Mira in the Present Tense

by Sita Brahmachari

  Krish pinches my arm hard. I just ignore him, tucking the keys into my blazer pocket before Mum changes her mind. As soon as I hear Millie climbing our steps I run for the front door to stop her clanking the letterbox, but I get there just one clank too late.

  “Hi, Millie!” shouts Mum from the kitchen. “Thank your mum for having Mira for tea.”

  Millie looks confused, but I slam the door behind us before she can answer.

  “But I came early to see Laila,” she protests.

  “Sorry, it was just madness in there. I had to get out.”

  “I didn’t know you were coming for tea.”

  “I’m not. Mum hasn’t got a clue what’s going on these days, what with Laila and Nana.”

  “Is Laila going to be OK now?”

  I nod. Laila will be fine, but I, on the other hand, will probably be struck down by lightning, the amount of lying I’ve been doing. I don’t even know why I lied about going to Millie’s, except that Mum and Dad would have probably made a big deal about me going to Jidé’s house…and Krish would definitely have teased me about it. I suppose that’s why. But the problem with lying is once you start, you end up having to lie again and again, over and over.

  All day long I can think of nothing else except going to Jidé’s. When I sit on the wall at break time, I can’t even think of anything to say to Millie. Just like with Nana, now that there are secrets between us it isn’t that easy to chat anymore.

  “What are you doing tonight?” I ask Millie.

  “Orchestra, I told you.”

  “Sorry, I forgot.”

  At the end of the day, I hang around in the classroom. “See you on Monday,” Millie shouts, hoisting her cello onto her back and lumbering off to orchestra practice. You can just see her head bobbing up and down above the top of her case.

  Jidé is sitting on the other side of the room from me. There’s only me, Ben, and Jidé left in the classroom, and Ben’s on his way out.

  “Playing footie?” calls Ben from the doorway.

  “I can’t,” sighs Jidé.

  “Suit yourself,” Ben shrugs, running out into the courtyard.

  “Ready?” Jidé asks, grinning at me.

  “Ready,” I say, grinning back.

  “I didn’t tell Ben…”

  “I didn’t tell Millie…” I don’t tell him I didn’t even tell my mum and dad, which, at least, I suppose he must have done.

  By the time we get out into the courtyard most people have gone home. There is no sign of Millie or Ben. So we walk out of the school gates together. Jidé throws his arm round my shoulder, which I suppose is meant to show just about the whole world that we’re going out together. He lives just across the Rec in a row of modern houses split up into flats. When we reach his bright red door, the color of a postbox, he takes his key out of his bag and lets himself into flat 22A.

  “Want something to eat? Sit down,” Jidé says, pointing to the floor. That’s when I realize why this room looks so enormous—there are no chairs or sofas in it. Just loads of brightly colored cushions scattered everywhere. There are little alcoves in the walls with sculptures in them. They look like African sculptures in dark, smooth wood…sculptures of women with long necks. There are photos all over the place. Quite a lot of them are of Jidé, school photos, that sort of thing, but there are other photos in black and white…of whole families crammed into tents. Jidé’s mum and dad are in a lot of these photos, looking hot and tired. This must be Rwanda. I have to pull myself away from the faces in these pictures. Downstairs is just one big room—a kitchen and living room all together. The walls are white, full of crammed bookshelves and colorful woven rugs.

  “I love where you live.”

  Jidé smiles and shrugs, looking around as if he’s never really thought about it before. Then there’s a click in the lock.

  “Hi, Jidé!”

  Ms. Jackson, who is Jidé’s mum, lugs shopping bags and a pile of schoolbooks through the door. He helps her in.

  “Hi, Grace, Mira’s here.”

  She looks up, as if she’s completely forgotten I was coming.

  “Hello, Mira! Fancy pizza for tea?”

  I nod and smile but don’t say anything. I can feel her checking me over.

  “Good. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

  Then she goes over to the answerphone to pick up messages. I’m grateful that she’s too busy to pay me much attention. We walk up the two steps to Jidé’s room. There’s just a mattress on the floor with cushions all over it. Books are stacked up all around the walls. Each pile is about ten books deep.

