The Sleepwalker's Guide to Dancing: A Novel

by Mira Jacob

  It was a shock, of course, seeing Akhil—only recently minted into fuckability by Mindy—approach Paige in the quad the following Monday with a notebook that he’d emblazoned with her name in black Sharpie. No one expected Paige to blush any more than they expected Akhil to reach out and tuck her hair behind her ear before walking quickly away. But then notes were exchanged in lockers. A hide-a-key box was left wrapped on the hood of the station wagon to prevent future lock-outs. Less than one week later, when they were kicked out of the library for talking too loudly about the drought in Ethiopia, it seemed strange that it had taken them two months to get together.

  She was perfect for him. Yes, another cliché, but there were times when Amina felt that somehow Paige Anderson had been pulled out of a very specific dream that no one but Akhil would have bothered to have. It wasn’t just that her upbringing on one of the finest university campuses in America had left her with a carefully curated collection of protest T-shirts (it had), or that she referred to her parents as “Bill and Catherine” (she did), or that she was leading a student coalition to campaign against the nuclear-waste site just outside Socorro (she was), or that her thighs and breasts and blurry mouth were primed for constant, prolonged attention (they were)—it was that every part of Paige, from her conscience to her politics to her grown woman’s body, was suffused by an optimism so assured that to stay with her, Akhil had to stop being such an angry dick.

  “So what?” Amina overheard Paige saying to Akhil one morning during one of his poor-Indian-me rants as they walked across campus. “We’re a country of immigrants, and you’re the first wave. At least you’ve got an opportunity to set your own stereotype.”

  Paige believed that changing the world for the better was a reasonable goal, that racism could be unhinged by education, that nuclear disarmament should be embraced in their lifetimes, and that equality between the sexes would surely occur as women integrated into careers dominated by math and science. She also believed every act of consensual sex released positive energy into the atmosphere.

  Most important, Paige believed in Akhil. Or at least gave him the benefit of most doubts. In her eyes, Akhil’s political tirades became evidence of great passion. His neuroticism belied a big heart. His tendency to pick fights was a desire for honest communication. His pot habit was introspective.

  And strangely enough, with Paige’s eyes on him, Akhil began to transform. Amina watched with marvel as her brother’s rants became less didactic, his worries developed rich humanitarian undertones, and his endless baiting turned into invitations for “discourse.”

  “Do they ever stop talking?” Dimple asked some weeks later, as their dark heads crossed the campus, ducked to the world outside of each other.

  “Not really,” Amina said. But she had listened in on enough of their phone conversations to know that it wasn’t so much what they talked about (Van Halen, apartheid, Riemann sums) as the charged pauses in between, the reevaluating and rethinking, that was truly remarkable. In fact, it wasn’t until Akhil stopped driving Amina home altogether, and started returning from “after school activities” with lips rubbed to pulp, that Amina began to worry that the union might be too intense.

  “We’re just driving to the top of the mountains and back down,” he told her when she hinted as much. “We do some of our best thinking at higher altitudes.”

  And where was Jamie during all of this? Right there, and yet, somehow, not. He still showed up for English class, and he still seemed interested when she was talking, but beyond catching eyes once or twice, neither of them knew what to say to the other. It wasn’t a lack of interest so much as an eclipsing of one—a mutual embarrassment that their own odd exchange could be overshadowed by something as potent as their siblings’ connection.

  “I am stone in love with her,” Akhil said to Amina a month after the dance, in one of the only direct exchanges they would ever have on the subject. They were just starting out for school. It was spring and everything was rain clean, and new, tiny shoots of green just beginning to dapple the fields. When Amina sneaked a look at his face, she saw that spring had come to Akhil as well, his insides finally catching up with his outsides, leaving him altogether reborn. He had finally found an America he could love; an America that would love him back.

  CHAPTER 2

  Thomas was home for dinner. What exactly the occasion was, neither Amina nor Akhil knew, but they had come home from school to find him chatting in the kitchen with their mother, stealing pinches of carrots from her cutting board as she grated them.

  “What are you doing here?” asked Akhil, never one to wait for a reveal.

  “Case finished early. Thought I’d get some rest.”

  “Oh.”

  “Carrot halwa!” Kamala announced, like anyone had asked.

  “How was school?” Thomas smiled and the children mumbled vaguely at him, a little scared of his enthusiasm.

  “Wash up!” Kamala commanded. “We’ve got lamb curry and rice.”

  Half an hour later, they sat at the table, Kamala ordering everyone to try everything, as though they had never had her cooking before.

  “So I’m going to prom,” Akhil said, trying not to look pleased.

  “You are?” Amina said.

  “What’s a prom?” Kamala asked.

  “It’s a dance. A formal one. That you go to. With a date.”

  “Neat!” Thomas said. “And you’re going?”

  “A date who?” Kamala asked.

  “A girl in my class. Paige Anderson.”

  “Paigean?”

  “Anderson, last name. Paige, first.”

  “Oh.” Kamala nodded. “How do you know this Paige?”

  “Through Mathletes.”

  Kamala smiled. “A nice girl!”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “You asked her?” Amina asked.

