My Name Is Karma

by N. A. Cash

  Nothing.

  I placed it in various shades of light, even using the black light from my lava lamp.

  Nothing.

  Walking over to the fridge, I got a lemon, sliced it open and gently rubbed it over the paper, thinking that the chemical reaction would assist to bring the phantom words to the surface.

  Still nothing.

  Finally, the scream that threatened to burst in my chest roared out of my mouth. I stopped only when the dryness down my esophagus and the high-pitched sound of my screams threatened to cause my throat to collapse. Stress and extreme fatigue took over, causing me to slump against the counter while clutching the blank paper with the lavender scent that made me feel nauseous. Hopelessness overtook me, and I began to weep.

  Days melted into weeks. Weeks melted into months. My days were filled with crying, listening to the message so often that it broke, opening and closing the note so many times that the paper eventually wore away. I barely ate for almost three months. Fitful and wild thoughts about my mom and aunt haunted my nights and days, filling my waking and sleeping moments. Despair tore at my very soul.

  Eventually, hunger reared its angry head, driving me to seek scraps of food I could scrounge from the pantry and kitchen. I felt my clothes getting looser when I made attempts on rare mornings to get out of bed and dressed. Most days, the effort to get dressed left me so exhausted that I could only sit on the porch and stare into space.

  I realized that I’d spent six months in this state. It wasn’t until I found myself in Mam’s room during one of my aimless and empty wanderings around the house that I snapped back to reality. By this time, during my more manic episodes, I had searched every inch of our home, including under all of our beds. All of my searches proved fruitless…until that day. I sagged down onto Mam’s bed and was about to bury myself in her covers, as I had done dozens of times, before when I heard a small plop, like something hitting the floor. The sound, ever so faint, made me doubt that I heard it at all. I would have ignored it if it wasn’t for the nagging sensation in the back of my head. Intuition? Maybe. I leaned over the edge of the bed and noticed a small, dark object on the floor. Reaching over, I picked it up; it was a memory card. My heart skipped a beat.

  Immediately, I rushed out of Mam’s room and into my room, and booted up my laptop. My foot was tapping a mile a minute until the machine started. I placed the memory card into the slot in my laptop. Another agonizing minute passed as the computer searched for the file. A solitary file folder opened, named “Family,” popped up. My heart jumped once again as I impatiently clicked on the file.

  The file contained scanned copies of old photos. Time seemed to stand still as I scrolled through each picture, slowly scrutinizing every single image. At first, I searched for clues that would tell me anything. Most of the photos were of people I didn’t know and places I couldn’t identify. After scrolling through these photos over and over again, my heart sank. They spoke no truths; no evidence was presented that could help me find my aunt and Mam. After reviewing the computer pictures for the final time, two things happened. First, whatever hope I had drowned in the sea of my despair, and an empty numbness settled inside my chest. Second, I had to admit, finally, that they were gone. There was nothing else I could do except move on with my life.

  CHAPTER TEN

  It happened on my twenty-fifth birthday. After not having much contact with the outside world and battling with the demons of loneliness and despair, I suddenly felt ready to interact with people again. It came as a shock to me that I woke up that morning craving human interaction. It had been so long since that happened. It woke me up as a gnawing sensation. At first, I thought it was hunger. After I got up and ate, the sensation continued to nag at me. It took a few hours of meeting all of my other physical and intellectual needs before I could settle on what that need was. After identifying it, however, I had to decide what to do about it.

  I turned on my computer and began aimlessly surfing the internet. I visited my regular favorite sites—Geology Today, Botany History, Field Studies. An ad tucked away in a small corner of one of the websites caught my attention. It was an ad for a career finder website. Against my better judgment, I clicked on it and, further in my delusion, began to fill out my information. I couldn’t figure out what job I could possibly apply for. After all, what type of career could someone with advanced degrees in botany and geology pursue? After deep deliberation, I decided to give teaching a shot. So, I applied to be a teacher. I imagined that sharing some of the things that I’d learned about botany from Aunt Vern would probably help me to not miss her so much. I knew I wouldn’t want to interact with high school students nor younger people, so I decided to click “college” as my preference. I filled in my state and city, submitted my resume online, and waited.

  Almost a month passed when I got an email message from a community college located approximately forty-five minutes from where I lived. The message stated they found my resume “fascinating,” and that they were impressed with my grades. They wanted me to come in for an interview. At first, I didn’t know what to think. Did I want to do this? Do I feel ready?

  I decided I had spent most of my life being cautious. It was now time to step out and do something different.

  On the day of the interview, I woke up fifteen minutes earlier than my alarm clock. The sky was dark, and a gentle breeze blew through my open window. I felt a sense of excitement and dread at what the day would bring. As I got out of bed and ambled through the routine of getting dressed and eating breakfast, I experienced a variety of emotions, my mind visualizing how the interview would go. I tried to imagine several different scenarios and questions they might ask me. Up until that point, I had spent the last few days searching on the internet for various interview questions and strategies that could help me look more appealing and impressive.

