Scattered Ashes

by Dona Sarkar

  “I’m going to hold you to that,” Vivek warned.

  So was I. After tasting the infamous Anwar family scalloped potatoes, I would love to try something authentically Middle Eastern.

  “What is your family like, Zayed?” Lana asked. I realized now that she was digging for information rather than asking out of politeness. I was annoyed but didn’t intrude or change the subject since I wanted to know as well without seeming like even more of a snoop.

  “My father is an engineer, a top hydraulic engineer. He helped design the water system where we live.”

  “In Paris? He must have done very well for himself,” Vivek commented.

  Zayed went on as if he hadn’t heard Vivek. “We also own a villa outside the city that we rent to tourists.”

  Vivek raised an eyebrow at this. Zayed’s family appeared to be very different from what I’d imagined. They were undoubtedly well off and educated. No wonder he had such beautiful manners and knew so much about the world.

  “My mother is a homemaker, though she’s always longed for a career outside the home. She didn’t have the opportunity for further education since her family stressed the importance of being married rather than having a career. She used to teach young girls verses from the Qur’an, but that was all.”

  Zayed’s cell phone rang just then. He reached for it just as it stopped. I was surprised that he didn’t even check to see who it was. Then I wondered who it was that always called and hung up so quickly.

  “You’d said earlier that your family are progressive Muslims. What does that mean?” Lana pressed on.

  “Progressive Muslims don’t have one central authority, but we believe that independent reasoning is preferable to blind faith in religious leaders; in the importance of safeguarding human rights; and in determining the value of a person based on his ethics and values, rather than how rigidly he follows religious rituals.”

  I nodded, urging him on. “And this is how you were raised?”

  “Yes. This is how my father has always explained Islam to us. Teaching tolerance is most important, above anything else. He says that the young people of today harbor a passion unlike anything he has seen before, and if harnessed correctly, it can be used for the advancement of the whole human race. He also says something we all know, that this passion can be used for good, but also evil.”

  “Extremists,” Vivek said knowingly. “This happens in India too. I’ve had relatives who—” he stopped. “People do bad things, and they actually believe they’re doing something that will benefit the people they care about.”

  The table was silent for a few minutes.

  “So what can be done? Can teachers and other people in positions of power do more to prevent extremists?” Lana took a bite of her ravioli and made an “mmm” noise. I had to agree; the sauce was delicious. I had no idea she had the potential to be such a good cook.

  “I think so,” Zayed said. “Eventually I would want to teach high school kids and college students these kinds of lessons. As I grow older, I realize I can’t just talk about the problem; I have to get involved and help stop it. This is part of the reason I am pursuing my field of study.”

  I paused in mid-bite. He was not in it alone. I was going to be there with him and for him, no matter what Lana or anyone else had to say about it.

  * * *

  “My brother and sister shared everything with each other,” Krish, the heartbreakingly pretty girl, said in therapy group, her eyes filling with tears. “Ever since she died, he’s been so different, like—”

  “How do you feel about that? Not how your brother feels, how do you feel?” Stephanie, our group leader, to the rescue again. She had been especially pushy that Tuesday evening to get each person to share their feelings and nothing more. I had the feeling of being measured against some bar she’d set for us. Krish, Octavio, and Erica were all looking a bit uncomfortable at her forcefulness, and Ken had just tuned out and was playing with his lighter again.

  Krish looked around the room and bit her lip. “Well, I’m hurt most of the time because my brother doesn’t talk to me the way he used to talk to her. I can’t blame him, though; he has these dreams where he’s watching her get shot. He runs to her and—”

  “Again, let’s keep the focus on you.” The leader interrupted again. “Please don’t make me ask again.”

  I had been examining the red sole of my boot and looked up just in time to see Krish crossing her arms and pursing her lips. She was done. Shut down.

  This was enough.

  “No. Stop. Please tell us about your sister and brother and anything else you want to share,” I requested of Krish. “I have no siblings and love to hear about the relationships between others,”

  She opened her mouth and started to say something.

  “I think the discussion has gone off topic today,” Stephanie interrupted the dialogue again. I gave her a look in an attempt to shut her up, but she carried on.

  “Let’s all go around the circle and say one thing we’re thankful for, and then it’s time to go.” Twenty minutes earlier than scheduled, at that.

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m thankful I met so many great people in this group.” Except you, I thought silently in her direction. Everyone followed suit with an equally feeling-less sentiment.

  After the circle was complete, we all stood up and left the old building in clumps, Krish and Octavio leading the way, their heads together, a word or phrase shared between them fading as it reached us.

  “I feel like we were really talking today before you-know-who cut us off,” Ken offered, walking with me, as he flicked his lighter for the millionth time. “I wanted to hear what she,” he said pointing to Krish, “had to say about her brother. It’s probably hard for her to feel so helpless. I mean, both her dad and sister gone and her brother falling apart.”

  I knew exactly how she felt. She wanted to talk about her loss; she didn’t want to pretend it didn’t exist like everyone else seemed to assume she wanted. Why people were so afraid of grief and talking about it was beyond me.

