Scattered Ashes

by Dona Sarkar

  With the exception of a jagged black border, the entire canvas was a zigzag of sharp red lines and the blooming rose.

  “It looks crazy.”

  “It reflects your emotions. And has really good texture. I want you to take it with you.”

  I handed her the brush and flopped down on her bed. “You sure your mom won’t be furious when she finds out we’re here?”

  “Nah.” Erica deposited all the paintbrushes into ajar with some sort of solution. “She’s been so busy working her two jobs and worrying about Ricardo, she doesn’t care what I do.”

  At least Erica’s mother was worried about her family, rather than herself, I wanted to say, but refrained. With Erica, I knew I could vent and be as self-centered as I wanted, and she seemed to enjoy it, but I was slowly starting to realize that she was keeping a lot in. I wanted to give her the opportunity to share some of her angst as well.

  “At least tomorrow will make you feel better,” Erica said.

  “Yes.” I didn’t let any expression show on my face. I had no idea how Erica knew about my plans with Zayed. Had I told her? I didn’t recall having done so, but I’d arrived at her doorstep ranting and raving that morning, and who knew what I’d said.

  “What are you and Jason going to do? Leave town or stick around?”

  Jason. I’d completely forgotten about our conversation in the Media Center.

  “Wow, I don’t even know.”

  “Can we assume you guys are officially ‘back together’?”

  “You know, I, again, don’t know,” I finally said. “We haven’t talked about it.” Actually we had talked about it, and I had given him all the signs that that was what I wanted.

  After last night though, I wasn’t sure where we stood anymore. Where I stood.

  “He told me you guys are going to homecoming together. Do you have a dress yet?”

  I shook my head. I hadn’t really accepted his invitation and found it presumptuous of him to be talking about it with my friends.

  “You’re so lucky. I’ll never get to go to homecoming or prom or anything. Chad hates doing anything mainstream. No fancy gown or cool hairdo for me. Ever.” She sighed, touching her hair, still in a formal-looking updo, sounding truly envious.

  I wanted to tell her it wasn’t all fairy-tale castles and magic, that school dances were usually just a reason for the so-called princesses to gather and gossip about who was wearing a recycled gown and who had disappeared behind the bleachers of the gym with the most popular prince in school.

  “You could go alone. Or you can just come with me and Jason if you want to see it for yourself,” I offered half-heartedly. I didn’t feel much excitement about going at all and knew she would be disappointed after experiencing it for herself.

  “Yes, that’s just what I want. To be the third wheel on your rekindled relationship!”

  Rekindled relationship, I wasn’t so sure of that. As much as everyone thought Jason and I were perfect together, I wanted the option to make that choice on my own. And right now, I was too torn about my feelings for Zayed to make that choice.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon watching Erica paint a smaller canvas and then start on a mural of a forest on her bedroom wall. Each scene she painted was more beautiful and abstract than the last. I watched her create something that she would have forever and wondered what I was doing with my time.

  Erica had always had a plan, despite her latest announcement that she was giving up art to pursue something more “practical.” She’d always said she would go to art school and also study history so she could support herself and her family by working at a museum or gallery while she tried to make a name for herself in the art world.

  I had no such plan. I couldn’t see beyond scoring high on the SAT and getting into the U. What I would major in or what a potential career would look like was something only Zayed had ever mentioned.

  It was funny; he was the only one to actually treat me like a real person. Ever. He seemed to actually respect my wishes and what I wanted.

  It was becoming increasingly hard to keep reminding myself that yes, he was smart, funny, and ridiculously good-looking, but he was also a stranger. I didn’t know anything about him, really.

  I almost started to tell Erica about Zayed several times but, for some reason, felt like his and my conversations were sacred. Like I would be betraying him by talking about the way he saw Paris or his views on learning from the past. It was just between us. The whole thing sounded ridiculous to try to recollect anyway.