  “Have you read all these?”

  Jidé nods. I can feel him watching my every move.

  He has a shelf with football medals, shells, fossils, precious stones, and a photo of his mum and dad standing with two children: a girl of about three or four years old, who looks like Jidé. She’s holding a baby in her arms, a bit younger than Laila, wrapped in a thin piece of orange cloth with frayed edges.

  “What object will you bring in for Pat Print?” I ask.

  “I dunno…I haven’t thought about it yet, maybe a photo. How about you?”

  “The artichoke-heart charm my nana gave me. I’ll bring that.”

  “How is she, your nana?”

  “Worse,” I say.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I think she’s going to die soon.”

  “Aren’t you frightened for her?” asks Jidé.

  Frightened? I think it’s a strange question. It has never crossed my mind to be frightened of Nana dying.

  “No, I’m not. I think it’s because she’s not frightened and she’s got everyone around her who loves her.”

  Jidé nods.

  “What does she think happens next? Does she believe in God and all that?”

  “No, she’s not really into religion,” I tell him.

  “I don’t…do you?” he asks me.

  “I don’t know. Sometimes I want to…How can you be so sure?”

  As soon as I’ve asked the question, I regret it.

  “If God existed, what happened to my family, to all those people…it just wouldn’t happen if God exists. That’s what I think. But then Grace and Jai, they still have faith, even after everything they’ve seen.”

  “I made a wish when Laila was ill. I thought maybe she was going to die so I asked for Nana to die and not Laila.”

  “Asked who?”

  “Notsurewho Notsurewhat.”

  Jidé laughs.

  “That’s what I call God…or whatever…because I just don’t know what I believe in.”

  “I think the deal with religion is you have to have faith! Your nana is dying anyway. It’s just you couldn’t stand the thought of your sister dying too. That’s my sister.” He nods over to the photo on his shelf. “Apparently, she carried me into the camp where Grace and Jai were working…they called it a safe zone…I was wrapped up in that bit of cloth. They couldn’t get her to speak, not even to tell them our names, but…you’ll probably think this is a bit weird, sometimes she sings to me in my sleep.”

  “It’s not weird. My dreams are crazy too…but you must be so sick of me talking about my nana.”

  “Why? I love talking to you.” Jidé smiles his melt-your-heart gentle smile. I wonder if he knows what effect that has on me.

  “How did your sister die?” I ask Jidé, staring up at the photo of her holding him in her arms.

  “Cholera, in the end. She didn’t survive the camp,” he says in a matter-of-fact way, as if he’s talking about someone completely disconnected from him. I don’t even really know what cholera is. Then I turn to see Jidé holding out a rag of orange woven cloth for me to take a closer look. It’s the same piece of cloth that was wrapped around baby Jidé in the photo.

  As I feel the fraying edges of Jidé’s precious cloth, I think of Krish and how much he bugs me and how I would miss him if he was gone. I think of how hard I prayed for Laila to live. If only I could do s
omething to bring Jidé’s sister back, but I can do nothing. I place the folded cloth back into his hand and as I do so he folds his hand over mine so that we are both holding the cloth and each other.

  “So you read my note then?” Jidé smiles at me cheekily.

  “I did…about a hundred times. I’m thinking of framing it!” I laugh.

  “For someone so quiet, Mira Levenson…you’ve got the loudest laugh.” Jidé laughs back and before I know what’s happening he’s holding my head in his hands and kissing me on the lips. At first, I’m so surprised I just freeze, and then my lips feel all tingly and my face is scarlet red, but I don’t pull away from him, because of how it feels to be this close, to be actually kissing Jidé Jackson. When it’s over, what we’ve done feels so weird that I can’t help it—I just burst out laughing again.

  “What did you think?” Jidé asks, grinning at me.

  I can’t stop giggling enough to answer him.

  “I was deadly serious actually! Here, I’ll give you something to laugh about,” he says, grabbing hold of my feet and tickling me.

  “Having fun?” says Jidé’s mum, peering round the door. “Tea’s ready in five minutes.”

