Over My Head

by Marie Lamba

  “Missed what?” I say, squeezing her nose.

  She smacks my hand away. “We’re doing a Sikh service. Daddy’s suddenly all holy today. And we get to have lots of pat-a-shah.”

  “Prashad,” Raina and I say together. Prashad is golden and sweet and warm. I think it’s a mix of some kind of grain and butter and sugar, but it’s so thick you can eat it with your hands.

  “Hurry up. The call’s gonna come any second.” Doodles runs into the living room.

  “What call?” We follow her, and there is Hari, Dad, and Mom. Mom’s wearing a scarf. Dad and Hari are wearing bandanas. Everyone is barefoot.

  “Girls. Good,” Mom says, adjusting her scarf. “I was wondering when you’d get back. What happened?”

  “Cat fight,” Doodles says.

  “What?” Mom practically screeches.

  “Real cats, Mom,” I lie. “Don’t worry, it was just a friend’s cats. No rabies or anything.” I’m getting to be as smooth a liar as Raina.

  “You better put some ointment on those scratches. Clean up fast and go get something to cover your heads. We’re having a little service. Taiji’s calling, and we’ll follow her on the speakerphone.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Hari,” Mom says, “help your father move the coffee table.”

  Up in my room, I say, “Well, this is a new one.”

  Raina grabs two chunis from her bag, tossing me a pink one. “You never do a service at home?”

  “Never. We go to the gurdwara up north once in a while, but that’s about as Sikh as we get. Is there some sort of Sikh holiday today?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  I stare in the mirror at the scratches on my face. “Come on. We’d better put some of that antibacterial junk on these suckers. I’m sure those girls must have some disease.” Raina laughs.

  When we’re in the bathroom dabbing ointment on, the phone rings.

  “Hurry, girls,” Mom calls.

  “Ha. Ha Bobbi-ji,” Dad says into the phone as Raina and I come downstairs. “Hold on.” He hits speakerphone and sets the handset on the shelf beside a large metal bowl filled with prashad.

  “Hello? Can you hear?” Taiji’s voice says, sounding thin and metallic.

  “Ha-ji. Carry on.”

  Raina and I stand on the Persian carpet with everyone else. We’re all barefoot like we would be if we were in the gurdwara. Taiji begins reciting from the Guru Granth Sahib, the holy book. Or at least that’s what I guess she’s doing. She could be reading off her grocery list for all I know. We all stand still, hands folded, facing the fireplace, which seems kind of silly. On the mantle is a snapshot of Taoji Ravinder. Suddenly it’s not so silly. I close my eyes tight. And I pray.

  “Sat Sri Akal,” Taiji says, and we repeat, “Sat Sri Akal.” God is all. Or something like that. And we watch Dad, because he’s the only one—aside from Raina, I guess—who knows when to sit and when to touch our heads to the ground.

  The service continues, and it probably seems much longer than it is because I really have no idea if we’re anywhere near the end. Doodles whispers, “Can I have some now?” She points to the prashad. Hari shakes his head at her. “But why not?” she says. Hari elbows her.

  “Sat Sri Akal,” Taiji intones.

  “Sat Sri Akal,” we all repeat.

  At last Dad takes the bowl and puts a buttery spoonful of prashad on our outstretched hands.

  “Can I have some more?” Doodles says.

  “Sure,” Dad says, removing his bandana and wiping the butter off his fingers. He picks up the phone. “Thank you so much, Bobby-ji. This meant so much to me. I just wish—” He chokes up.

  “Bless you. Ravinder will feel your prayers and I know—”

  Dad shuts off the speakerphone, so I never find out what she knows. Raina and I exchange worried looks. I go to the kitchen and wipe my hand with a paper towel. Hari is there, taking small bowls from the cabinet. He whispers in my ear, “The chemo starts tomorrow.”

  I give him a surprised look. “What about the transplant?” I whisper.

  “That comes next. But first the chemo kills off the bad bone marrow.”

  “Kills it off?”

  “That’s the process,” he whispers back.

  “Wait, how do you know about all this?”

  “Shh,” he says. “Just getting some bowls, Mom,” he says as she enters the kitchen.

