“You went there to do research, right?” Rasika asked. “For your senior thesis?”
“I can’t believe you remember that I did a senior thesis.” Even his parents hadn’t read his paper.
“I was impressed. I wasn’t about to write a huge paper if I didn’t have to. But we all know about your high grades and test scores.”
Abhay knew that his intelligence was a topic of general conversation among his parents’ circle of Indian friends. That was one of the things that bothered his dad—that everyone knew Abhay’s grades were fantastic, and no one could understand how his parents had messed up by not making sure he studied sciences and went to medical school. “My thesis was on utopian communities. But I finished that before I graduated. I’m not writing anything now.”
“Then why’d you go?”
“To live. I thought I’d like to live in a community like that.”
“And you didn’t?”
“It wasn’t that simple,” he said.
“What happened?”
“I liked the people.” He tugged his ponytail. How to explain this in a way that made sense? “I thought I was going to love tilling the earth, building barns, and all that. At first I was exhausted. I figured I’d get used to that, and physically I did. But then I got bored. It was all physical labor and no intellectual stimulation. I kept trying to like it. But the harder I tried, the worse it became. Then I got angry. I started fighting with people.” Abhay had never, until now, revealed to another person this humiliating end of his sojourn at the community. Somehow he felt OK talking to Rasika. He’d never realized before that she was a good listener. Anyway, he’d probably never see her again after this, so it didn’t really matter what he told her.
“What were you angry about?” She was resting her chin in her hand. Her face was unclouded and clear. She didn’t seem disturbed by his behavior.
“It was just—the place was so lacking. We had all these meetings at the commune, these interminable meetings about nothing, it seemed to me: whether we should eat honey or buy a new radio. I couldn’t stand it. And the incompetence of some people, how shoddy their work was. The kitchen was never completely clean. Once we all got a stomach bug, and I’m pretty sure it was because the dishes weren’t properly sanitized. After that I tried to institute a protocol for cleaning the kitchen, and we had a bunch of long meetings about it, but finally people felt like they didn’t want to be regimented and policed in that way.” He shook his head.
“You got angry because the place wasn’t as good as you thought it would be.”
“Exactly. I know that sounds immature, but I realize that, all my life, I’ve gotten angry when people or situations aren’t like I think they should be. So even after I got angry, I wanted to make the commune work. I felt like I was learning a lot about myself. I wanted to stay. I got assigned a coach to help me overcome my anger problem.” He stopped talking. Rasika’s eyes were still on him, and he could feel himself warming and opening up under her interested gaze. Should he tell her about his dream? He grasped his pen and began doodling a lightning bolt on his napkin.
“Why did you finally decide to leave?” she prompted. Two waiters approached the noisy table with drinks-laden trays.
“I had a dream where we were having one of our interminable meetings, and during this meeting we decided to kill ourselves.” He raised his voice over the clatter of the waiters. “Group suicide for the sake of some ideal. I was confused about the purpose, I couldn’t figure it out, but I didn’t object. We were supposed to walk through a dark tunnel, and that was how it was done. I watched people walk through before me—men, women, even children. Then it was my turn. I hesitated. I wasn’t sure if I should. I started asking questions. And the guy behind me said, ‘You have to do it. We agreed.’ ”
Rasika nodded. “Sometimes I have weird dreams too. I just try to forget about them.”
“For a long time, since I was a kid, I’ve used visions or dreams to make decisions. That’s why I moved to Rising Star, because when I visited, I saw a kind of glow around almost every person at that place.” He pushed away his lightning-bolt-covered napkin.
“So you left just because of that dream?”
“Sort of. I was also in a relationship. I thought we were pretty serious. Then I found out she was also sleeping with someone else—one of the men who, I thought, was married to a woman with a couple of kids.” A waiter walked past with sizzling fajita trays, and the rich smell of grilled beef and onions wafted by. “I actually walked in on them one day in her room, and I confronted her, and she said it was my problem, that I needed to get over my jealousy. She threatened to bring it up at a meeting. I asked her to let me think about it first, and that night is when I had the dream. I left the next day.”
She reached for his hand on the table and grasped it in hers. “That sounds really painful.”
He squeezed her smooth fingers.
“You still think about her?” she asked.
“Sometimes. Mostly I feel angry, instead of sad.”
The waiter set the bill in its tray on the table. While Rasika rummaged in her purse for her card, Abhay added several dollars to the tray. “For my beer,” he said.
“Let me get the whole thing.” She put her card on the tray.
“At least let me pay for the tip.”
“Fine.”
He folded his dollars and slipped them under his beer mug.
Once the waiter took away the bill, Rasika held the stem of her empty glass and slid it back and forth on the table. “What should we do tonight?”
“You want to hang out with me?”
“Sure. Let’s do something different.”
He wondered what she thought of as “different.” He was still hungry and wished he could suggest they have dinner. “Let’s go to the memorial,” he said.
“What memorial?”
“You know. The one for the students who were killed in 1970.”
“Oh. God. I hate it when people keep bringing up that old thing all the time.”
