by Allen Zadoff
“That’s a beautiful one,” Judi says. “From the Talmud.”
Judi writes a few things, then puts the pad down. “This is just so weird talking to you,” she says. “I’m weird?”
“I mean like weirdly familiar.”
“How can it be familiar? We haven’t talked since second grade.”
“So you do remember!” she says.
“Sort of. It’s a blur.”
She crosses her legs under her long skirt.
“Maybe it’s not the time,” she says.
“We’re here, aren’t we?”
“We’re here,” she says. She looks out the window.
Talya and Melissa are gone. We’re alone.
Not alone. Together.
We’re together again. I dreamed about this so many times over the years, but now that it’s happening, it feels fake.
“To be honest, second grade was a tough time for me,” Judi says.
“You didn’t seem like you were having a tough time,” I say.
“I was only seven. How can anything be tough at seven, right?”
I think about my second grade. Tough.
“No, I get it,” I say. “But what was tough about it for you?”
“We had that mean teacher. What was her name?”
“Ms. Shine.”
“Right. She was so intense. She gave us, like, two hours of homework, even though we were supposed to have thirty minutes. I got a migraine my first day of second grade,” Judi says.
“I didn’t know that.”
“It was from stress. I used to get them when I was younger.”
“Not now?”
“They’re rare now. Maybe I grew out of them. I hope so.”
“But back then you had them.”
“Yeah, I think I was scared my first day. I would have left the class, but you were so nice to me.”
“Me? What did I do?”
“It really is a blur for you, huh? Do you remember you sharpened my pencil?”
“I would never sharpen a girl’s pencil.”
“Now you wouldn’t.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. You kind of—do your own thing.”
“Maybe I’m shy.”
“You don’t seem shy this moment.” I smile and she smiles back.
“So tell me about the first day of second grade,” I say.
“Okay. I broke a pencil, and I was about to get up when you reached over and asked me if you could sharpen it for me.”
“No way.”
“Then you took my whole pencil case up to the electric sharpener.”
“That’s so embarrassing.”
“You took them out one by one, and you were just sawing away at the things for, like, ten minutes. Ms. Shine finally said, ‘Are you going to be a lumberjack, Mr. Zuckerman?’ and everyone laughed.”
I’m watching her as she tells the story, and even though I don’t remember it exactly, something about it sounds right, like a picture slowly coming into focus.
“The whole class laughed at me? Great, I looked like a jerk on my first day.”
“I didn’t laugh, Sanskrit. I was grateful that you helped me.” Judi pulls her backpack onto her lap and hugs it to her. “I remember that day really well,” she says, “because it was the only thing that made me want to come back to school the next day.”
I take a sip from my cup and the taste of India fills my mouth.
India. I was actually considering the idea a few minutes ago. But everything feels different now that Judi and I are talking. Now that there’s a chance for us.
“I remember something about second grade,” I say.
“What?”
“Valentine’s week.”
I’m about to tell her it was the greatest week of my life, when I see her face has gone pale. She bites at her thumbnail.
“What’s wrong?” I say.
Before she can answer, Barry Goldwasser walks up. “I turn my back for one minute,” he says, “and Zuckerman slides in like a snake in the garden.”
“You’re crazy,” Judi says.
“How is my beauty?” he says to Judi. He looks around the room. “Have the frummers left the building?”
“All clear,” she says.
I’m wondreing why he would care if any religious people are around when he leans over and kisses her.
Barry claps me on the shoulder like nothing just happened. His voice turns serious. “How are you doing, buddy? For real.”
I can’t speak.
“Judi’s been giving you the third degree, huh?” he says. “I know, she sent me a text.”
He pulls up a chair, straddles it backwards, and leans towards me, his arms crossed along the back edge.
I’m stunned. I can’t stop thinking about the kiss.
I say, “Are you two—”
“Together?” Barry says. He smiles.
“We keep it low key,” Judi says. “You understand.”
“Of course.”
“Back to business,” Barry says.
“I don’t want you to worry about this event,” he says. “We’re taking care of everything. God willing, your mother will be restored to health and back to you soon.”
“God willing,” I say.
“In the meantime, we do what we can.”
He takes the pad out of Judi’s hands and starts to read.
“Interesting. Who’s doing the intro?” he says.
“It’s up to Sanskrit.”
“What’s up to me?”
“The dean is going to make a speech,” Judi says, “but one of us should introduce you. To show that the students are behind you.”
“Happy to do it,” Barry says. “In fact, I’d be honored.”
“You kind of always do it,” Judi says.
“Sorry if I’m the president and I have responsibilities,” Barry says.
“I don’t want to get into this again,” she says.
“That’s convenient,” Barry says. He looks at me and rolls his eyes like we’re in on it together. Boys vs. girls. It’s the same thing Dad does when he’s arguing with Mom.