  She tucks some of her frizz back into her bun. “Good,” she says. “Right. Well, there’s plenty of prashad for seconds.” She takes the bowls and grabs a handful of spoons from the drawer. “Come have some.”

  “We’ll be there in a minute,” I say. Looking distracted, she wanders out of the kitchen. “Hari,” I say in a low voice, “how do you know all this?”

  “Mom.” He pumps the soap from the hand dispenser and rinses off his hands.

  I shut off the water. “You weren’t supposed to tell. Raina promised Dad she wouldn’t, and now he’s going to blame her. And she’ll blame me. And I’ll blame you.” I punch his arm.

  He holds up his dripping hands. “Take it easy. I just told Mom a bunch of guesses that I had until she caved.”

  I put my hands on the counter. “So at least it’s out in the open now.”

  “Not exactly. Mom doesn’t know you know. And Doodles doesn’t know. And Mom doesn’t want Dad to even know that I’m in the loop.”

  So Dad knows that Raina and Mom know; Raina knows that Mom, Dad and I know; Hari and I know that Dad, Mom, Raina and he know; Mom knows that Hari and Dad know. And Doodles, that lucky kid, knows nothing at all. I rub my brow. “This is crazy.”

  “I know.” Hari wipes his hands on his jeans. “Dad’s all freaked out about Taoji. Mom says he can barely talk about it with her.”

  “He really is that superstitious?” I say. “It’s so idiotic.”

  “Yeah, the whole thing pisses me off,” Hari says. He eyes my scratches. “So, what really happened to you?”

  “You do not want to know.”

  “Coming, kids?” Mom calls to us.

  “Yeah,” Hari calls back, and whispers in my ear, “at least I can ask Mom for updates now.” I nod, grateful that I have a big brother. He pats me on the shoulder and I grab him in a hug. Hari’s arms tighten protectively for a moment. “Come on,” he says, leading me into the living room.

  Dad is sitting on the couch, staring at his hands clasped in his lap.

  Taoji is Dad’s big brother.

  I sit close beside Dad. He takes my hand and squeezes it. The scratches on my hand hurt when he squeezes, but I don’t pull away. I lean my head on his shoulder. I can’t think of anything to say to make things better. But for once, this seems to be okay.

  Chapter 20

  “So you’re done with Dalton? You’re sure?” Jackie asks. She studies me with concerned eyes.

  “And he’s done with me,” I say. I know this is supposed to be a party and I’m supposed to be having fun. But I keep thinking about Taoji’s bone marrow getting killed off by chemotherapy. It sounds so painful and violent and deadly. I looked it up online. The process can take anywhere from one week to several weeks. The patient will have no immunity and the slightest infection can kill him if the tough chemo doesn’t. Taoji will be weak and feel sick all the time. And he has to survive this before the BMT can even begin. We need a miracle.

  “So you wouldn’t care if I, you know? Showed some interest?” She chews on her lip.

  I look up at Jackie. I completely forgot what we were talking about.

  “I mean, you do have Cameron and all. Soda?” She hands me a diet cola.

  “No thanks.” I hand it back.

  “What happened to your face, anyway?” She points to my scratches.

  “Nothing. Raina and I just ran into some thorny bushes.” I grin and look over my shoulder at Raina sitting on the far side of Anna’s pool. She looks adorable in my bikini, if somewhat hunched over and awkward. She’s talking with some guy, but in the torchl
ight I can’t quite make out who.

  It’s a good thing Raina’s dad is a match to Taoji Ravinder’s bone marrow type. When I was researching, I also looked up stuff on donors. It turns out siblings have the best chance of a match. If no one in the family had matched him, Taoji would have had to go to this donor database where strangers sign up just because they want to help somebody someday. But there aren’t that many donors out there, and among strangers, your best chances are among your own ethnic group. How many Indian donors are there? Not many, it turns out. There’s a desperate need for non-white donors.

