbled her head before departing. “Tomorrow, then.”
The next day, Jaya was eager to see if the Guru’s lecture would inspire the same intensity of feeling in her as before and was surprised when it did. By the end of the week, she felt like a different person, who had seen a new, undiscovered land. And she did not feel ready to be done with the Guru. She wanted to follow him to the next city he was visiting, Sacramento. Even if he repeated the same lecture, she knew her understanding would continue to deepen. What would it be like to be one of the Guru’s disciples, in his presence at all times, traveling with him, sharing meals, having private conversations?
Alas, she was not able to follow the Guru to Sacramento next week. Karina had just arrived back from Ecuador, and after spending a week with Keith, she would stay with Jaya before returning to campus. It was striking to think of how little she saw Karina now: two weeks in the summer, two weeks over the winter holiday and a few scattered weekends. After dividing that time with Keith, it amounted to just a couple of weeks each year. It was reassuring, of course, that her daughter was grown and independent, pursuing her own life and dreams. And that left Jaya with more freedom to pursue her own. Although she couldn’t go to Sacramento, she had already checked the Guru’s website to see the rest of his itinerary.
23 | prem
My family reminds me of the math lessons I had in third grade with Miss Gaither. First, everyone divided: three of them separated into three individual worlds. Now, they’ve each multiplied by two. Each one of them is part of a new pair.
When I was alive, I liked being a pair with Kiki during our after-school time. I liked walking back from school and hanging around home with her, even if we were doing different things. That’s the best part of being a pair, isn’t it? Just being with someone and feeling better that way, even if you’re not doing anything together or speaking. Being part of a silent pair can feel really, really good.
Sometimes, I was a pair with Dad, when he took me to the car wash and let me sit in the front seat while the world outside the car turned soapy white and magical. We would pretend we were in a snowstorm, shivering and hiking over the mountains, and we’d point ahead to a warm house we spotted on the horizon. Or, Dad turned the music up really loud and we played drums on the dashboard in rhythm with the spraying water.
When I was really lucky, I was a pair with Mom, and she read me stories of Akbar and Birbal in bed at night, from those books she had gotten from India. Akbar and Birbal were a pair too: Akbar, the great Mogul emperor in India, and Birbal, his wise counselor, who always had a clever solution to his problems. Birbal was very smart and also very funny, sort of like me (even Mom said so). I loved all those stories, but my favorite was “The Tale of the Tough Question.” An important visitor to the king’s court, eager to make Birbal look bad, asked him if he would prefer a hundred easy questions or one tough question. Birbal asked for the tough question and the visitor said, “Which came first, the hen or the egg?” and Birbal replied, “The hen.” When the visitor asked how that could be, Birbal said he’d already asked his one question and was not allowed another. So clever, that Birbal!
Mom packed up almost everything in my room when she changed it into Not My Room Anymore. But after putting that Akbar and Birbal book in the cardboard box, she took it out again. She flipped through the pages and smiled, then she put the book aside before she taped up the cartons and moved them to the garage. She keeps that book in her bedroom, on a small bookshelf next to the comfy chair. Sometimes, when she can’t sleep, Mom turns on the small lamp, sits in the comfy chair and reads one of the stories from the book.
Her favorite story is different than mine: “The Tale of the Most Loved Possession,” in which the king fights with his queen and banishes her from his palace, telling her she can take only her most loved possession. The heartbroken queen consults Birbal, and the next day, she packs up her young son to leave. When the king realizes that the boy is her most loved possession and she’s willing to leave behind all her jewels and riches, he changes his mind. Mom reads the story in a soft voice, but loud enough for me to hear. She always feels better afterwards, and so do I. I loved being a pair with Mom, and we get to do it now even more than Before.
Everyone seems to find their pair. Now, Dad has a girlfriend most of the time. She changes a few times a year, and they always go to fancy restaurants—even fancier than Alfredo’s or the Spaghetti House, but without the crayons and paper table covers. Instead of playing tic-tac-toe or our drawing game while they wait, Dad and his girlfriend drink wine and talk about movies they’ve seen or trips they’re planning. He never does any of the things he used to do with us, though. He never takes her to the car wash.
