Hot Pink in the City

by Medeia Sharif

  We had to throw in the Syrian bit since that would sway Uncle more, since he's partial to having Middle Eastern friends. "I'd have to meet this boy," he says. "I don't like the idea of my daughter and niece out with some stranger, some boy."

  "A nice boy with tickets, Dad."

  "Yeah, Uncle, he was real polite when we waited in line somewhere in midtown. You'll like him. And please, Uncle, let us go. Madonna's my favorite singer."

  "Okay. I'm not really comfortable with this idea, but let me see this boy and I'll think about it after I talk to him."

  ***

  Later that night, in the closet while we're watching Letterman and eating lokum, Nasreen and I go over our day.

  "I feel super-duper dumb over what happened with the tape," Nasreen says, prying her teeth apart. My mouth is also gummy from lokum. "I had no idea my aunt destroyed that tape and that Dad no longer listens to it. I wasn't aware he replaced the tape. It was literally under our noses this whole time."

  "How were we supposed to know it was a poor quality tape when it was a bootleg?" I ask. "We couldn't know. And when you're listening to someone foreign, you can't always tell who's singing. I didn't know that was my other aunt singing in the beginning of the cassette."

  "That tape put us through a lot, but at least it's all over," Nasreen says. "We need to call Abe so he can meet my father. It sounds like he'll let us go to this concert."

  "It does."

  We lick the powder off our fingers. My tongue travels across my teeth, picking pistachio pieces out of my mouth. Even though we've been staying up until three or four o'clock, we'll go to bed earlier tonight. We're both exhausted after we took care of the tape, changed the minds of Nasreen's parents, and requested Uncle's permission to see Madonna. I wrote half of a letter to my mom, which I'll finish tomorrow. All I'm writing is that I'm doing well and Nasreen is a great tour guide. I'll mail it in the morning. It'll be my last letter to her since in a week I'll be back in Miami. I haven't bothered to write Tamara and Misty any other letters since I haven't received any from them. With the remaining quarters I have I might call them again before I leave, and that's it. Even though my stay in New York and their treatment of me has made me question their friendship, I do plan to catch up with them when I get back home.

  My relationships with my best friends may be shaky, but at least I'll have Abe in Miami. I'm totally going to stay in touch with him. This doesn't have to be a simple summer fling. It can be much more.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Uncle and Auntie decide it'll be okay if Nasreen goes to college in California, Texas, or Massachusetts, as long as she's not too far away from relatives who she can turn to in times of need. Now they're debating about apartment rentals or dorm rooms. Auntie believes in dorms, while Uncle thinks they're cesspools of alcohol and drug abuse. He'd like Nasreen to rent an apartment with a Muslim roommate. Everything is so far away, but they're planning, still trying to direct Nasreen's life.

  "Let them act like they're in charge," Nasreen says. "Once I'm on my own and out of New York, that'll be my bliss. I'll get to do my own thing."

  I like her philosophy. "I'm happy you got your way," I say.

  "I couldn't have done it without you."

  "I owed it to you, especially since everything was my fault. I whined about not having Madonna and you tried to help me out with that."

  "That was an ordeal."

  "It was," I agree.

  We're in her room, and I stand by her desk as she organizes her college brochures and pamphlets. Now that her parents don't mind her leaving, she's pulling out the colleges that are in states that have relatives in them. "Can I have one of those brochures?" I ask.

  "For that scrapbook of yours?" she asks.

  "How do you know about my scrapbook?" I ask, alarmed that she knows about it when I thought I had been hiding it well underneath my pillows.

  Nasreen shakes her head. "One night I woke up and heard you gluing, stapling, and taping. It's kind of funny. I don't know anyone else who does that, but who am I to judge? I watch TV in a closet at night. Don't worry, I haven't looked in it."

  "It's not a diary," I say.

  "But you treat it as one," she says.

  "Yes, it's in pictorial code."

  "Here, take this." She gives me a pamphlet for a school in Arizona. Since she knows about my scrapbook, I go ahead and work on it in front of her. I climb onto the top bunk and staple one side of the pamphlet onto a fresh page in a way that enables me to fold it out completely. I'll remember Nasreen and how I helped her with this goal. I have mementoes from my other stays in New York, but nothing like this. I usually collect maps of museums, tickets to plays, and other touristy things. What I've collected so far doesn't reflect me being a tourist. It's about me being an adventurer.

  If Uncle allows me to go see Madonna, I'll tape or staple my ticket stub to the adjacent page. It will be the first concert I've ever gone to, and I'd be seeing my idol, so this will be a momentous event. I'm not sure what else I'll be doing in New York in my final days. Maybe I can really see museums and other sights -- not lying to Uncle, Auntie, or Mom about it, but really going to these places now that I don't have to see the porn brothers again. Nasreen has already put back Auntie's grocery money we borrowed but never used, and since I didn't spend money on the porn brothers' tape, I have some cash for myself. The rest of my stay in Manhattan will be actual vacation time, in which I'm a tourist. I'll have no mission this time other than to enjoy the city.

  "Asma!" Auntie yells from the living room.

  I jump when I hear her voice. What if she wants me to taste something, even though Nasreen is the one she comes to for that? "Asma!" She bursts through the door, and I instinctively hold my scrapbook to my chest.

  "You have mail," she tells me, reaching up to hand me a letter. It's Tamara's address and bubbly writing on the front. Finally, a letter from one of my friends.

  Sitting on top of the bunk bed, I rip the letter open. It's actually two letters inside the envelope, one from Tamara and one from Misty. Tamara writes about how she's spent time at the recreation center by her house, playing sports and meeting guys. The whole letter is about herself.

  Misty's letter is similar, about her exploits at the beach and kissing boys, but her writing is more abrasive, with her rough personality and putdowns shining through.