  That’s when it hit me. I’m half Indian. That’s got to count for something genetically, right? I mean, it must be really hard for someone who is biracial to find a bone marrow match. Here is something I can do to change the world—to really make a difference. I, Sangeet Jumnal, am going to become a bone marrow donor. And it won’t even hurt, not really. The website said the process involves taking stem cells through my blood. First I’d get my blood tested to identify my marrow type. Then, if I matched anyone, I’d get hooked up to this machine that takes blood from one arm, removes the stem cells, and pumps the blood back into my other arm. It’d take a few hours of sitting still. The site said the stem cells even grow back, so it’d be no huge sacrifice on my part. But I would be a lifesaver—a miracle worker, even.

  Jackie and Monique would be very impressed.

  So I tried to sign up. That’s when I found out I had to be at least eighteen.

  Story of my life.

  “Raina is so cute,” Jackie is saying. “If I were you, I’d keep her away from Cameron.”

  “Right.” I figure out who Raina’s chatting with. Gary Westbrock. I shouldn’t care, right? I mean, my heart’s with Cameron. But it all feels so complicated. All romance feels complicated. First I liked Gary, but Gary liked Michelle. Michelle likes Hari, who isn’t that into Michelle, but is with her anyway, and Dalton liked me, but I’m into Cameron, who is either the man of my dreams and the love of my life, or a player who likes the Trish type. Please no. But that’s it. My life. No miracles here. “Do you ever think about religion?”

  “Why?” Jackie says. “Is Dalton some weird religion?”

  “No. Religion as a career. Like being a nun. Think about it: no issues with guys, and you always know what you’re going to wear the next day.”

  Jackie raises an eyebrow. “I’m becoming concerned about you.”

  Laughter erupts from the other side of the pool. Gary and Raina are cracking up. I feel a sudden need to get in on the joke. “Excuse me.” I head over to them, but then Dalton sits on the other side of Raina. Megan joins them. I stop, suddenly feeling strangely alone.

  About face. I head to the lounge chairs, where Anna is deep in discussion with Jonathan. “So I’ll see you then?” he says.

  “Great!” Anna says. “Thanks.”

  “Well, guess I’ll get going.” He scratches his head and leaves.

  “Where’s he going?” I ask.

  “I have no idea. But I do know who I’m going to my party with. Jonathan just asked me.”

  “Yeah!”

  “So are you bringing that hunky lifeguard I’m hearing so much about?”

  Cameron. I suddenly want to scream, cry, and laugh all at the same time. Maybe I’m losing it. “I haven’t asked Cameron,” I say. I sit on the lounge and stare at Dalton, who is whispering to Raina. I feel a weird flash of jealousy. I am losing it.

  Anna studies me. “You should ask Cameron. If you’re worried about Dalton being alone, don’t. Jackie’s going to ask him to go with her, so he’ll be fine.”

  “Well, I don’t even have a dress.”

  Anna drags me upstairs and throws open her walk-in closet, which is jammed with fancy dresses from events she’s recently attended. Weddings, galas sponsored by her dad’s corporation, and events with her parents who like to spread their wealth around various artistic institutions. She tells me to pick anything I want for the party. Anything, that is, except for her dress—the red one I had my heart set on from This Is It! She says, “You think it’ll look okay on me?”

  I give her a faint smile.

  By the end of the night, I have temporarily escaped into the world of fashion, and picked out a really beautiful black strapless dress with white lace trim. And I drag Raina up to do her own “shopping.” She’s a smaller size than Anna and I, but finds a champagne-colored silk wrap-around dress that ties to fit her perfectly. It’s really elegant.

  Also by the end of the night, Jackie asks Dalton to accompany her to the birthday bash. I observe from a distance while he blushes a lot and nods. Gary asks Raina to the dance. When she tells me, I say, “Great, really.” Who says I don’t do anything wonderful and important? I’m supplying guys to everyone in the universe. Of course Megan avoids me all night. You know—just an average evening.

  Back at home, we hang our dresses, or rather Anna’s dresses, in my closet. “All I need are some golden sandals and I’m set,” Raina says.

  Here’s where I should say to her that Gary and I have a sort of history, at least on my side. At least I should say he’s interested in Michelle Baldarasi. I mean, I wouldn’t want her to get hurt. But why wreck the moment? We can all at least try to be happy for a while.

  “And perhaps Cameron can drive us all,” Raina’s saying. “We can double date.”

  Cameron. There’s that scream-cry-laugh feeling again. “You forget. I don’t have a date.”