  Precisely at 9:30 a.m., I was ready, mentally preparing myself by repeating an old Samoan proverb that Mam used to say at the end of some of my favorite bedtime stories. E sau le fuata ma lona lou—roughly translated, “In every generation, there are some outstanding chiefs”. “And you, my dear Karma,” she would continue, “are one of them.”

  I continued repeating this as I drove slowly to my destination. I kept on telling myself it would be okay.

  I arrived at the college fifteen minutes past ten o’clock and drove up to the entrance of the fenced-in property. The campus buildings had a K shape, as I saw on the campus map. A long row of adjoining classrooms was adjacent to parking spaces on the left side of the security entrance. The remaining administration buildings fanned out the north and south side of the straight line of buildings in a diagonal fashion. I was told my interview would take place in the main office that sat as a center divider of the K.

  After consulting with the security officer, I drove to the lot and parked in a space near one of the buildings in the front. I reached for my briefcase, checked the contents again, closed it and my eyes, and then took one more calming breath, repeating the Samoan proverb over to myself. After exiting the car and bending to lock the door, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Something seemed off. I peered into the reflection of the car’s window, and saw the figures of three young men leaning against a sports car three slots away from where I parked. I hadn’t previously noticed them when I pulled into the lot.

  One of the guys emitted an aura of confidence that the other two fed off. He wore fitted dark jeans, black boots, and a simple white t-shirt. I could see, peeking out from the sleeve of his shirt, the tail end of a rattlesnake coil tattooed into his right arm. Although a pair of reflective shades covered his eyes, I could feel his gaze intensely scrutinizing my every move.

  The other two men—his minions, I presumed—looked like they were trying to be as smooth and cool as their leader. The shorter one on the right, however, appeared to have a nervous internal twitch which prevented him from standing still for too long. He swayed from one leg to another as if rocking to a me
lody playing in his head that he couldn’t get rid of. The one on the left was slightly taller than the leader, bulkier in size; he leaned against the car like a statue. He didn’t move much, and I questioned whether or not he was even breathing.

  I walked calmly and confidently past them, my head leveled and focused on where I was going. As I passed, I glanced in my peripheral at the threesome and noticed the leader switched his position to watch me. His otherwise composed face transformed into a sinister snarl as brows furrowed and the left side of his nose lifted ever so slightly to reveal a set of gleaming white teeth. He whispered something to the jumpy one, and he turned to follow a few paces behind me. I pretended not to notice as I walked along a concrete path that divided the straight line of the K and led to the administration buildings. As I ducked into the glass doors of the front of the building, “Jumpy,” as I nicknamed him, walked straight past. I turned for a brief moment to watch him walk away, and then I headed for Reception.

  As I approached the mahogany desk, I noticed a young female coed sitting in an office chair, staring intently at a computer screen. She had a petite frame and small round glasses. She wore a soft button-down pink shirt and jeans. The fingers furiously clicked a computer mouse, her brows furrowed together in concentration.

  I stood close enough to the desk and waited for her to acknowledge me. When she finally did, a few seconds later, she seemed startled.

  “Whoa!” She shook her head and then spoke, her mousy voice as tiny as her frame. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m here for the interview for the new earth science professor position.” I tried not to stare too hard, but I was curious as to what had captured her attention. She fumbled for a bit and clicked the mouse several times before reaching over and picking up the phone receiver next to her. She punched in a few numbers and waited. I could hear a deep, muffled sound after a few seconds.

  “Your appointment is here,” said the coed. “For the interview.”

  She hung up the phone. Without looking at me, she picked up a buzzer next to the phone and said, “It’s right through the door. He’ll be in the office, second door to the right.” She used the buzzer to point to a glazed wooden door on the left side of the desk and pressed it as she stared back at the computer and continued to click. I was being dismissed. When I got to the door, I heard a soft click, and I pushed the door open.

  I walked down a hallway flanked with glass. Each divided space had an office set up with people sitting behind desks or engaged in various forms of work. I walked to the second office and knocked on the door.

  A commanding voice invited me in. I put my hand on the aluminum door handle, took a breath, and entered.

  When I walked into the office, a tall man dressed in a navy-blue suit stood up and greeted me. He was a white man, with a confident, intelligent demeanor. Despite having a commanding presence, compassion lingered in his deep- set brown eyes. He smiled slightly as I walked over and shook his outstretched hand.

  “I’m Dr. Emerit Brown, Vice President of the college. Have a seat.” He motioned me to a cushioned red chair on the opposite side of his impressive mahogany desk. I sat in the chair, my briefcase in my lap, and looked at him.

  “It’s so good to finally meet you.” He glanced briefly at me and was about to look down when he looked up again and stared at my eyes. It seemed like his breath temporarily caught in his throat, and his voice was lost. I cleared my throat after a few seconds, and he shook his head, snapping back into the present.

  “I’m so sorry for staring.” He admitted, “I’ve never seen eyes like yours.” He sheepishly looked down as he spoke.

  I smiled to reassure him his action wasn’t inappropriate. “It’s ok,” I said. “I get that reaction all the time.”

  “It’s unique,” he mumbled as he nervously shifted papers across his desk. After a few awkward moments of silence, he regained his composure and his commanding demeanor.

