Between the Cracks She Fell

by Lisa de Nikolits

  Lenny made me feel stupid.

  Yes, but like what, our Muhammad is better than your Jesus? How come they got dibs on the one unique original truth but no one else did?

  I continued. But they say there are no traditions, but there’s all that praying and hajis and stuff. I don’t know what to think.

  Lenny looked at me and his piercings looked sharper than ever. Why do you even care? Who cares? I don’t.

  No reason, I said, no reason. I just wonder about religion that’s all. Tell me about you, Lenny.

  Like what?

  Anything. You seem very intelligent, so I’m curious.

  Curious about why I seem like such a loser when you think I could be at some university studying math or engineering?

  Or philosophy or literature, I said. You could do anything you wanted to.

  I am doing exactly what I want to. I’m short-cutting. I’m going to get everything I want in life, only I won’t have to take the long road like most people do. Most people go to work, eat shit daily, do what they have to to survive and by the time they get out, they’re too fucking old and wrinkled to even enjoy anything. Now me, I’m going to get what I want while I can still enjoy it. And you know how I’ll do it? By studying people. I study every day. I study you.

  He looked at me intently, and I was sorry I had opened up this line of questioning because it might come back at me, and I didn’t want him asking me anything. Then he glanced at his watch. I’ve got to be somewhere. You want to come?

  Sure, I said.

  I followed him out, and we went down to the beach, to the pavilion where a bunch of guys were hanging around.

  Wait for me here, he told me, and I stopped outside the spot where the spandex-clad woman had led the group in Jane Fonda moves.

  I got bored and went and sat down on a rock near the beach. Lenny was right, the weather had cleared, and I watched all the cyclists and rollerbladers and dog walkers who had come out to enjoy a piece of the sunshine.

  What are you up to now? Lenny reappeared.

  Nothing. I don’t know. Where are they going to have the fireworks?

  Here, he said. On the beach. But that’s four hours away. I’ve got to go and meet up with Kitty Cat and them. Will you come tonight?

  Sure, I said. Well, maybe. I’ll try. I might just stay here and read. It’s nice.

  Do you have a phone?

  No, I said. I don’t.

  He looked at me like he didn’t want to leave me because he thought I wouldn’t be there later.

  I’ll be here tonight, I said. See that tree over there? I’ll be there, reading.

  And, four hours later, there I was, but there was no sign of Lenny. I had, however, seen the blonde girl with the big dog. She was eating an ice cream cone with the same grim anger she seemed to do everything. She was wearing the same shorts and blouse, and the same glittering flip-flops. Her dog was tired; he flopped down at her feet, panting.

  The evening turned hot and humid, and the morning rain was a distant memory. I had overheard some people talking; we were in for a heat wave. I was glad my room erred on the cool side.

  I was not inclined to approach the girl. I was happy under my tree and happy in general, and there didn’t seem to be a point in trying to befriend her.

  It grew dark and I gave up on Lenny, and in a way, I was relieved. I could watch the fireworks by myself. Things would be safer that way.

  And then, of course, he appeared.

  Come with me, he said, and I did.

  He led me down the boardwalk to the parking lot, and he opened the door of a camper van.

  Say hi to Joss, he said to the crowd inside.

  There’s nowhere for me to sit, I protested, but one of the guys shuffled over and made space for me, so I climbed in. The air in the van was hot and thick with pot and hash smoke, and I felt high just breathing.

  Kitty Cat was there, crouched in a corner, glaring at me. I gave her a half smile. I had no idea what I was doing there either.

  Someone lit up a joint and passed it around. Kitty drew on it deeply, watching me all the while.

  When the joint reached me, I hesitated. I don’t really…

  It’ll be good for you, Lenny said, his green eyes like some nuclear spill in the ocean.

  Something in me snapped, like I just didn’t care. I took the joint, inhaled a cautious drag, and then I drew in a powerful toke and closed my eyes.

  When I opened them, 3D had become 5D, and everything was slurry and slow-mo, and I could almost touch the motion blur as people moved.

  And I took more of the joint when it came around again, I didn’t care.