  “Oh Sang, you have to come. I can’t go without you. Just ask Cameron. Be brave.”

  But I’m not brave. If I were, I wouldn’t still be in Non-swimmer. I wouldn’t be doubting Cameron’s feelings. And I wouldn’t stay up late at night worrying what special hellish payback Trish is setting up for me. Like kidnapping me and forcing me to get a Telly Tubby tattoo.

  I look at my poster and wonder if Jake Gyllenhaal is brave in real life. Or is it just acting? When you get down to it, there’s only one person I know of who is really brave, who is fighting a battle for his life.

  I close my eyes and think, “God bless you, Taoji.”

  *****

  “What happened?” Cameron points to the scratches on my cheek.

  “Nothing,” I say, glancing at Trish. “Nothing that matters, anyway.”

  “Okay, Sang,” he says. “Time to concentrate. You can do it. I can feel it in my bones.” I feel like I’m the only one in the pool with him, even though it’s Non-swimmer class time and a half-dozen other swim lessons are going on in the deeper sections at this very moment.

  He gives me a warm smile. My stomach flips. It’s that gut of mine again telling me I really care for this guy, and he really cares for me. He was only out of work during my lesson yesterday because he had a dentist appointment. He told me he missed me, and he was adorably awkward when he said this.

  My stomach may also be flipping because it’s seized with a gripping fear that he’s right. That I might actually be able to stick my head under the water. It’s like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff about to take a giant leap of faith. I can always pull my head out again, can’t I? But what if something happens? I trip or choke or bang my head on the bottom and become unconscious?

  My skin tingles with terror at the thought of this. But on the other side of the country, at this very moment, Taoji Ravinder’s tear-shaped bone marrow is being destroyed. Obliterated. And when it’s all killed off, he has to start all over again. Soon my other Taoji will give his stem cells. Send them flowing out of a tube. New cells for Taoji. New risks. What if Taoji’s body rejects the cells? It’s a true fight against death.

  If I can’t do this simple task, how can Taoji face what is ahead of him?

  I can do this. I have to.

  I draw in a deep, deep breath.

  “Hey, you okay?” Cameron says.

  “Or is your nose about to whistle again?” Trish says from behind me and laughs.

  I deflate. “You told her?”

  “He tells me all
sorts of things,” Trish says. “Right, baby?”

  Baby? I spin to Trish, who has a “Contemplate Your Naval” ruby gem hanging like a large drop of blood from her pierced belly button.

  “And we just laugh and laugh,” she says.

  Cameron’s laughing too. I give him a hurt look. “I’m sorry, Sang,” he says. “But you gotta admit, it was funny.”

  I imagine him and Trish in each other’s arms, laughing, in bed. Player.

  I fill my lungs with air and plunge into the water. Trish’s laughter is muted. The world is silent except for water sloshing in my ears. If you’re crying, but you’re underwater, does it still count? Cameron’s blue guard trunks are billowing in the water in front of me.

  Out of air, I spring up out of the water. I gasp and push my hair from my face.

  “Sang, you finally did it,” Cameron says.

  I climb out of the pool.

  “Where are you off to?” he says.

  I snatch a yellow promotion card from the table.

  “Good riddance,” Trish says.

  I grab my towel and leave the pool area.

  “Hey, where’s my best student going?” Cameron calls.

  I pick up my pace to cross the park. I step onto the parking lot, its gravel biting into my bare feet.

  “You aren’t mad are you?” he says, now at my side.

  I stop and rest one foot on top of the other. “What do you want?”

  “What?”

  “From me?” I say, wrapping my towel around my waist.

  “Nothing. I don’t get why you’re so mad.”

  I tuck my wet hair behind my ears. “I can’t believe you told her about that nose thing. That was between you and me, like other things that were just between us. You know, Trish told me your date with me was just a joke. That you laughed about it later, and… I didn’t believe her. Until now.” Tears sting my eyes.

  “Sang, I’m sorry,” he says, taking my hand. “It wasn’t like that at all. I’m such an idiot. Trish and I spend hours and hours here guarding. After a while, I guess I run out of things to talk about, you know? That’s all.”