  As I was leaving Erica’s house, I spotted someone sitting in the living room just staring out the window. I peeked outside to see what Ricardo was looking at. A mail truck. Someone mowing a lawn.

  “How’s it going?” I asked, knowing I wouldn’t get a response.

  He didn’t even blink, just continued staring blankly outside.

  I used to have an intense crush on him before he’d gone off to the Middle East. I’d never told Erica that because I knew she’d insist on telling him.

  I sat next to Ricardo for another few minutes, saying inane things to him, hoping maybe he’d respond to my presence. I wondered if somewhere my father was in a similar state. Wondering if this was the reason for his long absence without any communication.

  “Bye, Ricardo,” I finally said, glancing back at him once. He was almost unrecognizable from the guy who’d left home a year ago. I wondered if that guy who used to wink at me as he whizzed by on his motorcycle was still in there somewhere.

  * * *

  A feeling of déjà vu overcame me when I walked into my house that evening, carrying a bag of groceries from the Natural Market. Vivek Joseph was again standing in my kitchen. This time, he was eating a piña colada yogurt. He paused in mid-scoop when he saw the look of surprise on my face.

  What, did he live here now?

  I stepped around him and yanked open the refrigerator door.

  “Lana’s getting ready,” he preempted before I could open my mouth. “I’m just waiting for her.”

  I gave him a look that said does it look like I asked as I started to unload groceries.

  “We’re going to dinner at Columbia Tower. Do you want to join us? I can change the reservation.”

  “No,” I said shortly as I pulled out a freshly baked loaf of French bread from my reusable grocery bag and placed it on the counter. A jar of raspberry preserves and organic peanut butter went into the refrigerator.

  “What are you planning to make?”

  “Leg of lamb. What does it look like?” I gave him another Look. For being a genius, he wasn’t very smart.

  “How was school?”

  I ignored him.

  “Hey, do you guys have a computer science class? You should try to take that next semester if you can.”

  I continued to ignore him.

  “No, seriously. Just friendly advice that’ll help you in whatever field you choose to go into.”

  “Nerd,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Hell, yeah, I am.” He’d heard me. “So, what’s your favorite class?”

  “Auto shop.” I couldn’t stay quiet anymore.

  He smiled.

  “Hey, listen, Mars. Why don’t we go out sometime and talk. Just the two of us.”

  That was enough.

  “Why? It’s not like you’re going to be around after next week. You know Lana’s dating like five other guys right now, huh? One of them is a neurosurgeon.”

  I didn’t know any of that to be true, but he didn’t need to know that.

  I thought I would see some anger, at least some indignation on his face. Instead he laughed. “You remind me of me.”

  “That’s because we’re like the same age,” I practically snarled.

  He laughed harder, infuriating me more.

  “Mars, you should absolutely join us. I really want to get to know you better. Your mother said you’re brilliant, unquestionably so.”

  I hated, hated, hated that he thou
ght he knew me. I felt my cheeks start to burn angrily.

  “While I’m sure you appreciate the ‘perfect family’ picture Lana’s trying to sell you, you should probably ask her about her husband. You know, the one who’s off in Afghanistan? The one who could come home any given Friday?”

  He stopped laughing. “Your mom told me you were having a hard time with what’s happened.”

  What’s happened?

  “Do not talk about me behind my back. Listen, you ass—” I started to use some choice words.

  “Mars, good you’re here.” Lana clattered down the stairs in her favorite silver heels, her dark hair bouncy and full. “You’ll join us for dinner, right? The view from the tower is amazing. Especially on a night like tonight. And you’ll love the chocolate soufflé.”

  “I have plans with Jason,” I lied haughtily, turning my back to them as I headed back to the garage. “I’m late.”

  “Let’s talk tonight,” Lana called after me.

  Or not.

  * * *

  I’d had been half hoping Jason wouldn’t be home, but his father waved me toward his room after their housekeeper let me in.

  I sat at the edge of his bed and watched him scroll through his music collection on his computer.