  Later, I did not know how much later, I was helped down from the van by Lenny who had his arm around me. He held me tight around the waist and although he was shorter than me, he was strong and easily guided me through the beach that was jam-packed with families eager to see the fireworks. His gang followed closely behind.

  Lenny sat me down in an enclave and settled in behind me, his legs stretched out on either side of me. I was vaguely conscious that the boy with the Beatles haircut was glaring at me and I wondered if Kitty was still with the group too, but I didn’t care.

  Lenny took my hat off and combed his fingers through my hair, and it felt so good. I felt so good.

  I leaned back into him, and felt the heat coming off him, through his T-shirt and onto my back.

  He rubbed my shoulders and my neck, and the soft undersides of my arms and my elbows and my fingers, and when the fireworks started going off, I reached my hand behind and undid the button of his jeans, struggling a bit with the zipper. Then I slid my hand inside his boxer shorts and rubbed his cock, his big hard cock, so big for such a wiry little guy.

  I wondered if he was a redhead down there too. I rubbed and caressed him, enjoying the feeling of his thickness, of his finely shaped cock. It did not take long before he came in my hand, hot semen that I rubbed along the length of his cock. His cock went soft and I wiped my fingers on my T-shirt.

  After that, neither of us seemed to know what to do.

  The fireworks continued to explode in the sky, reflecting against the lake and fanning out like red-and-blue diamond star trees that dive-bombed into the water and died.

  It seemed to me like they would never end while behind me, Lenny stiffened. He zipped up his pants, eased away from me and stood up.

  I stayed where I was, pretending I was entranced by the fireworks.

  We’re leaving, Lenny said loudly, and I heard them crashing away into the brush of the enclave behind me.

  I did not dare turn around. I was still stoned. I still didn’t want to face moving, and when the fireworks ended and everybody applauded, I thought I would wait until the crowd left before heading home myself.

  I lay down to wait and next thing I knew it was dawn.

  17. THE BREAK OF DAY

  THE ALMOST-INFINITY OF THE almost-dawn….

  I awoke on the beach, and I was alone.

  I had the feeling something bad had happened the night before, but I could not remember what it was.

  I raised myself up on one elbow and looked around. There was no one around. Not even an early morning jogger or dog walker. Not a soul in sight.

  I sat up. I checked the chain around my neck. My key was still there. I let out a sigh of relief.

  But why was I there, on the beach? I rifled through my purse, holding my breath while I checked for my cash, but it was all there too. My book was still there, but my pepper spray was gone. Or had I brought it? I couldn’t remember.

  My mouth felt thick and it wasn’t easy to get my tongue unglued from my palate. I worked my tongue around my mouth, trying to get some saliva going, and I swallowed hard.

  My head ached. Had I gotten drunk again the night before?

  Then I saw the t
ree I had been sitting under when Lenny came to find me, and it all came back to me: the van, the joint, the fireworks, the hot semen spilling as Lenny tensed and arched back and forth.

  Had the others seen? And why had Lenny turned so cold afterwards? I didn’t understand.

  I got to my feet and brushed the sand off and emptied out my shoes.

  It felt like there was sand everywhere. It was what, Monday morning? I reminded myself to get a calendar. I stank of sex and pot.

  I walked through the park and past the library towards the Tim’s.

  It was already hot; the day was going to be a scorcher.

  I went into the Tim’s washroom and scrubbed my face and hands as best I could in the little basin, grateful there were paper towels and not just one of those air machines. I washed my arms and my neck and all the other places that Lenny had touched me. How could I have let that happen?

  I looked at myself in the mirror, needing answers. I saw that my bangs could do with a cut and my hair was tangled. I also saw that my eyes were filled with confusion and hurt.

  It’s not like you didn’t know you were attracted to him, I accused my reflection. You knew, and you still let it happen.

  I shook my head and went out into the coffee shop.

  I was suddenly starving. I ordered a toasted cheddar bagel with butter and cream cheese and a large coffee with two milks and three sugars.

  I took my breakfast outside and sat on the bench, wolfing it down.

  I was baffled. And afraid. I had clearly offended Lenny — but why?

  I was filled with restless energy, and I stood up and went back down to the boardwalk to pace off my anxiety.