Mom has her Guru, and even though she doesn’t talk to him directly, he’s still her pair. She listens to his words in the car and
she hung his picture in Not My Room Anymore. I didn’t know it could work that way, that someone can be your pair even without knowing you. In that case, I would have chosen the captain of the Space Rangers’ ship to be my pair. We would have had so much fun! Anyway, Mom is a lot more peaceful now that she’s paired with her Guru. She cries less and leaves the house more. She seems calmer than she’s been since I died. I wouldn’t have guessed the Guru to be her pair, but I’m glad she seems happy.
And Kiki has James. James is with her all the time, in real life and also in her head and her heart. He’s replaced the snakes that used to coil inside her. James likes playing basketball and he really loves to be outside in nature, which might be why he and Kiki make such a good pair. I think I would like James if I met him, and I hope he would like me. I would even let him win at basketball. I’m pretty sure Kiki and I would have stayed friends when I grew up, because of all those little secrets only I knew as her brother. But if she can’t be a super-awesome power duo with me anymore, I’m glad she has James.
When my family was still together, we switched up our pairs all the time. Now, everyone is in their own worlds and drifting farther apart. Kiki hasn’t introduced James to anyone, Dad keeps his girlfriends to himself, and nobody but Mom has met the Guru. It seems impossible for them to be a group of six. The closer each person gets to their pair, the less they remember our family. They each seem happy, but I know they’re each still sad about missing me. That’s the thing about pairs. Even the best ones don’t last forever.
24 | karina
SEPTEMBER 2014
Karina had been back home from Ecuador for only a couple of days when she made up her mind. The plan was to spend two weeks with her parents, one week at each home, before returning to campus. But James was making a trip to Santa Barbara over the weekend to clean out his apartment from his subletters, and she was going to drive down to surprise him. Even if it meant driving five hours one day and back the next, there would be one glorious night in between. Her new apartment wasn’t ready yet, but when Karina told Mom she was making a quick trip down to campus to pick up her keys and move a carload of stuff, her mother was surprisingly accommodating.
Saturday morning was bright and warm. Karina loaded up her car with boxes of clothes and books that she would keep at James’s until her own place was ready. She had convinced her father that the added expense of a private apartment was worth it, as it would afford her better studying conditions for her more intense course load this year. “But won’t you be lonely?” Dad had asked. She’d just smiled in response, because the real reason for the solo apartment was to allow her and James more privacy. Karina thrilled to the idea of them spending nights and mornings there, undisturbed. She pictured plants on the windowsill, the two of them cooking together in the kitchen, lying on the couch to study, her feet in his lap.
During the five-hour drive down Highway 101, Karina sang to music on the radio and imagined her reunion with James. Her skin had taken on a warm glow in the Ecuadorian sun, and her calf muscles were toned from climbing the hilly terrain. She visualized how James now looked, with his longer hair and more freckles from being outdoors all summer. When she got to his apartment, she parked her car next to his and popped a mint into her mouth. She picked a handful of wildflowers from the blooming bushes outside and found the fake rock where James and his roommate kept their hidden key.
The front door creaked as she opened it into the living room, which was empty except for several full garbage bags. Karina walked down the hallway toward James’s room, where the door was ajar. Her heart quickened with excitement until she heard a sound: a female voice, laughing. Karina froze. After a moment, she continued moving down the hallway, a quiet dread growing in her chest. In his room, on his bed, was James—his tousled brown head of hair, his broad pale back, his narrow butt, a body she would recognize anywhere—on top of another body. The sounds of laughter and soft words skimmed past her ears.
Karina’s throat tightened and a twisting energy gathered inside her. Each of her hands reaffirmed their possessions: the bunch of wildflowers, which dropped to the floor; and her car keys, which she raised above her head and, in one smooth movement, flung toward the bed. Tracing a beautiful arc through the air, the keys smacked into James’s neck with a metallic twang and bounced onto the floor.
“What the . . . ?” James touched his neck and turned his head, his face turning blank when he saw Karina. He rolled off to the side, exposing the naked figure of the girl underneath.
The girl screamed as if she was in a horror movie, then pulled the bedsheets over her. “What the fuck? Who the fuck are you? And what is she doing here? James?”
James grabbed for his boxers. “Karina? What? What are you—”
“What am I doing here?” Karina hissed, leaning down to retrieve her keys from the floor. “Don’t worry, I was just leaving.” She turned and marched out of the room.