“I hate it when people have that attitude. People think it’s all ancient history, that the government could never again turn its guns on innocent young people. But it wasn’t that long ago.”
Rasika picked up her purse, scooted herself off the seat, and stood up. “OK, fine. Let’s go.” She gathered her jacket into her arms. “You can follow me in your car.”
“I walked here.”
“You walked? All the way from your mom and dad’s house?”
“It’s only a few miles. I donated my bike to the communal bike pool at Rising Star.”
“Won’t your parents let you use a car?”
“I’m trying to stay off fossil-fuel-based energy as much as possible.”
She flung up her hands. “All right. I’ll give you a ride.”
“Why don’t we walk? It’s not that far, just up the hill behind the Auditorium Building.” Then he looked down at her feet, encased in tan pumps with squarish high heels at least a few inches tall. “Can you walk in those things?”
“I can manage.”
“Why do women wear shoes they can’t walk in? It’s like Chinese foot-binding or something, except you’re doing it to yourself.”
“They’re cute shoes. It’s not like I planned to climb a mountain today or anything.”
Abhay stood up next to Rasika and realized her heels made him several inches shorter than she was. Now he’d be walking with a beautiful woman towering over him.
They stepped out into the sticky evening air. After the dim interior, the glare of the evening sun made Abhay blink for a moment. An overweight couple in shorts and flip-flops lumbered by, each holding thirty-two-ounce plastic cups filled with bubbly brown soda.
On the road in front of them, a shiny blue Hyundai was slowing, although it had a green light. The Hyundai pulled up to the curb and stopped. The passenger window descended. Rasika halted in her tracks, a stunned look on her face. Abhay saw the driver lean over t
o the passenger-side window. He recognized that face from somewhere: solemn, brown, somewhat large.
“Rasika! You need a ride?” the man shouted.
Rasika composed herself, smiled, and waved. “Oh, hi, Subhash!” She stepped briskly to the window and leaned over. Abhay couldn’t hear what she said, but he saw her shake her head and point to the Starbucks parking lot, where her car was parked. Then the man got out of the car—right there at the intersection—and stepped onto the sidewalk. He was tall and verging on plump. He wore a sport coat that seemed a bit too large for him. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties. As they talked, the man seemed nervous: he patted his pants pocket several times, as though making sure his wallet was there. At one point he glanced at Abhay and gestured toward him. Rasika shook her head and laughed. She made no move to call Abhay over to introduce him. Finally, the man got back in the car and drove on. Rasika waited until the car was out of sight before rejoining Abhay.
“My cousin.” She pulled a tissue from her purse and patted her upper lip. “I wish he hadn’t seen you. I’m sure he’ll tell my parents.”
“I think I’ve met him before. Maybe at one of those Diwali events or something?”
“Probably.” They waited on the curb for the light to turn green. “He and his parents moved here from India when I was in high school. Subhash’s father is my dad’s cousin. I guess they were close growing up, and when Subhash’s dad lost his job in India, Appa wanted to help out, so he set Balu Uncle up with an insurance business in Cleveland. I forgot that Subhash is starting an office in Kent.”
“Why does it matter if Subhash tells your parents that he saw you with me?”
A line of cars turned left in front of them. “He knows Viraj, because Viraj is related to his mother.”
“And Viraj is . . .”
“The guy who’s coming over tomorrow. It just looks bad for me to be seen with a man the day before I’m meeting the person I’m going to marry.”
The light finally changed. They crossed the highway, skirting a rubbly pothole. “I still can’t believe you’re going through with an arranged marriage at all,” Abhay said.
“This is the way Indians get married. It’s always worked out fine.”
“Yeah? What about Yashoda? You know her? Her parents took her to India right after college and got her married to some guy, and they brought him back to live with them. One big happy family, right? So she had a kid, and then the guy started shouting at Yashoda and her parents, and even hitting Yashoda. Right in their own house, their son-in-law was abusing their daughter. How awful is that?”
“That won’t happen to me.” They passed under the university archway and climbed up the sidewalk toward the Auditorium Building.
“How can you be sure?”
“Because. It just won’t. I’ll be fine.”
“Haven’t you found anyone on your own?”
“I’ve never tried. I don’t date.”
“That’s not true. I used to see you with guys, all over campus.”
On the lawn beside them, a group of students threw a football around. One girl fumbled with the ball, which came hopping onto the sidewalk at Rasika’s feet. Without breaking her pace, she stepped over it and kept going. “No, you didn’t.”
“One time you were in the parking lot behind Olson Hall, kissing this really tall guy. He was practically lifting you off your feet. The two of you were so into it, you didn’t even notice me walk by.”
She picked up the pace, striding along dangerously on her heels. “You’re obviously mistaken.”
“And another time, you were playing footsie with some guy in the corner of the cafeteria.”
She stopped in front of the white Auditorium Building. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove.” She flicked something off the jacket she was carrying. “If you’re going to spread rumors about me, we may as well say good-bye now.”
He stuffed his hands into his shorts pockets. The early evening sun glared behind her head, and he could barely see her face. “I haven’t told anyone else,” he said quietly.