  “We asked each other,” Akhil said haughtily, as though she had missed some essential point he had made earlier.

  “We should meet her,” Thomas said. “You should bring her here before the dance.”

  “Dad, it doesn’t work like that.”

  “What do you mean? Shouldn’t the parents always meet the date before the outing?”

  “Only if you’re the girl’s parents. It doesn’t matter for the guy’s.”

  “Oh.” Thomas looked fleetingly disappointed. “Well, no matter, we could simply meet her afterward.”

  “No, no, no.” Akhil shook his head. “Afterward is the casino party, and then after that is … another party.”

  “So many of parties?” Kamala asked. “Who is having them?”

  The parties after prom, Amina knew (well, not knew firsthand, but knew in that Dimple had told her), were always conducted in hotel rooms on the side of the highway. Akhil put a chunk of lamb in his mouth, chewing and stalling. He swallowed and said, “Just some friends of mine in the class. Nice kids. Mathletes.”

  The last line blew it a little, Amina could see, her father’s features darkening slightly. “We should talk to the parents.”

  “What parents?”

  “The parents of the kids with the parties. Just to make sure it’s okay.”

  “What do you mean, make sure? Of course it’s okay.”

  “We’ll see,” Thomas said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that unless we feel good about it, you’re not going anywhere.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “He’s going to need to rent a tux, you know,” Amina said, to change the subject. “It’s required.”

  “Tux?” Kamala asked.

  “Tuxedo,” Amina said. “They’re, like, required. All the boys have to wear them.”

  “One of my patients has a tuxedo rental shop!” Thomas said, sounding pleased. “We can go see him together. Bill Chambers. Nice man. You’ll like him.”

  Akhil said nothing.

  “Eh, Akhil? We can go see him?” Thomas stopped eating, his cheek bulging with a pocket of
unchewed rice. “Akhil?”

  Across from him, head tucked to his chest, Akhil didn’t stir. His breaths were light and shallow.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Thomas asked.

  “Nothing. He’s asleep,” Amina said.

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry, he’s just tired,” Kamala said.

  “What do you mean? He was just asking us if he could stay out all night. He was getting upset.”

  “And now he’s sleepy,” Kamala said. “So what? Growing boy, you said it yourself.”

  “He’s done this before?”

  “He’s always tired during dinner,” Kamala said, wiggling her hand for the curds, which Amina handed her. “He needs to get more sleep.”

  Thomas rose from his chair, walking around the table. He hovered over Akhil, peering at his face, but when he moved to pick up his wrist, Kamala slapped him away.

  “Chi! Let him have some rest.”

  But Thomas would not be deterred. He leaned over Akhil, first waving his hand across closed eyelids, then pulling them up, one by one, exposing two pockets of white. He lifted his wrist and pinched it between two fingers, listening to his pulse. He turned to Kamala. “How often has this happened?”

  “How often has he fallen asleep?” Kamala snorted. “At least once a night.”

  “Fallen asleep in the middle of doing something else.”

  “He hasn’t! He just sleeps a lot. My God, I told you that months ago! But he’s getting better. Ask Amina.”

  “Have you seen him do this?” he asked Amina.

  Amina looked at him uneasily. “Yeah.”

  “During normal activity? When he should otherwise be in an alert and stable condition? Are the triggers usually emotional?”

  “I …” What was he asking her? “I don’t know.”

  “How often has it happened?”

  “I don’t remember. A few times.”

  Thomas tugged at his beard, frowning at his watch. “And when did it start?”

  “I’m not sure. Six months ago, maybe.”

  Thomas kneeled down, his brow furrowed into dark canyons. He held Akhil’s hand, stroking it lightly. Watching them, Amina realized it had been years since she had seen her father do anything so intimate as touch any of them. When Thomas pressed his brow to Akhil’s sleeping face, she had to look away.

  “What are you doing?” Akhil asked, jerking awake.

  Thomas backed up. “Hey. Are you okay?’ ”

  “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

  “You just fell asleep.”

  “No I didn’t.” Akhil looked at Amina, who tried to nod with just her eyes. “I just shut my eyes for a second.”

  Thomas sat back on his heels.

  “Finish eating,” he said. “We’ll talk after.”

  Two days later, they left for the hospital.

  “What are they going to do?” Amina asked as she watched Akhil place his pillow and his backpack in the backseat of Thomas’s car. They would not be coming back until late the next afternoon, Thomas had explained, checking his pager mid-sentence. Now her father was in the driver’s seat, his mouth moving over words that Amina could tell were directed not at her brother at all but at whoever was on the newly installed car phone.

  “Who knows? Some stupid dream-monitoring nonsense.” Kamala frowned.

  “But why does it take so long?”

  “Measuring nighttime and daytime activity or some idiot thing.”

  “But what does Dad think is wrong?”

  “Nothing! Nothing is wrong, he just wants to perform some tests to make sure nothing is wrong.”

  Did Kamala hear herself when she said things like this out loud? Amina’s annoyed disbelief was abruptly tempered by her mother’s face, the fevered anxiety of someone treading water with no shoreline in sight. She squeezed Kamala’s shoulder and went upstairs to read.