  On the wall, opposite Jidé’s bed, is an enormous map of the world crisscrossed with green and red silk thread, leading to drawing pins stuck into different countries.

  “What are those for?” I ask.

  “The red ones are the countries I’ve been to and the green ones are the ones I want to go to the most.”

  I follow the string tracks across the world.

  “You’ve been to…Wales, Scotland, Ireland, France, Brazil, and India…you’ve been to India?”

  He nods. “Haven’t you?”

  I shake my head. “My Granddad Bimal’s from India, but I’ve never been. I really want to go though.”

  “You should.”

  “What about Africa? You were born there, weren’t you?” I follow a red string to a place in Africa. “Is that Rwanda?”

  Jidé nods.

  “I don’t remember anything about it, but one day I’ll go back.”

  “I thought you said there was no point…going back.”

  “I’m frightened to go back, but a bit of me thinks I should…” smiles Jidé sadly.

  I think of Nana’s tiny artichoke charm and the layers and layers of protection that Jidé has already had to grow around his heart, and I lean toward him and I kiss him, and this time I don’t feel like laughing, not one bit…It doesn’t feel like any other place I’ve been to. This kiss with Jidé Jackson is like traveling to another world.

  “Pizza,” calls Jidé’s mum from the kitchen.

  “How was school, Jidé?”

  It’s amazing that all parents, even teachers, can’t think of a better question to ask.

  “Boring, we had history.”

  “Ha! Ha! Wait till you get me next year,” laughs Jidé’s mum. “What’s your favorite thing at school, Mira?”

  Jidé does an enormous yawn, as if to say, “Could you be more boring?”

  And to make it even more uncomfortable for me he keeps nudging my foot under the table in an attempt to make me laugh.

  “Art. I like Art,” I giggle.

  Then the phone rings.

  “Sorry, Mira,” she sighs, striding off.

  “Typical!” Jidé raises his eyes to the ceiling. “Grace and Jai have always got some massive project on, to save the world.”

  I listen in to her conversation for a few minutes. The way she talks, you can tell she’s the sort of person who gets things done.

  “It’s the meeting I told you about transforming the Rec into a community park,” explains Jidé.

  “I’m hoping that you and some of your friends will join the youth committee,” Jidé’s mum calls over to me as she slings on her jacket and grabs her bag. “We could do with some girl power!”

  I smile politely and Jidé groans. I suppose everyone’s parents are just as embarrassing.

  “Don’t be too late walking Mira home, Jidé. I’m so sorry, Mira. I can’t get out of this meeting today. Hope we can chat more next time.” She kisses Jidé on the forehead, tousles his hair, and is gone.

  “She’ll probably bring the whole meeting back here later.”

  “Your mum’s on a mission,” I say.

  “You make her sound like Superwoman.”

  “That’s what she looks like to me.”

  When she’s gone, the flat is quiet again. Our house is never quiet.

  “Leave me at the corner,” I tell Jidé. “Mum thinks I’m at Millie’s.”

  Jidé laughs. “It can get you into trouble, lying,” he grins, his face moving closer and closer toward mine until we are lost in another kiss. My first thought is to ask Notsurewho Notsurewhat to please not let anyone I know see me kissing Jidé Jackson, but then my mind empties and I am starting to understand why kissing isn’t such a weird thing to do after all, because I forget everything in this kiss and everyone except for Jidé Jackson…And it feels, well, it feels…like flying. When it’s over, I rummage around in my pocket for the keys and with them I pull out the note I had folded away in my pocket. The note that I never thought I would show anyone, especially not Jidé Jackson…the note that says:

  Horse, Artichoke, Green, Rwanda.

  I hand it to him without saying a word. He unwraps it carefully and reads.

  “We’re both green then,” he grins and plants another playful kiss on my lips and another and another! It’s as if he never wants to leave me.

  It’s probably my too-strong imagination but I feel as if Jidé’s eyes are burning into my back. I stop myself turning round to see if he’s still watching me cross the road. As I climb the steps to my front door, I glance sideways and out of the corner of my eye catch him waving to me. I pretend I haven’t seen him, but he carries on waving anyway, as if to say, “I know you know I’m still here!”