  The sun had burnt the early morning mist off the day, and the heat settled in for a long vigil. I walked from one end of the boardwalk to the other and back again, and I began to feel slightly calmer.

  I thought about that joint and why I had smoked it. Because it was there. Because I was tired of fighting the world. Because everybody made mistakes.

  The hero is permitted to fail. See how often he has to be rescued from his troubles.

  But there was no one to rescue me except myself. I needed to be more careful.

  I decided to go back to my room.

  That evening, the sky was a weird orange-red, like the inside of a ruby grapefruit. The buildings across the way were painted with a pretty pink glow, and the trees and sky were dark above me, but the light close to the ground was bright, as if lit by movie lights. There was a slight haze that made everything look a bit fuzzy. I went for a walk in the schoolgrounds as the sky turned blood red, and I remembered that someone in the Tim’s had said there was going to be a supermoon that night. It felt like there was strange magic in the air.

  There was a wild apple tree next to my oak, and the ground under the tree was covered with perfect little green apples. I picked one up and wondered what would become of me. Would I fall like wild fruit to the ground with no one noticing?

  When I got to my room, it was cool and quiet and I was happy to lock myself inside. I was unsettled by the world and wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself. I sat down on my bed and picked up my book.

  Not all mutants survive, said The Satanic Verses.

  That said it all, as far as I was concerned and I put the book down and reached for Imran’s binder. And Imran said:

  Are they waiting for Allah to come to them in covers of clouds and angels? And, dear fucking diary, may it be noted that Ayesha, the former queen, has been vanquished. As I knew she would be, she was punished for her infidel ways. She was giving a blow job to the head prefect when she choked. I lie not, dear fucking diary, she nearly died from giving this blow job. I suppose she wanted to prove how fantastic she was at it, but she couldn’t breathe and tears and snot were running down her face, and someone had to pull her off, but not before they got a close-up of her crying and snotty and bug-eyed and gagging on the head prefect’s dick. A dick, might I add, which was significantly smaller than that of your hero writing this fable — I may only have one ball but my big fucking rod makes up for that! But I digress. Back to Ayesha’s humiliation. The next day the picture of her was everywhere: on the Internet, on everybody’s phones and EVEN in the hallway at school! It was super hilarious. At least, I thought it was. The teachers were horrified and everybody got called in to explain. I had nothing to say as I was in the library that night, doing research for my project on Maududi and my login proves it. But the head prefect was expelled, and Ayesha was taken out of school by her parents, and everybody got a very severe talking to. As if they will listen. Even now they are partying, with their little packets with Playboy bunnies, their cute little baggies filled with drugs. They think I don’t see, but I see. I see everything.

  Maududi was right. Boys should go to school only with boys and girls only with girls. It’s utterly stupid that we go to school together at such a vulnerable age. They can’t blame us when things go wrong but we are the ones who end up suffering. I don’t know what…

  The entry ended abruptly and I closed the binder. Enough dear fucking diary for one night anyway. I could imagine Imran’s happiness at his vindication, but what a world. I was glad I wasn’t a high school student any more, and I was infinitely glad I hadn’t grown up in Imran’s world.

  But even in my world, yes, there would be fallout from my incident with Lenny. No two ways about that.

  18. THE SUN

  THE FOLLOWING WEEK I TRIED to be very, very careful. I did not go to Tim’s. I went to a Second Cup at the opposite end of town, and I avoided all the places I had seen Lenny and his crew hanging out.

  I stayed close to my room and read under the old oak tree.

  Then nothing existed. He was in a void, and if he were to survive he would have to construct everything from scratch, would have to invent the ground beneath his feet before he could take a step, only there was no need now to worry about such matters, because here in front of him was the inevitable: the tall, bony figure of Death, in a wide-brimmed straw hat, with a dark cloak flapping in the breeze.

  It was true. I had to construct my life from scratch, but right now I was too hot to do anything. I faced not death, but heat. The heatwave had moved in for the duration, and I was in a void. Alone as never before. And yes, I had to construct my own safety, my own reality, my days. Perhaps Lenny was the figure of Death, or was I being too dramatic? In any case, I needed to do things differently.