“Karina,” he called after her as she threw open the front door and ran down the half set of steps to the sidewalk. He caught up to her and pulled on her arm from behind. She whipped around, dislodging his hand, and shot him a look that warned him not to try again.
He retracted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Look, Karina, I’m sorry you had to see that, I really am. I was going to talk to you when you got back . . . I just wanted to do it in person.” He was stumbling over his words and she stayed silent, letting him. “I’ve just been thinking . . . it might be good for us to take a little break.”
A break? Isn’t that what they’d just had for three solid months? “When did this start?” Karina asked. “Over the summer? Last year?”
“What?” James looked wounded. “No, of course not. Just recently.” His shoulders sagged. “Karina, look, we’ve just been moving so fast, you know? And we’re still young. I think it might be good to spend some time apart, a few months. Maybe we can make a date for New Year’s or something.” He offered up a weak smile.
Karina felt something leave her heart, flutter outside her body and away. “New Year’s?” she asked.
“Yeah, sound good?”
Karina tilted her head at him. Had he ever really known her? “No, not really. How about when hell freezes over? Does that work for you, James?” She spat out his name and turned on her heel, forcing herself to hold on, digging her nails into her palms as she returned to her car.
Karina drove a few blocks before pulling over on an empty street. She turned off the engine and rested her head on the steering wheel. The tears did not come right away. Probing her fresh wound, she envisioned James’s back and shoulders moving, the girl beneath him. Then the tears came, fat and ugly, accompanied by a raw moaning sound she almost didn’t recognize. She had cried this way only once before—the day Prem died—and it didn’t change anything, nor did it make her feel any better. Her father had come into her bedroom to try to console her, and the helpless, wounded look in his eyes made her nauseous. Over the years, Karina had learned to tamp down tears; they did her no good.
Now, with a carload of belongings and no place to keep them, Karina tried to think of what to do next. Finally, she texted her Mom: All done here! Mix-up with keys. Heading home tonight. She drove to the drugstore, where she grabbed a king-size Snickers bar, a bag of barbecue potato chips and a large Diet Coke for the drive home, as well as bandages, antiseptic and razor blades. The simple act of walking out of the store with that bag began to make her feel more in control.
The week spent at her mother’s house was thankfully full of activity. Izzy was still home on summer break, so Karina had someone with whom to share her heartbreak. She could cry in front of Izzy and express all the hurt and pain she felt without worrying how it would affect her. They went to the barn together to visit Mr. Chuckles, who was now old and sick with cancer, but still exuded a sense of serenity. As Karina stroked the side of his long, elegant head and brushed out his mane, she tried to breathe deeply and think of an entirely new future without James that she coul
d endure.
When it was time for her to return to Santa Barbara, Karina almost asked Mom to come down with her, to help her move into her empty apartment, hang posters on the wall, fill the fridge. But she just climbed into her car and drove off, wiping away tears. A certain numbness came over Karina as she returned to campus, walling herself off from memories as she passed the lake where she and James had had their picnic.
* * *
As she began her sophomore year, going through the familiar motions of student life, Karina was able to piece together what had happened. UCSB had gone from feeling like a huge campus to a more intimate one as she and James had narrowed their circuit to certain sections of the library and their favorite off-campus eateries. Now, when she went to those places, she sometimes saw them together: James and his new girlfriend. With her clothes on, she was recognizable as the leader of a Saturday-morning yoga class on campus. Ironically, it had been Karina’s suggestion that she and James try the class at the end of the prior school year, in the last week before finals, when they needed a study break. Karina had never done yoga before, but even she knew that the way Yoga Girl pronounced words like chakra and asana was all wrong, and it grated on her, this girl trying to appropriate Indian culture. But wasn’t Karina a phony too? It’s not like she knew where all her chakras were.
Now Karina saw her everywhere. She recognized her ponytail from behind as she walked next to James’s bike. She saw her cute little red Fiat parked in front of James’s apartment on the weekends. Karina knew she should avoid places where she might run into them, but she found herself drawn there instead. And yet, nothing relieved the deep ache in her chest or the long hours crying. She lost trust in herself for having placed her trust in James. When she returned to her empty apartment, it felt like solitary confinement instead of the cozy home she’d planned to share with him. Everything she did reminded her that she was alone, and James was not. Although the campus now felt familiar, she no longer felt like she belonged there.
The Shape of Family Page 13