  “I was impressed with your resume,” he said, looking up briefly with a slight smile. “We don’t see many people who’ve studied both geology and botany.”

  I smiled at him.

  “We are in desperate need of a professor for this position,” he confessed. “Normally, we wouldn’t hire someone without experience…” He glanced up at me once again.

  “I would be honored if I was given the position, sir.” I tried to sound as pleasant and humble as possible.

  “Okay, then,” he said. “I just have some standard questions to ask and we can move forward.”

  The remainder of the interview went smoothly as he asked me various questions about my research into exotic plants and rocks, my opinions on teaching methods, and how I would handle various classroom-related scenarios. Our conversation flowed smoothly, and I breezed through all of his questions. We ended the interview a little over an hour later. He said I was suited for the job, but he needed confirmation from the college’s hiring board first before he could hire me.

  I thanked him for his time, stood up, and left the office. As I walked out into the open air, I felt lighter and happier than I had in a while. This is good for me. I’m getting out, doing things. There was a bounce in my step as I walked back to my car.

  When I got closer to my car, I remembered the odd threesome parked next to me. I took a quick sweep around my car before I approached. The other car and the three guys were gone. I breathed a sigh of relief as I approached my car.

  As I unlocked the car, I noticed a small piece of paper under the left windshield wiper. I reached over and pulled out the paper. It was blank on one side. When I turned it over, the blood in my body turned ice-cold as I read the one word written in thick red ink in a sloppy scrawl. “Freak.”

  I looked around again, crumbled up the paper, and tossed it. I quickly got behind the wheel and sped off towards home.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I got a call from Dr. Brown a few days later. I’d gotten the job at the college. He wanted me to start at the beginning of the following week! He apologized for such short notice and little preparation time but emphasized the necessity and urgency of the job. I accepted his offer and told him that I would be in within the next few hours to sign the necessary paperwork.

  I drove out to the college. When I pulled into the parking lot, I became hyper-aware of any signs of the car or the three guys who occupied it. I had, in my mind, nicknamed them Snake—the leader—Jumpy, and Rock—the statue. I didn’t know who they were and what they wanted. The note on my windshield baffled me. I thought about how I could’ve known them or why they would target me for their insulting prank. The lack of answers tugged at my mind more than any other threat.

  Before I left my car, I took glanced around the parking lot. When I didn’t see the trio, I got out of my car and walked quickly to the administration building. I entered the glass door and approached the desk where the same mousy coed was once again engaged in something mysterious and captivating on her computer. This time, she hastily glanced up at me and motioned with the buzzer to the wooden door, to not have to break her concentration.

  I walked to Dr. Brown’s office and knocked on the ajar door. He was on a call when I peered in, so I waited a few moments before I knocked again. “Come!”

  The sudden baritone of his voice startled me. I pushed the door open as he hung up the phone.

  “Ahhh, you’re here.” He seemed both delighted and surprised.

  “Yes,” I said, a bit apprehensive. “You told me to

  come…”

  “Yes, yes. That I did. Have a seat.” He rushed as he gestured for me to sit. He plopped his large frame in his chair and stared at the top of my head, rather than in my eyes.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  “Yes, yes. It is.” He turned to his desk and pulled out a manila folder from one of the drawers. As he slid the folder over to me, he let his hand rest on the top of it so as to prevent me from opening it. He looked up at me and began to speak but closed his mouth. His face seemed to c
ollapse as he shut down, as if caught in deep thought.

  “Sir?” I asked tentatively.

  “Oh, yes, yes.” He shook his head as if to clear it and removed his large hand from the folder. “Before you open that, I have a question—well, a few questions more for you.”

  I fixed my eyes on him and waited patiently.

  “Well, it has come to my attention that…” he paused as if searching for the right words. “It is a concern, well not a concern, well a concern for some…”

  “Sir,” I interrupted. “It’s okay. If you have something to say, it’s best just to get it all out.”

  His sheepish look melted into relief. He straightened in his chair and placed his hands one on top of the other in the front of him on the desk. “It has come to my attention you may be questioned for certain ‘practices’,” he began. I remained silent as I let him continue. When he saw I didn’t respond, he spoke hurriedly, as if trying to get the words out while he had the courage.

  In one long breath, he said, “One of the Board members is concerned that you are involved in certain unacceptable practices, like witchcraft, which aren’t a part of the belief system of this college. She, I mean, they, strongly advised you shouldn’t be hired because of these practices. The rest of the Board, however, were so impressed with your resume, added to the fact that the certain Board member had no proof, only speculation based on some trivial childhood incidence, they decided to go ahead with the hire anyway. I fully agree with them.” He seemed to deflate when done.

  I stared at him for a few moments, absorbing and processing what he said while trying to control my rapidly rising temper. When I spoke, my voice was calm. “Would you mind sharing with me who this Board member is?”

  He fiddled with a pen he had picked up during my silence and stated, “A lady named Bes Garvin. She said she knew you when you were younger, and that you once placed a spell on her and her two friends.” After saying it, he realized how ridiculous it sounded and smiled to himself. I smiled too, even though my thoughts were already starting to focus on Bes. Goth Bes. Fashionable Bes. Entitled Bes. How dare she?