  I fit my keys in the lock and let myself into our quiet house. I lean against the back of the door until my heart finally stops racing, and I breathe it in, for the first time ever, this sweet silence, because I know it won’t last for long.

  Saturday, 21 May

  Krish, Dad, and me are in Nana’s flat. We’re here for Krish to choose something of Nana’s. Krish didn’t even want to come…He only wants to be with Laila since she’s come out of hospital. Today, Krish looks more miserable than I have ever seen him. He goes around the flat peering into boxes and eventually finds a silver baby rattle on a blue ribbon for Laila. After that, he seems to lose interest. Dad’s busy looking through stacked-up papers and boxes in the cupboard. I can’t believe how organized Nana is. He finds some documents in one of the boxes to take back to Nana Josie. I roam around the flat showing Krish things I think he might like, but he just shrugs or shakes his head. I know what he means. It’s miserable being in Nana’s flat when she’s not here. It makes you remember all the fun we had here in the past.

  “Remember that burping competition you had with Nana when we came to tea once?” I ask Krish.

  His face starts to brighten up a bit.

  “Or the time when you fell into the gloop by the pond, and me and Nana had to hose you down?”

  He’s warming up a bit now.

  “And when we were little, how we used to climb over the wall, and Mum and Sheena from opposite broke down a bit of the fence so that me, you, and her three boys could have a double-sized garden.”

  “Yeah! But then they moved out and the new family boarded up the fence.”

  Cheering Krish up is going to be hard work today.

  “Remember May who lived in the flat upstairs? She used to wave to us from her window and throw us sweets in shiny wrappers. You thought it was raining sweets the first time she did it.”

  As soon as I say this, I know it’s a mistake.

  “Then she died,” Krish sighs.

  I have days like this too, since Nana was ill. Dad puts his arm round Krish’s shoulders, hugging him c
lose, and, for a change, he doesn’t pull away.

  “You don’t have to take anything if you don’t want to,” Dad tells Krish, but Krish thinks Nana will be upset if he doesn’t choose something. Then Dad has an idea. He walks over to the cupboard he’s been looking in and takes out a blue cardboard box, covered in fine dust like brown flour, which Dad gently blows off its surface, making us all sneeze. In it, there are all Granddad Kit’s letters and photographs.

  Granddad Kit died just before Krish was born. Krish often says things like, “At least you met Granddad Kit,” and he seems quite jealous of that, although the fact is I only know things about Granddad Kit that other people have told me…it’s not the sort of knowing I have with Nana Josie. But I do sort of remember sitting on his knee. Once Mum told me the story of the day Granddad Kit died. She went to the hospital with Dad, saw Granddad’s body and held his hand. When my mum told Granddad Bimal that Granddad Kit had died, he asked my mum if she had touched his body.

  “Then the spirit of Kit will go into the new baby,” Granddad Bimal told Mum. That baby turned out to be Krish.

  Dad opens up the blue box and takes out a navy blue beret covered in medals as Krish fires questions.

  “Which war was Granddad Kit in? What did he do in the war? Who’s this in the photograph?”

  When Krish finds out that Granddad Kit was a gunner in Malta during the Second World War, he is transformed; his arms morph into machine guns shooting planes down from the ceiling of Nana’s flat. I don’t think that Nana Josie would approve, somehow.

  “Can I have that painting of Granddad Kit eating fish and chips?” Krish asks, stopping suddenly with his arm-gun firing in the direction of the painting, which has always been there, but I suppose he’s never really noticed it before. Actually, if you look closely, it’s the fish eating the chips, not Granddad Kit. This is the painting where Claude the Newfoundland dog has a head bigger than Granddad’s. Nana does some very funny paintings where she gets the perspective all wrong on purpose. The style is called “art naive,” but I think Nana really does see things a bit the way children do. I’ve done a painting of Laila in an art naive style where her head is too big for her shoulders and her arms and hands look really little in comparison to the size of her head. People say it does look a lot like Laila.