  I looked over at Ken, who didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. But then all of us were walking fairly slowly, possibly reluctant to leave the sanctuary of the group and return to the real world.

  I had an idea. “What about all of us who want to, let’s finish what we were talking about. Let’s keep having our session, just without you-know-who.”

  “What? Where?”

  “The gazebo.” I gestured in the general direction of the waterfront.

  The Kirkland downtown gazebo is the central, sparkling jewel of Kirkland’s waterfront park. It hosts concerts and performers all year long as well as being the destination spot for late-summer weddings. It was the perfect place to sit and talk about what was on our minds.

  Ken hurried to let Krish and Octavio know the new plan. I was really starting to like this kid. I had been amazed to see the difference in him from a month ago to now. He’d gone from silent and brooding to being willing to listen and help anyone he could.

  I sidled up alongside Erica, who’d been very quiet all evening, barely acknowledging my tap on her shoulder.

  “Do you need to tell Chad where you’re going to be if I keep you out a bit late?”

  She shook her head, staring at the sidewalk as we walked.

  “Why?”

  “We’re not talking right now.”

  “You guys? You’re always talking. I don’t believe it.” I almost stopped in my tracks. I hadn’t seen Chad in a few days, actually. I hoped it wasn’t serious.

  “Believe it.”

  “What’s this about?” I matched her step for step, realizing she wasn’t effervescently bouncing down the street like always. Something was very wrong.

  “Traditions.”

  “What?”

  “Things that everyone else does that Chad refuses to do. Dinner with my family, stuff like that.” She hesitated as if she was going to say something else but seemed to change her mind. I wo
ndered what was really going on. She was obviously keeping something to herself, with no intentions of sharing.

  That annoyed me. She always insisted I tell her everything, and I felt like she was putting up a wall to keep me from doing the same. It was like we had hit the ceiling of our friendship and she was not going to let me know any other layer of her personality other than the friendly, funky artist she portrayed.

  “Do you think he doesn’t want a long-term commitment? That doesn’t sound like him. You guys have been together longer than most people have been married.”

  “I just know that he thinks some of the things I want are silly, and he doesn’t take them seriously.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like regular things. Like going to homecoming.”

  “The dance?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You know how he is. He thinks homecoming is for the ‘main-streamers, ’ and it’s not his thing. I’ve never gotten to go, and this year is the last chance. It’s the one time I get to wear the dress, get my hair done, rent the limo. All the things you’ve always done.”

  “Are you sure Chad won’t go?” I felt bad for Erica that she’d never been able to experience basic high school drama.

  Erica blinked those enormous, glimmering eyes of hers, looking hurt and betrayed. “He said absolutely not and that I was being stupid for even wanting to.”

  I had never heard her tone so biting. Wow, it was serious. And, come to think of it, I hadn’t seen Chad’s Mini Cooper around in a few weeks. Had they broken up for good?

  “Erica, listen to me. What you guys have is special. I think you’re both mad at each other right now. I think it’s going to be okay.” And I was convinced it was. She would go to homecoming in the princess gown and, for one night, be like everyone else in school. Then she would realize how lonely her night had been and everything would be okay.

  “I’m sorry, hon.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say to make her feel better.

  “Can we talk about something else?” Erica sighed, glancing up and seeing Ken and the couple heading toward the gazebo.

  “How’s Ricardo?”

  “He’s having nightmares.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that either. There went Zayed’s theory that I would make a good therapist. I didn’t even know what to say to a good friend when she needed me, much less a group of strangers.

  Instead, I took Erica’s arm and guided her across the street to the gazebo, where Ken, Octavio, and Krish already waited, sitting cross-legged on the ground. I activated the backlight on my cell phone and held it in my hands. The others followed suit, and soon the five of us were sitting in a semi-circle, the glow from our phones lighting up our faces.

  “Why is our group so small?” Ken asked after a few minutes of silence.

  “He’s right. We can’t be the only kids in school affected by the war, right? Where is everybody else?” Krish piped up. “My sister and brother, your dad, your mom,” she pointed at me last, “and your dad. Are these the only people from Kirkland who are deployed right now? I don’t think so. Where are their kids and siblings? Where did Angel go? He hasn’t been here in weeks.”

  “I think,” I said slowly, “people want to move on with their lives without having to be part of groups like this.” I hated saying this because this is exactly what I had done up until a few weeks ago.

  Heads swiveled in my direction.

  “Think about it, you guys. So many people just deny this grief; they don’t want to deal with it . . .”

  I was starting to get choked up at this point.

  Erica took over, “She’s right. People don’t want to look weak, like they need help. Like they need to talk about this stuff. Especially people our age that get made fun of for showing any kind of real feelings.”

  People wanted to go on like nothing had happened and forget about mourning what our families used to be. I had done this. Lana had done this. Zayed had forced me out of my shell by needing me to be there for him. I had shared so much of myself in an effort to get him to open up. And it had worked, kind of.

  “Well, I feel like the war has affected my life a lot, and I want to talk about it,” Krish said. “Nothing will ever be the same for my family again. And I know it’s the same for him,” she pointed at Octavio. Even in the dark, I could see the two of them touching hands. The war did bring some people together.

