The State of Me

by Nasim Marie Jafry

  I tried the clothes on – everything looked horrible apart from a lilac skirt.

  I bought the skirt and paid for it by Visa, the first time I’d ever used it. I felt experienced and international.

  Next I went into Anne Taylor. The clothes were elegant, exactly what I’d wear if I had a career. I was looking at gorgeous black trousers when I started to feel vile, numbness and weakness cloaking over me, toxins injected into my head. There was nowhere to go, the shopping mall was huge and sterile, fluorescent lights and chrome everywhere. Jana wasn’t picking me up for another hour and a half. I wanted to tell the shop assistant that I felt like my organs were going to pack in, but she’d just think I was a drug addict.

  I took the trousers into the changing room and sat down on the wooden stool. I pinched my face, it was numb. It was my own fault for overdoing it – we’d gone to Berkeley for Ethiopian food the night before (delicious flat breads and spicy meat, no cutlery) and I should’ve just stayed in.

  I sat for as long as I could and came out again, leaving the untried trousers behind. Everything seemed exaggerated, hallucinated. I asked the assistant if there was somewhere I could get a glass of water and she gave me directions to a cafe three floors up. I got lost twice and had to keep asking for directions. I hated this place. I ended up in the restrooms at Nordstrom’s. They were like toilets in a fancy hotel, a far cry from the toilets in department stores at home (ripped toilet paper stuck to the floor, unfiushed toilets with murky, half-dissolved shits).

  I sat in an elegant, padded chair ‘til the awfulness had begun to ease. I pinched my face again.

  I eventually found the cafe and bought some water. A man with a staircase of fat from his neck to his groin was eating ice cream at the next table. I wondered how often he thought of killing himself.

  A few nights later we were meeting Lori and Ansel and some others Jana worked with, for cocktails. I still wasn’t feeling good but I didn’t want to ruin her plans. According to Jana, Lori was a sweetheart and her boyfriend Ansel was an asshole. He goes everywhere with her, she said. He wears thick white socks and Birkenstocks. All sock and no shoe, I said. Jana giggled.

  There were about eight people, I forgot their names as soon as I was introduced. I was sitting between Ansel and Jana. Ansel looked like an Osmond, his teeth were too tightly packed together, and you knew that when he flossed them he’d find shreds of chicken.

  Have you seen much of the city? he asked politely.

  Yeah, quite a bit.

  What do you like best?

  Hard to say, I love it all…maybe North Beach.

  It’s great, isn’t it?

  Yeah.

  I like cilantro too.

  Cilantro?! That’s funny.

  I’ve never had it before. We call it coriander but we buy it as seeds or it’s ground up. I love fresh cilantro, I could eat bunches of it.

  D’you hear that, honey, said Ansel, leaning over to Lori, Helen’s never had cilantro!

  Wow, said Lori in a baby voice.

  Is this your first time in the US? said Lori.

  Yeah.

  Is it different from Scotland?

  Very.

  What’s different?

  Lots of things: the weather, the ethnic diversity, the choice of restaurants. And you get such good service here. Everywhere you go, there’s the potential to be pampered. You get back rubs in the supermarket, they bag your groceries for you, they carry your clothes into changing rooms, they call you to remind you that you have a dental appointment…

  Americans work hard, said Ansel, we need to be pampered. Do they not work hard in England?

  I suppose so, I said…though I actually live in Scotland.

  I could feel myself blushing.

  Don’t be a cunt, Ansel, don’t ask me what I do. (Into myself.)

  It’s just different here, I said, steering him away from jobs. Everyone expects good service. At home it’s a bonus if you get it.

  Wow, said Ansel, looking baffled.

  And no one tells you to have a nice day.

  He looked even more baffled, he looked almost hurt.

  So what is it you do for work exactly?

  I’m not working just now, I said. I’ve been ill.

  That’s too bad.

  I dreaded more questions so I asked him where the toilets were. When I came back I tried to get a look at his white-socked feet but they were hidden under the table.