  “I need to cancel for tomorrow,” I said finally.

  “Really, why?” Jason frowned, looking confused and even a little annoyed. His cornflower-blue eyes were almost midnight-colored in the evening light, exactly matching the ratted hoodie he always wore at home.

  I don’t need to explain myself to you, I wanted to say.

  “I have a bunch of essay work to do. My instructor is willing to spend some time with me tomorrow. How often do we get a day off, right?” I laughed nervously. Technically, it was true. Zayed and I would talk about my writing at least at some point.

  “I was hoping to do a road trip, maybe Chuckanut Drive, up to Bellingham? We could pick apples and eat pie at Rosabella’s Garden.”

  “Oh, that does sound nice.” I suddenly felt a twinge of guilt. I wasn’t lying to Jason, but not telling him the whole truth. I was leading him on, but I still didn’t understand my relationship with Zayed and was not willing to let go of everything I’d built with Jason. Yet. It was cowardly of me; I wasn’t in denial about that.

  I also knew that meeting Zayed had very little to do with my essay anymore. And I believed that he knew that too. Why we were meeting and why I was so excited for it was something I looked forward to finding out. And I hoped he did as well. All I knew is that I had that same fluttery feeling in my stomach thinking of meeting him on the corner of 45th and University Avenue tomorrow morning. I had no idea what I would wear. Something white definitely.

  “How about I meet with Zayed and try to get done quickly. I’ll come to your place and we can head out around maybe noon or so?” I attempted a compromise and surprised myself with another twinge, this time of disappointment that I had already restricted the amount of time I would be able to spend with Zayed.

  “That sounds better, but I still don’t like it. Finish up with Zayed soon, okay?”

  And I didn’t like his tone. I didn’t like the way he said Zayed’s name. He wasn’t my dad; he had no right to talk to me like that.

  I was about to say something mean when Jason abandoned his computer and pulled the chair up to me so that our knees were touching. “What’s going on with your essay? How is this Zayed guy teaching you this stuff?”

  Over poetry.

  I didn’t say that out loud, though I really wanted to.

  “Well, my ideas have heart, but no body.”

  “What does that mean?”

  I wanted to explain it poetically like Zayed had, but it sounded silly when coming from me.

  “I have no impact in the body of my essay. Or something.” I was slowly starting to understand what Zayed had been saying. If I thought about it truthfully, I hadn’t given examples in the essay that really meant something to me. I needed to take that big step he’d been talking about if I was going to succeed at getting a higher score.

  “Oh, your body has plenty of impact. We can prove that tomorrow,” Jason said in that teasing tone I used to love. He rested his hands on my knees and leaned forward to kiss me. I softened slightly. Jason was Jason; this was how our relationship had always been. How could I expect him to be something else?

  I let his lips catch me on my forehead and forced a laugh. “We don’t want your father to find us like this.” As if his father would really care enough to check on us. Jason had less parental supervision than the kids on teenage soap operas.

  “Okay.” His expression bordered between hurt and doubt.

  I belonged with Jason. Everyone apparently knew that except for me. Erica, Lana, even Candace Littlefoot. Because of him, things were starting to be back to normal for me. Yet I was having a hard time convincing myself that being “safe” was the thing I wanted when the unknown was just so much more fun.

  * * *

  Zayed didn’t come.

  I waited at the corner of 45th and University Avenue for half an hour, the early-morning fog circling around and around me like a pack of gray wolves. I felt ridiculous standing on a street corner holding a paper bag with a PB&J for each of us. I peeked into Sureshot and the Institute—several times—but he was nowhere to be found. I tried the phone number he had given me, and it rang and rang. No voicemail, no response.

  When I heard the thunder, I knew it was time to go.

  As I drove home, I wondered if there had been a miscommunication or if I should’ve waited longer, but in my heart, I knew that he was not coming. Had never intended to.

  I sent him a simple one line email:

  I waited for you.