“Do we have to fight in front of Sanskrit?” Judi says. “He’s got enough on his mind.”
Barry backs down.
“You are so right,” he says. “Apologies all around. I don’t know what I was thinking. Let me be a mensch here. It’s up to you, Sanskrit. Whoever you’re comfortable with.”
I want to hurt Judi by choosing Barry. I want to hurt Barry by choosing Judi. I want to hurt both of them by canceling the whole event.
Or I could just tell the truth. Do it right now, fast, like dropping a guillotine.
I imagine their faces when I tell them I made the whole thing up.
Barry has his hand on Judi’s back. He’s stroking her slowly as the two of them wait for me to make a decision about who should give the speech.
I look from Barry to Judi.
Not Judi anymore. Not my Judi. Someone else’s.
The Initials. I want to call her The Initials again. It was a mistake to switch back to her name.
“I want her to do the introduction,” I say.
The Initials looks happy. I’m expecting Barry to be upset, but he goes into Barry mode, giving my shoulder a friendly clench.
“Good choice,” he says. “This event is going to be so special. I’m very happy about all of this.”
“Me, too,” I say. “I’m happy, too.”
“I’m miserable.”
That’s what I tell Crystal when she asks me how I’m doing.
She leans across the reception desk at the Center and says, “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you want to talk about it?”
I almost tell her everything. How the guru invited me to go to India, how it seemed like a crazy idea. But that was before. Before I knew Judi had a boyfriend.
Now leaving the country seems like a great idea.
I’m not saying I’m going, but I really want to t
alk to the guru about it.
My phone chimes. Another text from Sweet Caroline:
wht hpnd!?!
I ignore it.
“I need to talk to the guru,” I tell Crystal.
“He’s in private session,” Crystal says. “He can’t be interrupted.”
“This is important.”
“If you can wait an hour—”
“Where is my mom?”
“She’s not here.”
“When will she be back?”
Crystal looks at the schedule.
“She has class at seven a.m. tomorrow.”
My head is spinning. I think about going home and waiting for Mom, but I can’t talk to her about this. I need to talk to the guru. I have to ask him about India, if he was serious about it.
“I just remembered. I have to get something from my mom’s locker,” I say.
“Do you know the combination?” Crystal says.
“Of course. She gave it to me.”
Goal weight. Actual weight. Goal weight.
That way she never forgets.
I rush down the hall.
“Take your shoes off!” Crystal calls after me.
I peek through the window of the big studio, but there’s a class in there, a sea of tanned flesh and muscled butts.
I check the smaller studio. There’s a class in there, as well. Women with their backs arched over giant yoga balls.
I remember there’s a private room in the back behind the office. Sometimes Mom goes in there to meditate before her class.
I walk towards the office, glancing over my shoulder to make sure nobody is watching me.
There’s a handwritten sign on the door of the private room:
DO NOT ENTER.
PRIVATE SESSION IN PROGRESS.
I ignore the sign, and I open the door.
The guru isn’t there.
Instead I find Sally meditating in the middle of the room with her eyes closed. She’s wearing a giant skirt, fabric spilling onto the floor around her.
“Ohhh—”
Sally moans loudly, and her head swings from side to side.
I start to back out the door, when something under her skirt moves. It takes a moment to understand what I’m seeing. There are two colors, the white of the skirt around Sally’s waist, and the blue of the fabric peeking out beneath it—
The blue fabric moves, and Sally moans again.
“I’m looking for the guru,” I say.
“What?!” she says, and her eyes pop open.
She jumps up, and I see a flash of her bare legs, then two other legs as the yards of blue fabric pull away from her. A head pops out as if being born from between her legs.
The guru’s head.
He blinks as his eyes adjust to the light in the room.
Then he sees me.
“Sanskrit,” the guru says.
I turn and run.
Ohhhh—
I can still hear Sally moan in my mind.
I race past the stinky yoga women’s shoes and out the front door of the Center. I’m ready to run home, but my stomach clenches and I think I’m going to throw up, so I turn into the alley between the Center and Le Pain Quotidien restaurant.
I double over with my hands on my knees, trying to breathe, trying not to throw up. I smell baking bread from the restaurant, and it makes me gag.
“Sanskrit, why did you run?”
I turn to find the guru standing at the head of the alley. He looks at me innocently, as if he’s confused by my reaction.
“That was disgusting,” I say.
“Not disgusting,” he says. “But unfortunate. It was not meant for your eyes.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”
“You’re not a child. I know this,” he says.
“The least you could do is lie, tell me it wasn’t what I thought it was.”
“I don’t lie,” the guru says. “But it might not have been what you thought it was.”
“I thought you were in love with my mother. Why would you do that with someone else?”
“I do love your mother.”
“So she knows about this?”
“She knows I love people.”
“Mother Teresa loved people, too. She didn’t have sex with them.”