  They were talking about Halloween now.

  Will you be here for the parade? asked Ansel.

  No, I said. I’m leaving next week.

  That’s a pity. It’s a blast. My room-mate’s dressing up as a table.

  How can you dress up as a table?

  Did I tell you that, honey? said Ansel, leaning over to Lori. Walt’s dressing up as a table for the parade.

  No, said Lori, barely audible, you didn’t.

  Jana was guffawing, caught up in conversation with the guy on her right.

  What are you laughing at? I asked.

  We were talking about when we went camping in Yosemite in the summer and I forgot to put my toothpaste in the locker and Ansel was afraid a bear would come. He gave me such a hard time, I thought he was going to make me eat it!

  Ansel tried to smile at the memory but you could tell he was still annoyed. You can’t be too careful with those bears, Jana. I’ve done a lot of camping.

  Ansel, honey, it was pretty funny, said Lori.

  Sounds hysterical, I said.

  Anyone for another cocktail? someone asked.

  Are we running a tab? said Ansel.

  I’ll have another cosmopolitan, said Jana.

  Will you be okay to drive? I said.

  Of course, she replied. It’s just two cocktails. Loosen up, chica!

  I could tell she was annoyed. We were getting on each other’s nerves a bit, after two weeks together.

  Everyone ordered another cocktail and started chatting about stocks and options. I had no idea what they were on about. My head was clamped and I was on mineral water. I wanted to lie down.

  Lori was opening up with her margarita. I could see why Jana liked her. I couldn’t understand why she was with Ansel.

  After the second round everyone suddenly got up to leave. People didn’t sit and drink all night the way they did at home.

  Back in the flat, Jana seemed subdued.

  If I were Lori, I’d cancel Ansel, I said, yawning.

  Yeah, she could do much better.

  Are you okay?

  There’s something I need to tell you, she said, patting the kitchen table. Sit down. I don’t know if there’s any point telling you, it was so long ago, but it’s been on my mind…I’ll just come out and say it.

  What is it, you’re freaking me out?!

  She took a deep breath. I slept with Ivan once, the night of your twenty-first, when he gave me a lift back up to Glasgow. We were both upset about you being so sick and we ended up in bed. It only happened once and I’m so sorry. And now you’ll hate me.

  I looked at her incredulously. You and Ivan! But you were my best friends, and I was so ill!

  I know. It sucks.

  I’m dazed, Jana. Why are you telling me now, six years on?

  She looked completely forlorn.

  I don’t know, guilt…and maybe you guys’ll get back together, so it’s better that you know.

  Who seduced who?

  I can’t remember. It was clumsy and messy.

  I was bedridden, Jana.

  I know.

  He couldn’t fuck me, so he fucked you.

  She put her head in her hands.

  You know what, I said – at the time, I actually wondered if you two were a possibility, but I dismissed it, I thought I was being paranoid, torturing myself with the worst thing that could happen.

  Ivan felt terrible about it. We both did.

  That makes it okay then?

  It wasn’t okay, it was wrong.

  What d’you want
me to say?

  I don’t know.

  I don’t know either, I said.

  I just had to tell you. I’m so sorry.

  I’m glad you told me.

  Can I make you some tea?

  I think I’ll just go to bed.

  I’m glad tomorrow’s Friday, she said. We can talk about this at the weekend.

  I don’t want to talk about it again. There’s no point.

  I’m so sorry.

  Anyway, I thought you wanted me to get over Ivan, now you think I’ll get back with him!

  Not really, I just know how much you love him and that’s why I told you. You deserve someone you can trust, someone amazing.

  It’s not that easy, Jana! You forget I’ve got a big black mark against my name before the relationship’s even off the ground. Who wants a girlfriend with ME?

  You’ve still got a lot to offer, you know you have.

  Like what – blow jobs and home-baking?!

  I know it’s difficult for you, but it’s not exactly a tea party for me either, she said – her voice was breaking.