  There went my flirtation with the unknown. Whatever it had been, it was over.

  CHAPTER 7

  The Confrontation

  I didn’t spend the day with Jason, either. I couldn’t. I couldn’t pretend everything was fine and I’d just happened to finish early with my essay work. I sent him a text that I was feeling sick and had turned my phone off.

  It wasn’t a lie that I felt sick. I’d crawled back into bed, peeled off the black over-the-knee boots and white sweater dress I’d worn for the occasion and had immediately fallen asleep, the first time in weeks. I woke up hours later realizing it was after four. Friday. I needed to get to the airport in case . . .

  I could barely open my eyes and fell asleep again. I dreamt of shapes and figures, nothing concrete. I hated what was happening to me. I hated the gentle pulsating pain of disappointment in my chest every time I thought about the way Zayed looked at me when he served me tea. The brush of his shoulder against my knee. The certainty in his eyes when he’d promised me, “I’ll be there.”

  I hated what I was becoming. Pathetic and clingy and desperate for something I didn’t even fully understand. This was not me. This would not be me. I swore to myself that when I rose from the bed I would be changed. Zayed Anwar was out of my life, and under no circumstances would I let him back in.

  * * *

  The next morning, I was awoken by a clanging noise downstairs. I thought it was the thunder from the storm brewing outside. Or maybe a burglar. I drifted off to sleep again. Five minutes later the noise started again. Ten o’clock on a Saturday morning. This was a most inconsiderate burglar. I threw on a terrycloth robe over my leopard-printed pajama bottoms and tank top and crept down the stairs.

  The refrigerator was no longer in the cubby it belonged in; rather it was in the center of the kitchen. A very guilty-looking Vivek Joseph peeked out from behind it.

  “Hi, Mars,” he whispered.

  “What are you doing?” I said in a normal tone.

  “I wanted to make Lana breakfast, but your refrigerator just made a weird noise and refuses to turn on.”

  “Did you break it?” I asked.

  “I was trying to fix it.”

  “Do you know how to fix refrigerators?”

  “N
o.”

  “Okay, then please call a repair guy,” I said.

  “I’m an engineer. I can figure this out. Do you have the manual?”

  “No! No one keeps that.” I glanced up at the staircase to where my parents’ bedroom was. Vivek was spending the night already. There went promises of not “moving too fast.”

  “Fine, I’ll just look online.”

  Clearly, he was not going to go away. I ran upstairs, brushed my teeth, and washed my face. I was not making the effort to actually get presentable in the hopes that Vivek would give up and leave soon.

  I noticed Lana’s bedroom door was still closed. She slept with earplugs in, so I was not surprised the noise hadn’t woken her.

  When I returned, Vivek was navigating Lana’s laptop expertly and had brought up a page with a diagram of refrigerator parts. “Hmm, this looks simple enough.”

  I pulled up a stool and watched him fiddle around inside the freezer, doing more damage than anything else with every piece of machinery that he took out and discarded as “not important.”

  I dug around in the bag of PB&Js that sat on the counter, uneaten from the previous day. I couldn’t believe it was less than twenty-four hours ago that I’d been standing on a sidewalk like a fool waiting for a guy who I barely knew to show up for a “not” date.

  It sounded ridiculous, but the disappointment still stung, prickled at my skin, just as much as it had the first moment. Why had I looked forward to it so much? Why had I let my guard down with him so quickly?

  But what if something bad had happened to him and he wasn’t able to contact me?

  Or what if he didn’t think of me “that way” and had figured out I was starting to develop feelings for him and realized he needed to end it quickly?

  I didn’t want to think about this anymore, but I kept hearing his words over and over again. “I’ll be there.” I knew I would be spending the day hiding and thinking. And rethinking.

  I barely knew Zayed. He was undoubtedly made of something very different than me, so why did I feel such a connection with him? Like there was so much more to our relationship than just teacher-student or even friends?