  “Me too. I want to talk about how I’m going to take care of my brother,” Erica said with a shrug. “Maybe I won’t even go to college. I might have to get a job so we can pay for his expenses.”

  I stared at her. No way. I wasn’t going to let that happen. She’d worked too hard all through high school for her perfect grade-point-average that would take her directly to an Ivy League university.

  “Me too,” Octavio said. “I need to stay home with my dad. How can I go off to college? I won’t put him in a home. And I haven’t seen my mom in years; she ran off when I was five. She’s not going to take care of him.”

  So many families were less fortunate than mine. Yes, Dad was off in Afghanistan, and who knew when he was going to come home, but Lana and I were safe and taken care of, thanks to her huge inheritance. We didn’t need to worry about money or our futures. We had each other, and we had our comforts. I could attend the college of my choice, and Lana could continue to host parties and galas without second thoughts.

  How ridiculous all my talk of designer clothes or my Louboutin shoe collection must have sounded to Erica. What had I been thinking? Lana and I had an obligation to do something for others who didn’t have those luxuries. I was starting to have the earliest inklings of a plan, but I needed Lana’s help.

  We sat there, the five of us, and talked in the darkness. We were virtually strangers, most of us not even knowing each other’s last names. That semblance of anonymity made it easier for us to talk openly about the one thing that bonded us together, the war, its effects on our families, and how it kept us awake every night.

  Joggers passed us with dogs; couples looking for a private spot and even a friendly squirrel went by, but we kept talking, desperately almost, like we had so much to say and such a limited time in which to say it.

  “This was a great idea,” Ken said after we’d been sitting for over two hours and a silence had fallen over our group. “Thanks, Mars, for organizing it.”

  Krish said softly. “I was able to share a lot more with you guys here than I’ve ever been able to in that building.”

  I smiled in her direction.

  “You’re good at this,” Erica whispered to me as she stood up. “I need to go.”

  I was the last to leave the gazebo. I sat there on the cold ground, enveloped by night, surrounded by fireflies and serenading crickets, wondering. Zayed did have a point.

  I wasn’t able to help these kids yet, but I had a sense that maybe I would be able to soon. Sharing my story seemed to have opened the floodgates of our group. Maybe I would have to do it more and see what happened, for the group and for Zayed.

  CHAPTER 14

  The Rejection

  “The chicken is going to overcook unless I tend to it. You have to stop distracting me. Or at least do so less.” Zayed swatted me playfully with a dish towel as I leaned over the counter and fluttered my eyelashes at him.

  I purred, similarly to what Coconut had been doing a few minutes prior.

  “You’re bad,” he said, cupping my face with his hand.

  “I try.” I was grinning like a fool. I never acted like this. Giddy and silly and flirty. Laughing at everything.

  Things had changed between us after the trip to the airport. The innocent touches were no longer that; both of us were ready for more. He told me often about how beautiful he thought I was. He looked at me in a way that I knew he thought about me at night when he was alone.

  “The chicken,” I reminded Zayed.

  “I can’t think with you around.” Zayed sighed and turned back to the stove.
/>   Khoresh anaar. That was what Zayed was cooking for dinner. He wanted to do a practice run of cooking it before attempting to make dinner for Lana and Vivek. I tried to assure him that he didn’t actually have to fulfill his promise to make dinner for them, but he’d looked at me solemnly and assured me that he always kept his word.

  “I hope you didn’t mind all the questions at dinner the other night,” I said, referring to Lana’s hundred questions about his family, his life, his schooling. He had perfect responses to everything, but even then she hadn’t been satisfied. She’d squeezed my arm as Zayed and I had left Vivek’s apartment, letting me know she would be home in an hour. Translation: don’t try anything funny.

  “Your mother does not trust me. She believes I am hiding something that will hurt you,” Zayed responded easily, not sounding surprised or hurt or any other emotion I would expect.

  “And you’re not?”

  “Can you get the bag of flour from the pantry, please?” He changed the subject just as easily.

  I scowled a little as I did as he asked. Helping in the kitchen was not the only thing I intended to do this evening.

  So far my help had included sitting on the counter, playing with the cat, while asking him why he was adding pomegranate seeds and walnuts into a chicken curry. He had sliced the onions and sautéed them in oil before adding the chicken. After adding water and cooking the chicken for over half an hour, he’d added various herbs, spices, and garlic. That was when the walnuts and pomegranate seeds had gone in, earning a raised eyebrow from me.

  “Tell me more about your mother,” I instructed him as he added in some flour to thicken the curry and covered the pan.

  “She would like you very much. I would’ve liked to take you home with me and for you to meet her if it was possible.” I smiled at that. Home with him sounded magical.

  “Although she was raised in a traditional house, her family was very progressive and believed that women should have choices,” Zayed said, turning the heat down and stirring the chicken. “She is also an extraordinary cook, and this dish is her specialty.”

  “Do you make it as well as your mom?” I teased, as if I had room to talk with my specialty PB&Js. I scooped up Coconut in my arms and showed her what was happening on the counter, answering her insistent meows.