  I didn’t say it was.

  Sometimes I think that you think it’s all so easy for me.

  Of course I don’t, I just think you take risks.

  Like what?!

  Well, you have unsafe sex…you drink and drive…sometimes I think you’ve got a death wish.

  Everyone here drinks and drives, doesn’t mean we’re not safe. I had two drinks, Helen. I would never drive drunk. When did you turn into Miss Goody Two Shoes?

  That’s not fair.

  I’m sorry, she said.

  I get the feeling you want to argue with me – is that why you told me about Ivan, just to engineer a fight?

  She was sobbing now.

  What’s wrong, Jana?

  I don’t know, everything…I’m dreading you leaving.

  I’m dreading leaving too.

  She was sobbing harder and harder. I hated seeing her so sad.

  I got up and hugged her.

  You need to calm down, d’you want some Valium?

  Sure, she said. Are you having one?

  No, I want to keep them for travelling.

  I’m a mess. My fucking mascara’s in my eyes, she said.

  I got her a tablet and a glass of water.

  Thanks, she said.

  Let’s just forget about you and Ivan, I said, it doesn’t matter.

  Will you tell him that I told you?

  I don’t know, there seems little point.

  Are we still friends?

  Of course, I said.

  How can you forgive me?

  I don’t know.

  I’ve let you down in the worst way.

  I know, I said, but you’re still my saviour.

  You’re mine too, she said.

  I’d go mad without you.

  Me too.

  I’m going to get ready for bed, I said. In a way I’m relieved, I thought you were going to tell me you were HIV positive.

  No, but I’m a harlot.

  Ivan’s to blame too, I said. Let’s not talk about it anymore.

  Okay, she said, half smiling. You’re right, Lori should cancel Ansel.

  He’s an arse, I said.

  In bed I thought back to the night of my twenty-first, straining to remember what Ivan and Jana had been like. I couldn’t even cry, it was too long ago. I realised, maybe for the first time, how my getting ill had fucked things up for everyone.

  I lay awake, listening to the foghorns. I’d grown to like them. They made me feel at home.

  D’you want to go to Point Reyes today and look at whales? said Jana, leafing through my guide book. It was my last weekend.

  Nah, I said.

  We were both still a bit subdued.

  Who the fuck goes to see whales anyway? she said. I don’t know anyone.

  Whale lovers, I said.

  She laughed.

  Last night I dreamt I was torturing penguins, I said. It was horrible.

  Wasn’t penguins you were torturing, it was me.

  I was skinning them and they were screaming.

  That’s creepy. What about Napa?

  Nah, let’s just stay here.

  A movie?

  A movie’s okay.

  She picked up the pink pages. Let’s see what’s on…what about Sex, Lies and Videotape? James Spader’s in it.

  Who’s James Spader?

  He’s cute, you’ll like him.

  We went to a matinee. The film was great, Jana was right, James Spader was sexy. We were reunited by our lust for him.

  Afterwards, we went to Cafe Flore in the Castro, Jana’s favourite cafe. I’d started drinking coffee again since I’d been here, it was too hard to resist. The guy cleaning the tables was wearing lipstick and had budding breasts.

  The next day, we went to the Cliff House and had coffee with Baileys and watched the sun set over the ocean.

  In the evening, I made chicken curry. I was excited to have cilantro. Jana invited her dad and Kim over. Kim diplomatically picked out the chicken and put it on the side of her plate. She’d given me a Californian cookbook with the recipe for pumpkin soup. I felt I’d judged her too harshly before. She was much more mellow and there wasn’t a peep out of her about the Salutation of the Sun.

  I had two days of resting and looking at the blinking lights before leaving.

  The airport was awful. Jana couldn’t stop weeping.

  Come to Glasgow next year, I said.

  I only get two weeks’ vacation, she wailed.

  Use it for Glasgow then, I said, letting go of her hand so that I could check in.