“You’re right.”
“So Mom doesn’t know,” I say. “Yet.”
The guru holds up his hands, trying to calm me. But I won’t have it.
“You said we could go to India! We would start a new life together.”
“We can,” the guru says. “The invitation stands. Is that why you’ve come? To tell me what you decided?”
He smiles. He steps towards me.
“What have you decided, Sanskrit?”
“I’ve decided you can go to hell,” I say.
“How do you know you can trust the guru?”
That’s what I ask Mom when I get home. I want to tell her what I’ve seen, just blurt it out the minute I get into the kitchen, where she’s arranging arugula leaves on a plate, but I think that would be a mistake. Mom might accuse me of lying to her, making things up to ruin her life.
“How can I trust him?” Mom says.
She holds out an arugula leaf for me to take a bite.
“I’m not hungry,” I say.
“Please try it,” Mom says.
I open my mouth and let her put it in.
“How does it taste?” she says.
“It’s spicy.”
“How did you know it was okay to eat?” Mom says.
“That’s a weird question.”
“How do you know it wasn’t poisoned, for instance?”
“You’re freaking me out, Mom.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you gave it to me. You’re my mother.”
“Mothers go crazy. You see it on the news sometimes, how they drive into a lake with their kids in the car.”
“Remind me never to drive with you again.”
“I’m just saying you ate it because you trust me. You know me, and you trust me. It’s as simple as that, right?”
“Maybe.”
Mom smiles, puts more arugula on the plate. “That’s how I feel about the guru.”
“What if he did something to make you feel differently?”
“Like what?”
“Like something.”
Mom looks concerned.
“What are you telling me?” she says.
I try to find the words, but I can’t.
“Nothing,” I say.
Mom puts down the tray and comes over.
“You’re worried about me,” she says. “I think that’s sweet.”
She hugs me tight.
“What are you doing?” I say.
“I’m hugging my son,” she says, like it’s something she does all the time.
It doesn’t stop at the hug. She keeps her arms around me, pulling me close to her. She plants a kiss in my hair.
“Cut it out,” I say, and I twist away from her.
“You’re too old for a hug?”
“Not too old,” I say. “It’s just weird.” Mom rolls her eyes at me, then goes back to her salad.
I watch her moving lettuce around on the tray, cutting cubes of baked tofu to lay around the perimeter. She hums softly to herself as she does it.
Softly.
Ever since Mom met the guru, her energy has changed.
She’s softer now, more open.
She sings to herself. She dances around the house. She’s nice to me.
That’s when it hits me: Mom’s happy.
If I tell her what I saw at the yoga studio, she’s going to hate me. That’s if she even believes me.
I consider not saying anything. I could leave Mom alone, let this all happen like it’s going to happen. If God is really in charge like Herschel says, then I can let him take care of it, can’t I?
But what if he’s not in charge and I let my mother go to
India with a guy who is cheating on her?
I can’t tell her, but maybe I can show her.
A plan is coming together, a way I might be able to get my mother back. But I’m going to need Sweet Caroline’s help.
“We’ve got a surprise for you, Mom.”
I’m listening in on the phone as Sweet Caroline talks to Mom.
“What kind of a surprise?” Mom says.
“If I tell you, it’s not a surprise!”
Sweet Caroline doesn’t know what the real surprise is, but this is part of the plan we worked out last night. I took her aside for a sibling meeting and broke the news to her. I didn’t tell her about the guru sleeping around, only that he wasn’t giving up on Mom.
“You said you’d get him to leave Mom alone,” she said.
“He was going to, but he changed his mind,” I said. “But he promised.”
“People don’t always keep their promises,” I told her.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Sweet Caroline said.
She said it like some tough kid in a movie about runaways, and I almost hugged her. Which of course would have been a mistake. “I’ve got another idea,” I said.
“Tell me what I should do,” Sweet Caroline said. And I laid out the plan. At least her part of it.
That’s what got me to this place. It’s early afternoon, and I’m on a street south of Olympic, close to Santa Monica College. It’s not a bad neighborhood, but it’s nothing like Brentwood. Small houses, some of them with bars over the windows. That’s how you know the quality of the neighborhood in Los Angeles. Check the first-floor windows.
“We’ll be there in ten minutes,” Sweet Caroline says over the phone. “Mom’s getting her keys.”
“There’s a church on the corner. Meet me in front,” I say, and I hang up.
The plan.
I knew the guru would be careful after I walked in on him at the Center, and I was right. I followed him to this neighborhood yesterday.
He’s here again today.
I start to have second thoughts. But Mom and Sweet Caroline are already on their way. It’s too late for second thoughts.
I sit on a bench in front of the church and wait for them.
There’s a statue of a saint looking out over the garden.
God is everywhere. That’s what Rabbi Silberstein says.