  I spent a lot of time on the schoolgrounds and became very intimate with all the sights and sounds. I noticed a lot of young moms walking with strollers along the concrete paths during the day. And stringy runners pushing through, pushing harder, burning what little fat they had on their bones.

  I heard the haunting cry of a far-off train as it rushed through the countryside, and I wondered where it was going and who might be onboard.

  The distant song of an ice cream van swam softly through the air in broken fragments. I wished the guy was closer, because it was achingly hot, and the air was solid and dense, and an ice cream would have been sheer heaven.

  The evening skies were pale and soft at twilight, gaining pink much later. Humid and sticky, the peach fuzz of the air stuck to me like dandelion fluff, and I was too hot to even try to brush it off. The wet wipes were tepid and made me feel more grimy. I was so hot that I was finally forced out of my self-imposed hiding and into town.

  I went to the public swimming pool that adjoined the lake, taking a towel with me and wearing my shortest shorts so I could swim in them. A bathing suit was something I had forgotten to pack.

  I sidled into the swimming baths and stashed my purse in a locker. I was fearful of seeing Lenny up on the pool deck, but neither he nor his crew were anywhere to be seen. With a sigh of relief, I jumped into the water. It felt wonderful, cold and clean, and no one gave me strange looks for swimming in my clothes.

  I stay
ed in the pool for the longest time, swimming lengths of butterfly and crawl until I was exhausted. Then I went to sit in the wading pool and I felt a sense of peace start to return.

  It felt wonderful to be in the water, and I found myself thanking Mr. Alright for the swimming lessons he had insisted upon, and for driving me, despite all my protestations and complaints, every Saturday morning to the pool. It’s cold … I hate it.… The change rooms always have puddles of water in them…. They smell…. I hate my teacher….

  I was such a complainer, but now, like Gibreel, the tuneless soloist … cavorting in moonlight … swimming in air, butterfly stroke, breast stroke, I too was able to slice through the water and I sent my non-dad-dad a message of thanks.

  Later, I lay on my stomach on my towel in the shade and I read my book.

  Who is he? An exile. Which must not be confused with, allowed to run into, all the other words people throw around: émigré, expatriate, refugee, immigrant, silence, cunning. Exile is a dream of glorious return. Exile is a vision of revolution: Elba, not St Helena. It is an endless paradox: looking forward by always looking back. The exile is a ball hurled high into the air. He hangs there, frozen in time, translated into a photograph; denied motion, suspended impossibly above his native earth, he awaits the inevitable moment at which the photograph must begin to move and the earth can reclaim its own.

  I was a ball hurled high into the air.

  When I returned to my room that night, Imran said:

  Dear Allah,

  If we were to get all the jinns and humans together, and we got all wood and trees and made a pen, and we got all the water in this universe and made it as ink, then we started to write the blessings of you, the ink would finish and the pen would break, but your greatness won’t finish.

  “Soon shall We cast terror into the hearts of the Unbelievers, for that they joined companions with Allah, for which He had sent no authority” [The Holy Quran 3:151].

  Dear fucking diary,

  I am officially not a virgin any more. I was worried that abstinence from sex would lead to fitnah and chaos. I was afflicted by headaches for weeks, my body felt utterly heavy, and I was filled with sorrow. I tried, like the Sharia says, to fast this longing out of my system but I failed. I would have masturbated, but I was afraid of becoming an addict and suffering the illnesses which go with that. Masturbation weakens the mind and stops me from being a clean and civilized person. So I did a very brave and bold thing. I went the whole way into the city and I found a prostitute. It was not easy, but I did. She was young, which was good, about my age. I was careful to not look at her private parts at all. The sex was very enjoyable. Afterwards, I urinated immediately and washed very carefully with warm water. I admit I was curious about her anus, and I know I should not have even thought about it, given that the Prophet (peace be upon him) said, “Do not enter the posterior or anus of a woman, such a person shall be cursed,” and I repent for having such a thought. After I left the young woman, I went to a bar and enjoyed a beer by myself. I had a very good time. I will most definitely do it again. Not with the same woman though. I would not want her to get the wrong idea.