  Asma, I wish you could be here. John's friend Billy isn't all that cute. He flirts with me, but I'm not into him and thought maybe you'd like him. There's also a soccer camp going on at our school, and I thought about you, since you only live and breathe soccer.

  I'm fuming. Why would I want a boy who isn't good enough for her... he'd fit my lower standards instead? And I don't live and breathe soccer. I haven't even touched a soccer ball during my stay in New York. I turn five pages back in my scrapbook and find a picture of them. I'm standing in the middle of them, and they both have their fingers formed into Vs, making rabbit ears behind my head. I take a red pen and slash into the picture so hard I make rips. I draw devil horns and moustaches on my two friends. It's not enough, though. I need to have the courage to confront Misty and Tamara about their treatment of me. That's it; I've had it with both of them. I leap off the bed and find the remaining quarters from the pencil case.

  "What are you doing?" Nasreen asks.

  "I'm going to step out and make a call," I say.

  Outside, I wait for a man to get off the phone and then dial Misty's number. I have issues with both my friends, but Misty is the bigger problem with her attitude and rudeness.

  "Hey, Asma!" Misty says. She sounds excited to hear from me, but I don't feel it. She's not exuberant about our friendship. She probably gets her jollies from seeing me as a doormat and punching bag.

  "Hey, is it her?" Tamara asks. "Move over so we can share the receiver... I'm staying with Misty for the day. I'm glad you called when we're both here."

  "What are you up to?" Misty asks.

  "I'm getting ready to see Mad
onna," I say. "Someone offered me and my cousin tickets."

  "No way," Tamara says.

  "Madonna's overrated," Misty says. "And she's a slut."

  "Yeah, she can be slutty," Tamara agrees.

  They're criticizing my idol? Madonna has more talent, intelligence, and personality in her pinky finger than the two of them combined. "I can't wait to go," I say. "Oh, and I'm going with a guy."

  "You?" Tamara says. Misty snorts in disbelief.

  "I've actually been doing a lot in New York, things you wouldn't believe, but you never let me get in a word, and it took forever for the two of you to write back to me."

  "Hey, don't be sore," Tamara says. "We can't help it if you call from some shitty payphone."

  "What are you talking about?" Misty asks. "Of course we listen to you, but it's not like you have anything great to share with us. If you want to tell us what you've been doing, then just say it already."

  Please deposit twenty-five cents.

  I jab a quarter into the coin slot. "You know what, screw the both of you!" I say. "I don't want to be interrupted, and I don't want my so-called friends to disbelieve my adventures. And yeah, I had adventures. And you know what, I think I was able to have them because I wasn't anywhere near the two of you!"

  I slam the receiver down to hang up on them. I wasn't even really thinking when I got that off my chest, but standing here and reflecting on my outburst, I realize I'm right. It was my traveling here alone and then being in the supportive, loving, fun-filled care of my cousin that allowed me to break loose and live a little. If Tamara and Misty had accompanied me on this trip, I'd be on the backburner, watching the two of them kiss boys and get into trouble. I'd be the goody-goody in the corner not saying or doing much.

  Sayonara, Tamara and Misty. There's no way I'll continue being friends with them. I deserve better. There are other girls at school I've been meaning to sit with during lunch. The girls on my soccer team have been asking me to meet with them at the mall or at parties, but I would say no because I was always following Tamara and Misty, wasting my time on those two when they never thought much about me. Well, I'm through with them. New York has given me so much, tested me, taught me, and now I also have this gift. I kicked two rotten people out of my life.

  ***

  Abe isn't able to meet my family right away since he has his own familial obligations, but he comes to the basement a few hours before the concert starts to see if Uncle will approve of him. I can't think there's anything to disapprove of, unless Uncle has something against cuteness and rattails.

  Auntie smiles and serves him tea while Uncle grills him on where he's from, what his grades are, and what he wants to be when he's grown up. He's taking us to a concert. I'm not marrying the guy! Uncle's eyes light up when Abe tells him he wants to be a doctor.

  "It's always good to have doctors in the family," Uncle says.

  "Yeah," Nasreen says. "If you need a spleen to be taken out or a leg amputated, family can do it for you."

  Why does she have to act weird in front of my more-than-a-summer-fling? "Can we go, Uncle?" I say.

  "I think it would be all right if you took my daughter and niece to this concert," Uncle finally approves. Nasreen and I don't waste time. While he continues to talk to Abe, we go to her room to dress.

  Nasreen wears all black while I'm in hot pink from head to toe, with tights and a ballerina skirt. Abe looks absolutely hot with a white tank top and black jeans. I playfully pull on his rattail during the subway ride. I'm nervous. I'm about to see Madonna in concert. I've idolized this woman from afar. Just like Helen of Troy launched a thousand ships, Madonna is technically the person who launched my crazy summer vacation.

  First, we have dinner, and then we head to the concert location. Seeing Madonna live is a crazy experience. It's a million times better than seeing her on TV or listening to her on the radio. From a lost tape to seeing her live! She looks gorgeous from what I can see in our nosebleed seats, and she sounds amazing. She's not one of those singers who sounds horrible live, and she doesn't need to lip-sync and fake anything. Even as she bounces across the stage, she doesn't seem out of breath and her voice doesn't break. She's pure, real talent.

  Abe grabs my hand. I don't know how Nasreen will react to me kissing him since she can be rude and aggressive. Also, she didn't seem happy when our kiss was caught on tape. She's busy looking at the stage and her surroundings, but I don't want to be intimate in front of her. The lights turn real dim, and that's when I dare to kiss Abe in public... again.

  "Who's That Girl?" Madonna asks.

  I'm that girl, I answer in my head. I'm the one who's where I want to be and who I want to be with.