  I told the woman at the BA desk I didn’t need a wheelchair ‘til Heathrow, and she didn’t force me to use one.

  It was dark when we took off. The Japanese man across the aisle was folding straws and putting them in his shirt pocket.

  Jana had given me a package and made me promise not to open it ‘til I was on the plane. I waited ‘til we were up and the seatbelt sign was off: it was a tiny silver box with a compass embedded in the lid. Inside, she’d folded gold paper and written: So that you can find your way back to San Francisco.

  By the time the plane landed in London, I was back in rag doll mode, the wheelchair was essential. Rita picked me up in Glasgow and took me back to Balloch. For days, I was nocturnal, asleep all day, awake all night. I missed Jana and looked at my holiday photos over and over again.

  I didn’t want to go back to the flat but after a week I prised myself away from the comfort of Rita and Nab. They took me up to Glasgow and helped with my case and got me groceries. I was still sleeping ‘til late afternoon and was glad to be in a different time zone to Ivan – I wanted to be cold to him but couldn’t because of his granny. She had died when I was away. Wendy seemed to be around a lot but I was too washed out for it to really register.

  Q. What has Wendy got that I haven’t? (I have nicer hair, nicer eyes, nicer ankles, nicer everything. In a roomful of men, I’m the one they’d be looking at, until someone asked, What do you do?, and my cover would be blown.)

  A. She has a career and she can run marathons.

  Wendy came round one night with a handful of schedules. Ivan was buying a flat with the money he had inherited. I was just passing the estate agents and thought I’d pick these up for you, she said.

  Rez said I could move into Ivan’s old room when he moved out.

  It gave me something to look forward to.

  25

  A Seduction

  FINN WAS ON the news last night! (Gulf War I was being brought to our television screens – ex-pat women and children had already been sent home. It was thrilling, the threat of Scuds and chemical warfare, but the special effects were not as good as Gulf War II would turn out to be.) Finn was standing in a queue in Jubail, waiting to be given his gas mask, just a glimpse of him, but it was definitely him. I’d jumped up and screeched to Ivan to come through: Finn’s on TV, my stepbrother’s on the news! B
y the time he’d come through – eating cold beans from a glass – Finn had gone. God, I hope he’s okay, I said.

  The phone rang almost immediately, it was Rita. Did you see Finn on the news?!

  Is Nab okay? He must be worried sick, I said.

  You know Nab, said Rita, he’s very philosophical about these things. He tries not to worry.

  I’m going to watch the late news, I said, he might be on again.

  What’s Finn doing in Saudi? asked Ivan when I went back through.

  He’s a geologist, I said. Why are you eating cold beans?

  They were in the fridge, I couldn’t be arsed heating them up.

  Why are you in a bad mood?

  I’m not, he said, I’m just tired.

  Ivan and Rez both wanted to watch the football highlights, but I’d pleaded with them to let me watch the late night news.

  They won’t show him again, said Ivan.

  They will, I said, they often repeat clips.

  Why do you care so much? said Ivan. You hardly know the guy.

  He’s Nab’s son and he’s in a war zone for God’s sake! Don’t be so insensitive.

  At ten o’clock, I’d sat right up at the television, waiting for the Gulf report. I’d seen Finn and touched the screen where he’d been. It had crackled with static.

  I told you they’d show him again, I said to Ivan.

  Can I have the remote now? he’d said, I want to watch Arsenal.

  My granny was saying that Saddam should be boiled in oil for what he’d done to his own people. I’d met her and Rita in town for late night shopping and dinner. I know, Granny, but it’s not black and white, I said. The West are only helping because of the oil, they don’t care about the Kurds. She pursed her lips, she hated people disagreeing with her, and repeated that he should be boiled in oil. She was getting worked up so Rita changed the subject. Would you like to have coffee, Mother? My granny replied that she couldn’t drink coffee anymore because of the ‘caff-aine’. She said the last time she’d had it she’d woken up during the night and thought she was in Africa.