She tilted her lips inward, as if to check the status of her lipstick. Then she started walking again. “Let’s go see the memorial, at least.”
Chapter 2
Rasika and Abhay sat on the warm granite bench at the top of the grassy memorial slope, watching the students toss their football far down the hill, and listening to their shouts. On the ground in front of the bench, inscribed in granite slabs, were the words Inquire, Learn, and Reflect. To the right were four stone blocks representing the four students shot and killed thirty-seven years ago. The sky above them was a faded blue, and beyond the memorial, the branches of the trees going down the slope were still.
Rasika felt like she’d dropped the script of her life, and pages were blowing around and away from her. First of all, she had the bad luck of seeing Subhash. And tonight of all nights, how could Abhay have brought up all that crap about seeing her with men? She was already stressed by the idea of this weekend’s performance: she’d have to be beautiful and charming to Viraj, demure and respectful to his parents, and compliant to her parents’ wishes. She wanted to relax with company, and Abhay had seemed like a good candidate. He wasn’t someone who would even care if she tried to impress him.
But there were certain things about her life she didn’t want anyone to see right now. She didn’t even want to look too closely herself. Why had she come to Kent today? Why hadn’t she gone straight home, as she was supposed to do? Why had she invited Abhay to spend time with her?
She heard the melody of her phone, a maniacally fast version of “Heart and Soul.” She dug it out of her purse, flipped it open, and saw Jill’s number. “I have to take this call,” Rasika apologized.
“Are you still at my house?” Jill asked.
Jill had been her cover since high school. Whenever Rasika went somewhere that she didn’t want her parents to know about, she told them she was with Jill. “Yeah. Why?”
“Jared and I are going out for dinner.”
“That’s fine. If my mom calls you, just tell her I’m with you. Anyway, I’ve got my phone on. She shouldn’t call you, plus I’m going home soon. Have a good night, I’ll call you later.” Rasika closed the phone. She probably shouldn’t have bothered lying to her parents tonight. She hadn’t planned to spend any time with a man, and Abhay wasn’t anyone special. Still, she wanted to be absolutely safe on the day before such an important occasion.
She dropped her phone into her purse. “What’re you planning to do, now that you’re home?”
“I came home mostly because I didn’t know what else to do, or where else to go. But once I got here, I realized it was a good opportunity to reconnect with my parents. As an adult.”
“What do you mean?”
“Before I left for the commune, I was angry because they treated me like a kid. Even after I graduated from college, Mom tried to buy clothes for me, do my laundry, and tell me to eat my breakfast. Dad tried to get me to apply to law school or graduate school. They’d tell me what time to be home when—”
“All Indian parents are like that,” Rasika interrupted.
“But why? That’s what I want to find out. We had these personal development sessions at Rising Star, and I learned that any relationship is the product of all the people involved.” Abhay drew a circle in the air with his forefinger. “I realized maybe my parents treated me like a kid because I acted like one. I either obeyed them, or rebelled against whatever they were saying.”
“So how’s it working now that you’re home? Are they treating you like an adult?” Rasika sat very straight and silent, hands clasped in her lap, gazing out over the memorial hill. She had discovered some years ago that by making her body still, she could also quiet the thoughts racing around in her mind. The football-playing students had left. Leaves rustled softly around her in the slight breeze. There was no one else nearby.
“I’m not sure. Mom’s gotten involved
with some sort of pyramid marketing scheme, selling educational games through home parties.”
“My mom mentioned that to me.”
“She seems almost like a different person to me now. I mean, she seems happy. In a way. But she quit her job for this new thing.”
“She used to work in your dad’s department, right?”
“Yeah. She was the administrative assistant for the physics department. Now she’s cut her hair—it’s really short.” He made a cap with his hands around his head. “And she wears these pantsuits. She used to wear knit pants and blouses.”
“I really like your mom,” Rasika said. “She’s so gentle and sweet.”
“She is, and I’m worried that this company is taking advantage of her.”
“How’s your dad?”
“The same. He was upset with me all through college because I couldn’t pick a major and took five years to graduate, finally, with a degree in general studies. He wanted me to pick something lucrative, and I managed to drive him crazy by not choosing anything at all.”
“Well, you’re so smart. I’m sure it would drive any parent crazy to see their kid, who’s been getting straight As since he was born, wander around completely lost like you did.”
“Yeah. I can see that now.”
“So how is he, now that you’re home?”
Abhay laughed and shook his head. “He’s still upset. I haven’t done anything that would look decent on a résumé. In his opinion, at least.”
Rasika felt like she was becoming too interested in Abhay. She wanted to keep herself clean and separate, ready to meet and merge with Viraj. She willed herself to think about something else. She chose one of her favorite subjects—the kind of engagement ring she would like—and concentrated on following her thoughts, trying not to pay too much attention to Abhay. “So you’ve decided to settle down at home?”
“I thought I’d hang out here for several months. Regroup. Earn some money. Figure out what to do next. Now that I’m here, I can see that I’ll eventually need to get out to explore different parts of the country and figure out where I belong.”
And Laughter Fell From the Sky Page 2