  CHAPTER 3

  The problem with talking to Paige was that Amina had never really talked to her before. Or certainly not more than a few sentences, with Akhil nearby making sure the communication remained short and sweet. Still, the next day at school, Amina found herself walking toward the picnic table behind the senior building where Paige sat alone, reading a book.

  “Oh, hi,” Paige said, looking up. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, um.” What was she supposed to say? Amina smiled nervously. “Akhil isn’t here today.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Yeah. He’s, uh, did he call you? About why he isn’t here?”

  “No.” Paige closed her book. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. Nope. Nothing.”

  Paige squinted at her with that same look Jamie would get sometimes in English class, like he thought you were trying to trick him when you were really just trying to figure out what to say. Amina stared at Paige’s jeans, which were blue and slightly bell-bottomed and hugged her thighs.

  “Have you ever seen him fall asleep?” Amina asked.

  “What?” Paige stiffened.

  “I mean, I just … has he ever fallen asleep around you suddenly? Like, maybe when he’s emotional or excited or something?”

  Paige blushed slightly, pushing a lock of black hair behind her ear. “I don’t know.”

  “Never mind. It’s silly. I’m just, you know, trying to figure something out. It’s not a big deal. My dad just asked about it, and I thought—”

  “Wait, your dad’s worried about it?”

  “What? No, no. I mean, kind of. He just … he asked me, and I don’t really even see Akhil that much anymore, I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with that, but you’re sort of the person who sees him most now, so I thought that maybe you … but it’s no big thing. Thanks.”

  She had no idea what she was thanking Paige for, or even really saying at all. She spun frantically and walked toward the sophomore building, daffodils blurring together in the corner of her vision as she sped away.

  “Hey, Amina!” Paige called after her, but she just waved, pretending they were finished with a conversation that they’d never actually started.

  “What’s for dinner?” Amina asked, coming into the kitchen late that afternoon.

  Kamala sat on a stool sorting red lentils. “Meen curry, rice, cabbage. I’m making dahl too, but for tomorrow.”

  She put her backpack down and headed into the pantry.

  “Is Akhil back?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cool.” She grabbed a fruit roll.

  “Don’t bug him, nah? Poor thing was woken up all night.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Amina headed up the stairs, kicking her shoes off before going across to Akhil’s room. His door was half open, his socked feet dangling off the edge of the bed. Amina watched the rise and fall of his back from the doorway.

  “Get out.”

  “You’re not even asleep.”

  “Get out anyway.”

  She walked around his bed to his desk, pulling out the chair and sweeping a collection of ripe-smelling T-shirts to the floor. “So what did they do?”

  “Tests.”

  “Yeah, no duh, but, like, how was it?”

  “How do you think?”

  “Did they give you a brain scan?” she asked.

  “They monitored my sleep. Put some sensors on. Woke me up a few times.”

  “Was Dad there?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Did it hurt?”

  Akhil said nothing.

  “Well, anyway, it’s over, right? I mean, did they find anything?”

  Her brother was silent except for the socked foot wagging at the end of the bed.

  “Hey,” Amina said. “Do you remember that That’s Incredible! about the guy with the twin stuck in his head? Remember, the guy with the headaches?”

  “GET OUT!” Akhil yelled, head rising from the pillow, and she sprang from the chair, heart thwacking.

  “Jesus, psycho, I’m just asking!”
>
  But he was up already, up and coming at her and taller, if possible, than he had been just the day before. She tried to dodge him, but Akhil grabbed one of her arms, twisting it behind her back and jamming her wrist between her shoulder blades.

  “Ow! Ouch, Akhil, stop!”

  He threw her into a headlock, dragging her across the floor. When he reached the door, he threw her out, slamming it behind her.

  “Dickwad!” Amina yelled at it, cheeks burning. What the hell had brought that on? It had been years since he had put her in a headlock, and she was pissed to find out she was no more able to get out of it than she had been when she was eleven. She kicked the door, hard.

  “Fuck off!” Akhil yelled.

  “You suck!” she yelled back.

  “Amina!” Kamala called from downstairs. “What in God’s green name are you doing? Leave him alone! He’s had enough for one day.”

  It was Paige, of course, who would give him the comfort he needed. Amina watched them at school the next day out in the parking lot at lunch, clearly in too deep of a conversation to bother going off campus. Akhil sat on the hood of the station wagon, and Paige stood in front of him holding both of his hands while he talked. When he leaned into her, Amina looked away.

  The dinner Kamala made the next night was just short of delicious. The culmination of two days’ work, it had started out of familial love but met with anxiety in the final hours of preparation, as Thomas came home and spoke to her in low tones in the kitchen.

  The result was a botched favorite family meal. Kamala’s idlis, usually light, now sank into slightly-too-smokey sambar. A strange tang infected the coconut chutney. The mango lassi for dessert was much too pulpy, but still everyone made sure to swallow every last drop, as if tipped off by their own organs to avoid the coming conversation. Finally, Thomas folded his hands.

  “You can’t drive for a while,” he said.

  “What?” Akhil frowned. “For how long?”

  “It depends.”

  “On what? What did I do?”

  “You didn’t do anything.”